#I wanted to catch every look and glance and put them in chronological order

[leoholzer]

Leo & Adam looking at each other I19/xI

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

The Mudman - Sand

So this one is a significantly darker tone, but it felt right for this specific scene for some reason. I was considering just throwing it away but the fantastic @valhelos convinced me to finish it up and post it. Hope that you all enjoy it!

Here is the link to the Mudman Masterpost where I'm collecting all of the other snippets I write in (largely) chronological order.

=-=-=-=-=

Captain Trouble Kelp knelt down behind a low sandstone wall, resting his horrendously outdated Lebel 1886 atop it as he fished a handful of rounds out of his breast pocket and laid them out beside the rifle. “Come on, join the Foreign Legion,” he grumbled absentmindedly to himself. “See the world… you’ll look so handsome in that uniform.” As soon as he finished laying out the ammunition for his rifle, Captain Kelp set about ensuring that the various sidearms he had stashed away in belt and shoulder holsters were all fully loaded.

“I swear, this is the last time I do something to impress a blonde,” he continued to grumble, his voice barely carrying over the growing sound of thunderous hoofbeats. “That’s always your problem, isn’t it Kelp?” he berated himself, stuffing his favorite pistol back into its place on his right thigh. “She bats her eyes, tells you how attractive it is, then boom! You’re stuck in some forsaken desert with a bunch of murderers and thieves.”

“You’re talking to yourself again,” came a voice from beside him.

Trouble turned to fix the owner of that voice with a stiff glare. “Right. And you get your little brother involved in it, too,” he mumbled angrily. He then reached out and roughly yanked the other man to the ground beside him. “What are you doing, Grub? Trying to catch a pot shot?” he barked, tensely ripping the rifle from the smaller fellow’s hands to hastily make sure it was in working order.

“I was just telling you that you sounded crazy,” the younger Kelp pouted, petulantly adding, “I’m looking out for you, you know.”

Trouble ran a hand over his face. “Do you hear that?” he finally asked, raising his voice as an expression of utter disbelief etched its way into his features. “That’s the sound of hundreds of dunes raiders coming to put us in the sand. You want to look out for me? Get down, put this rifle in your hands, and get ready to shoot some of them,” he barked, shoving the rifle in Grub’s hands.

A slight tremor rolled over Grub’s lips as he glanced nervously to either side. Dozens of their fellow Legionnaires stretched out in either direction, scrabbling over whatever meager cover existed in the low-lying rock walls surrounding the ruined city they had all abandoned their posting and marched for days through the desert just to find. As much as Trouble didn’t feel like he had much place among these people, he knew his little brother didn’t belong there. He should never have allowed Grub to enlist with him.

“Well, Colonel Cudgeon looks like he’s got a good handle of things,” the younger Kelp’s quiet voice pulled Trouble out of his, for lack of a better word, troubled introspection. Grub nodded toward the garrison’s leader, who was busy barking orders to his men scattered out along the low ridges, then ordered a couple of squadrons up on top of what remained of the ancient city’s large defensive walls.

Cudgeon looked every bit the courageous leader, but there were more than a few tells to indicate otherwise. The sweat pouring down his face, excessive even in the sweltering heat of the Egyptian desert. The occasional waver in his voice as he ordered men this way and that. Even the nervous pacing of his horse betrayed the anxious energy that undoubtedly coursed through the man.

“Yeah… he looks that way,” Trouble answered grimly. He shouldered his rifle and stared off into the distant sand dunes.

For some reason, staring at the unrelenting sea of sand was somehow preferable to looking at the ancient city itself. Trouble may not have been an archeologist, but he could appreciate the majesty of ruins such as these. But what they’d found… it didn’t project majesty. It projected something much darker. Something that ate at the minds of the men inhabiting it. Something that made him think there was a reason the city had fallen to ruin, and that it would probably have been better to leave it that way.

He was almost relieved when a dark mark appeared in the midst of the heat distorted-horizon. In a matter of moments that dark mark solidified, then split into the forms of hundreds of Tuareg cavalrymen, their horses creating a thunderous hoofbeat across the desert.

Trouble glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Colonel Cudgeon throw his officer’s saber into the sand, spin his horse around in a tight circle, and spur the poor beast with everything he had.

“Our brave leader,” Trouble said with a dry chuckle, turning to grin wryly at his brother.

Grub swallowed nervously, his eyes darting between the horde of horses racing toward them and the one racing away. “Well… he did just get promoted,” he offered with a shrug. He glanced around at the men surrounding them, then turned to Trouble. “You’re a captain… I guess that puts you in charge now, huh?”

Trouble watched his brother as he spoke. Noted the heavy tremble in his hands. The waver in his voice. The way his eyes darted this way and that at an almost frantic pace. Grub was never meant for anything like this. He was just a kid.

“Go,” Trouble breathed.

Grub turned to give him an interrogating look. “What? What are you talking about?” His tone was split somewhere between petulant and relieved.

Trouble wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Run. Get into the city. There are a few places that you can close yourself in and make a decent barricade.” In spite of the tremble he felt running the length of his spine, he tried to offer his brother a confident grin. “I’ll come find you after I’ve talked these gentlemen into riding right back out the way they came.”

The younger Kelp hesitated for what felt like several long moments, staring thoughtfully out into the desert. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice shaking. He handed his rifle to Trouble. “I’ll, uh… I’ll make sure Mom knows. You know. In case.” He started to turn away, then paused and turned back. “Oh, and I’ll find that girl Lili and tell her -”

“Go,” Trouble cut him off. “Get safe. I’ll come find you.”

Grub nodded once, then began a mad dash through the shifting sand into the inner section of the city. Trouble watched him for just a moment before turning back to the work at hand, rolling his eyes. At least his brother had the good sense not to scream out loud in terror as he fled. This time, that was.

“Steady!” Trouble shouted, shouldering his rifle. “Nobody fires until you get my order!” A few of the men around him shared some nervous glances. He quelled the surge of panic rumble through his spine as he watched what could only be impending death race toward them on swift hooves. “Steady!” he shouted again, refusing to let the fear coursing through him take effect. The men around him shifted anxiously. “Steady!”

To their credit, the men held their resolve. Having a strong voice to guide them undoubtedly helped shore up their fragile psyches, but Trouble had to wonder if maybe they were simply too afraid to shoot. Afraid to break the incredibly tense silence that somehow seemed to ring out over all of the sounds of the desert. Finally, when the raiders were practically upon them, he gave the order. 

“Fire!”

His shout was immediately chased by a cacophonous rumble of gunshots spewing forward like hellfire. Dozens tumbled from their charging horses and sprawled out in the sand. “Fire at will!” he bellowed loud enough to make himself heard over the staggered gunfire and roaring attackers. His men fired in scattered bursts, panic quickly growing as the raiders drew ever nearer.

Even from the first moment, Captain Kelp knew that it wasn’t going to be enough. They were doomed. He just hoped that his brother was able to lay low and get out of there in one piece. Trouble picked out one of the raiders and shot him from his horse. He ejected the spent casing and quickly chambered another round, though in his haste his second shot went wide. Unfortunately for them, two volleys were all they were afforded before the raiders returned fire.

Though the Legionnaires undoubtedly held the advantage when it came to their positioning and scattered cover as compared to the raiders’ massive stretches of open ground, they were so drastically outnumbered that to call this a ‘losing battle’ would be a grossly optimistic misinterpretation of the situation. In truth, the only reason they were fighting at all was because they had no chance of escaping.

Trouble spit disdainfully as he reloaded his rifle. So much blood spilled, and for what? More sand.

The raiders were drawing closer. There was no way his men could hold them. “Pull back!” he tried to shout over the roiling thunder of gunfire. “Everybody into the ruins!” He rose and began backing away at a measured pace, continuing to fire as he went. Most of his men didn’t hear him; frozen either by panic or by bloodlust.

“Back!” he shouted again. Another dozen men fell to the ground. More blood. He lifted his rifle and knocked another raider from their mount. More blood. So much blood. At least it wasn’t Grub’s. He hoped.

Finally, a few of the men on the front line tried to follow his order to retreat. They were too late. The mad dash of dead men may have quickened their feet, but it didn’t matter when their competition was against a horse at a dead gallop. Legionnaires panicked and broke ranks on all sides, and they each fell in turn. Trouble didn’t have time to do anything more than regret their deaths.

He knelt to reload his rifle, but in his scramble dropped the handful of shells he had retained for it. Instead he pulled the Colt 1911 from its holster on his right leg. He drew it and fired several times into the center mass of an approaching raider. The man was dead before he even managed to scream. Another raider charged at him, and Trouble lifted his rifle like a club and knocked it against the man’s face.

Kelp grimaced as the impact knocked the rifle from his hands, but didn’t have the opportunity to spare it much more thought. He drew a second pistol and dashed further into the ruins, vowing to come out and search for survivors. That was, of course, assuming he made it there himself. A prospect that seemed more and more slim as three raiders chased after him into the rubble.

He leapt over what remained of a low stone wall just before someone fired at him, feeling the fragmented chips of ancient blocks rain down on him from where the bullet had impacted with his cover. After sparing a moment to catch his breath he jumped to his feet again, dashing further into the city. He turned in a half circle and fired three more shots, the first two going wide of his target and the last punching into the man’s shoulder and throwing him from his horse. Then the pistol clicked empty. With a grunt, Trouble threw it into the dirt and shifted his other pistol into his right hand.

There wasn’t much room to hide. The sound of rifle fire outside the walls had all but petered out to nothing… meaning that all that remained between him and a horde of hundreds of angry dunes raiders was sand.

Blood–soaked sand.

Cursed sand.

Sand that was… moving.

At first he thought that it was just a trick of the heat, or maybe he’d hit his head somewhere during the fighting and hadn’t realized. But as the sand shifted under his feet, eventually throwing him down onto his back, he couldn’t rationalize it away anymore. When the raiders that had entered the city, that had been mere moments from adding his blood to the gallons already spilled here, suddenly abandoned their pursuit and sprinted back out of its walls on horses driven mad with panic and fear, he felt forced to acknowledge something.

That feeling… that something that had been eating away at the corner of his mind ever since they laid eyes on this cursed place, had only grown stronger. He had told himself he didn’t have time to identify it before. That he had to prepare his men for the fight of their lives… rather, the fight to their deaths. That he had to keep his mind focused on protecting Grub. But that wasn’t really it. That wasn’t why he’d done his best to ignore the creeping sensation with every step he took in the shifting sands. No, in truth it was because it frightened him.

And now he knew what it was. Could feel it surrounding him… eating at his thoughts. Weighing heavily on his soul. Screeching and cackling in the dust that blew so thick he couldn’t see as the sand around him continued to shift and coil like an angry serpent.

The terrified squeals of the horses faded away as their riders were carried away on their panicked hooves. Trouble didn’t dare move, feeling that if he did it would somehow test fate. He couldn’t see through the choking clouds of hanging dust anyway. 

He didn’t know how long he laid there… minutes? Hours? Finally the dust cleared, and the captain slowly rose to his feet. There in the sand, at the epicenter of its sudden, angered movement, was something new. He blinked, trying to rationalize it, but the sand stared back at him and refused to be explained away. A dark face the size of a man had been carved out of the otherwise flat and featureless dunes. Trouble scrambled backward, panic gripping his throat like it hadn’t since he was a child hearing ghost stories. 

“Trubs?” came a quiet voice from somewhere behind him. The elder Kelp managed to tear his eyes from the haunting visage at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Trubs, what happened out here?” Grub asked, hand clenched tightly on the heel of his pistol.

“We’re going,” Trouble answered gruffly. He stomped forward to catch Grub by the shoulder and turn him away. To get him out of the city. To keep him from ever seeing that face that Trouble knew would haunt his dreams until the day he died. “Before those raiders come back,” he lied. He knew they wouldn’t return. But it was a convincing excuse.

As they stumbled through, Trouble couldn’t help but throw one last glance at the carvings in the sand. At the cursed face with sunken eyes and a mouth gaping open in a silent scream.

Trouble Kelp had faced down every challenger he’d ever come across. Win or lose, he’d never backed down to anything in his life. But here, against this… the only winning was to get out of its path. To pray that it didn’t follow you. They had marched to Hamunaptra in search of riches, but what they found there was only one word for.

Evil.

All he could do was hope that it stayed in the sand.

[hank-the-hedehog]

Hank's Journey: Sonic Adventure 2 part 5

Disclaimer: This series would be about Hank's journey through various events, be it the canon events with alteration or fan-made ones in no chronological order. Said events will be researched before writing about them. Canon characters may be portrayed differently as this series is set in a parallel dimension/au to the main canon.

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

Speeding across the ARK and destroying some of Eggman's badniks and G.U.N.'s robots along the way, Hank catches up with Sonic and Shadow. "Do you have an extra room in this race?" Smirking and increasing his speed, Sonic glances at Hank. "Sure, bud. Be careful with him." Glancing at Shadow, Hank conjures a chaos javelin. Sensing chaos energy from the mysterious hedgehog, Shadow throws a chaos spear at him. Hank deflects it with his javelin. "Let's take this somewhere private, Shadow." He teleports to Shadow and grabs his arm before teleporting somewhere else and leaving Sonic behind.

Somewhere in the ARK, Shadow breaks away from Hank’s hold before kicking him away. "Who are you, and what business do you have with me and the doctor?" Blocking Shadow's attack, Hank shakes his arm. "I'm someone who wants to stop Gerald's grandson from destroying the planet and knock some sense into you, brother." Confused, Shadow raises a brow. "The only family I had was Maria and Doctor Gerald. You must be attempting to trick me into believing I have a bother." Keeping his guard up, Hank walks to a door, and it's open. "I was made from the same blackarm's larva DNA as you, Shadow. Except mine was genetically modified." He looks at Shadow. "Follow me if you want answers. G.U.N. didn't erase everything." Watching Hank speeding off, Shadow crosses his arms. "I wonder if his words have any truth behind them." He speeds after Hank.

Arriving at the secret lab as Hank and Shadow enter it. Hank turns the computer on and opens the file regarding him and Shadow. "This is the only console left intact with the records of our creations before the G.U.N raid happened." He walks to his old gear and puts them in the same box he took his current gear from. "I will find a use for these later." Shadow looks through the files. "I see. We are both created with a similar purpose." Hank glances over his shoulder at Shadow. "That what's written there, but in actuality, I was created as a failsafe in case you went rogue and joined the Black Arms." He picks the box and walks to the lab's door. Shadow looks at Hank. "You were made by a different team of scientists?" Hank nods. "Fortunately, I helped them escape the raid and were able to further study my abilities." Shadow crosses his arms. "Then how I never seen you before?" Hank faces Shadow. "My existence was kept a secret. I suggest heading to the eclipse cannon control room to stop Ivo Robotnik from destroying our planet. I will meet you there." Shadow walks toward Hank after turning the computer off. "Where are you going with that box?" Hank looks at the box. "The shuttle that me, the blue hedgehog, and his friends used to get here." The two hedgehogs look in different directions of the hall before speeding off.

At the hanger, Hank places the box in the shuttle before unplugging his device from the shuttle's computer. "Hmmm...." He looks at the ARK's map. "Let's see where the control center is." Feeling a sudden surge of chaos energy through his body and the ARK rumbling, he stumbles out of the shuttle and looks around. "What's happening?" Speakers buzz with a holographic display of Doctor Gerald Robotnik in restraints. "This is a death sentence for every human being on earth. If my calculations are correct, the space colony ARK will impact the earth in 27 minutes and 53 seconds. All of you will be destroyed along with your beloved planet earth." Hank clinches his fists. "We will stop it." He runs off before Gerald's speech is over, using his impeded emerald to track where the 7 chaos emeralds are.

At the core of the eclipse canon, Sonic and Knuckles look around, seeing the structure is built similarly to the master emerald shrine on angle island. The duo ran toward the shrine as holograms of Gerald's speech pour in, and the prototype of the ultimate life form appears in a flash of light. Taking a defensive posture, Knuckles looks at the prototype. "Could that be the encapsulated prototype of the life form?" Clinking of a pair of boots against the alerts the duo, Sonic looks at the source and sees Hank and Shadow. "Hank. Shadow. What are you two doing?" Shadow walks past him and Knuckles. "Leave this one to me." Hank chuckles and looks at Sonic. "You two go get the chaos emeralds while I help Shadow against the prototype." Sonic and Knuckles nod and head to the shrine.

The prototype looks at Hank and Shadow before wailing. Crossing his arms, Hank looks at Shadow. "How do you want to handle it? Dodging attacks and waiting to attack it life support or overwhelm it with chaos spear barrage?" Shadow glances at Hank. "We will use your chaos emerald." Hank puts his hand on Shadow's shoulder. "Alright then. You can use it." Shadow chuckles and smirks. Raising their hands and summoning a multitude of chaos spears, the two hedgehogs use the spears to counter and attack the prototype. The prototype roars as its life support system malfunctioned due to the onslaught it took. Staring at Hank and Shadow with anger and hatred, it disappears in a flash of light. Panting and tugging on his chest plate, Hank walks toward the shrine. "They should have stopped the overflow the emeralds." Shadow follows Hank. "It should stop the colony from falling." The two reach the top of the shrine.

Sonic gazes at the prototype. "What's the plan?" Shadow glances at Hank. "He can distract it while we take the offensive." Hank summons his chaos spears. "Alright. I will be the first hit to take it attention." He flies to the prototype and attacks it as Shadow and Sonic follow suit. The trio dodged and attacked the prototype simultaneously, overwhelming and defeating it. Sonic, Shadow, and Hank intercept the Ark's course. Hank places his hands on Sonic and Shadow's backs. "This will take a lot of energy to return it to it course." Sonic smirks. "Worth the risk." Shadow nods. "Agreed." Hank’s eyes glow and share some of his energy with Shadow and Sonic. "Now, go safe the earth." He propels them toward the Ark while the force of the push is sending him toward earth.

Somewhere on earth. A deer wearing a red vest, a black medium skirt, and medium heel boots closes her shop after a long day of work and heads home. "That's it for today. Thanks to our mysterious heroes for saving us." Gazing at the night sky, she notices something hurling into the forest nearby. "What was that!?!?" She hurries toward the crash site and sees a male hedgehog in the crater. "Hey!!! Are you okay?" Hearing no response, she slowly descends into the crater. "Are you awake?" She looks closer, and the hedgehog is responsive with his body radiating an incredible amount of heat. "Don't tell me you fell from space? Are you even alive?" She puts her handbag on the ground and looks around, finding a branch and poking him with it to see him flinch a bit. "Okay, he is alive." She lets out a sigh of relief and waits for his body to cold down before pulling him out of the crater and taking him to her house.

Arc 1 end

——————————————————————

[ Start - Previous - Next Arc (soon)]

Hank belongs to @lionwriters-blog and @hank-the-hedehog (both are me)

Sonic the hedgehog franchise and its characters belong to Sega

[toothbrushcentipede]

(My) Lilac Wine Pt.4

✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣

Comments: Bonus chapter for a pairing that is very dear to my heart. I wrote this in December of 2023 and have been since holding on to it, unsure of posting it or not. I want this year to be a proper culmination of being less critical of myself and guiding myself into becoming a better writer. So I want to let this go into the ether without judgement. 

Word Count: 1183

✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✣

A dusty plastic tote was pulled down from the attic with struggle. The large and sun beaten container was clunky and far more fragile than it was several years previous. A grin quickly etches on her lips as it finally reaches the soft rug of the living room floor. Standing with her hands on her hips after patting them together to cast away the dust, she stood excitedly in front of the woman and child she loved. The darker skinned woman, when she looked up from her laptop, had a matching grin as she took off her glasses to truly look at what was brought in front of her. Noises from a show on the television went off in the background as Morana stood from the couch.

“Ma, where’d you get that?”

“I got it from the loft. Want to go through it with us?”

“Is that a good idea, Striga?”

“It’s all old stuff. We should go through it.” Striga gets a tilted head and a teasing smile in response.

The brunette teenager pops his phone on the coffee table to pry open the worn crate. Motes fly into the air as the lid is taken away but everything within its confines were notably clean. He easily tosses the lid on to a section of the room farther from the surrounding area of the tote. His hands catch the first item on top of the stack of things within and hold it out for them both to see. A fabric bag was procured from it. Immediately Morana, thrilled, takes it from his hands to untie the bag. The black cloth reveals an old camcorder, slightly scratched and most likely hadn’t seen the light of day since it was put away in the crate. The battery that was set aside in the package with it was carefully put in as Krunoslav continued to dig through all the treasures.

“Will it work?”

“We’ll have to see if the battery has kept the charge first, dear.”

The black haired woman just excitedly grabbed at her partner’s waist as she watched her start up the camera. Her thin hands flipped out the screen as the piece of technology did start to power on. Striga released a sound of awe as Morana started to go through the old footage still left on the device. It slowly trawled through old clips on its memory card as Morana held down the button.

Krunoslav just continued to go through the items as his parents wondered over the working camcorder. A photo album with a faux leather cover worn by age was next. He flicked open the cover, interested in what he’d find. Upon first glance he noticed that both his parents' photos were mixed together and not separated. When he looked at the short paper captions he noticed that they were from before they had even known each other. As he continued he found that the way the images were arranged made them seem like a story. Each and every one after the other was chronologically ordered. How strange it is to see old photos of his parents of when they were children and teenagers, he wasn’t even a thought then. He looks up to check on his too silent parents and finds his mother gazing at him through the screen of the camcorder. Striga sits down beside him on the rug to flick through the photos.

“Go on! Keep going!” The grins on Striga and Morana’s faces are contagious so he tries to block his face from the camera with his hand.

Eventually they come across an image of a twenty-something year old Striga at a rave with her arm strung around a thin blonde’s shoulders. Both of the women are full teeth grinning at the camera, excited glints in their bright eyes. Necklaces and bracelets of kandi and glowsticks, which were also held in their hands, decorating their bodies in the lowlights before the show. Krunoslav side-eyes his parent as she chuckles and turns the album to Morana.

“Wasn’t I so gorgeous? What happened to all my youth?” She chuckles at her own dramatics while stroking her chin and her wife just rolls her eyes at her behavior.

“You are still very alluring, darling.”

“Oh, am I?”

Krunoslav pretends to gag while still going through the album even as his Ma isn’t paying attention. There aren’t many photos of his mother partying but he does find some from frat parties embarrassingly enough for Morana.

“Where’d all your fun go, mom? Spend it all in college?” The brunette sputters before answering her son.

“I had you.” And she laughs at his offended look, a hand over his chest.

Striga laughs beside him, shaking her head at her wife and child.

“That’s not true. Your mother is plenty fun! She’s just busy being responsible for your shenanigans.”

“Here’s the day you broke your leg at that trampoline park!” A photo of a smiling Krunoslav stuck in the foam cube pit, at said business, was facing the both of them.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I still get chills thinking of that place. That cast was horrendous.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t sit still and rest no matter what we did. Video games couldn’t even keep you in your seat.”

“At least you didn’t keep the cast, that would’ve been weird.” He said as he pulled the x-ray image out from slightly behind the other to wave it in front of his parents.

He instantly regrets his words after he turns another page, finding photocopied doodles from his cast.

“Really?” He shoots them a judging look.

“What? They were good!” Striga just laughs on the sidelines as Morana tries to explain herself.

“Maybe for a 1st grader! I was 11!” The brunette shrugs in response to her son.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! You were 10!” Striga supplies.

Krunoslav just groans and rolls his eyes while his parents continue to laugh at his misfortune. They both high five at the joke in glee and share a peck between themselves.

“Oh, ew man! I’m going to Errick’s house!” They both just give each other a look before shrugging.

“You just wanted an excuse to leave because you were making plans without asking again, shortstack.” Striga gives him a knowing look as he grabs his bag and gathers the rest of his things.

“Oops! Caught!” He shoots them both finger guns before slipping out the front door.

Morana just sighs and pinches her brow while Striga shakes her head lightheartedly. The brunette woman ends the video with a small smile hung on her face, happy to have captured yet another memory. She places the camcorder back in its proper case gently then turns to her wife and wraps her arms around her neck to lean in for another kiss. Striga readily accepts her into her arms, placing a gentle kiss on her lips lovingly.

“We should make a habit of filming again.”

The taller woman grins toothily and nods with her own arms wrapped around Morgana’s waist. So it becomes a bit of a tradition.

[rpclefairy]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐏:  

we’re over two years into the panini, we’re all stressed out and scrambling to make ends meet and come to tunglr to write, have a little fun and distraction but then you’re staring at the blue hellsite on your screen and nothing. words just aren’t coming to you no matter how hard you try to write until hits you: hewwo writers block my old friend. now what? 

i’ve been writing on and off on here for over ten years and this never stops happening to me so here’s a few things that i've found help me either be more productive or ease feelings of anxiety over my rp blogs.

i hope this prep talk helps some of you too ♡

water is your friend.

first of all, go take a shower. writer’s block often comes as a result of depression which means you’ve likely haven’t showered in days. no shame or judgement, but your body (and this includes your brain!) will feel a million times better once you’re clean. you can do it, i believe in you.

also drink water. i hear you rolling your eyes, “i drink water already”. no, drink more. like, a ton more. unless you’re going to the bathroom every 30 minutes and your pee is transparent you’re not drinking enough water. you’re overworked and sleep deprived and your brain is shrinking like a dry starfish under the boiling sun. keep a water bottle next to you in rotation at all times, you’ll slowly get into the habit. 

this applies to other basic needs like eating and sleeping too! please take care of yourself.

music helps! but sometimes it doesn’t. this one i didn’t figure out until not too long ago. i’ve always loved making playlists for my muses and aus on spotify going as far as organising every song in an order that is relevant to the timeline of my muse’s story. so it took me a long time to catch the fact i’m not productive writing wise when i’m listening to music. 

maybe i do pay too much attention to the chronology of my playlists and the story told through music. it can be very atmospheric and immersive, but also distracting. imagine trying to write while watching a movie at the same time. for some people it can feel like that and you may be one of them. 

writing in silence is an obvious option here, and honestly once you get into writing you’ll forget about the silence. but you can also try exploring alternative music options that isn’t just the regular songs you often jam to. this can include from classical music to lo-fi. the mallsoft subgenre of vaporwave is my personal favourite. even if any kind of music overwhelms you and you’d like to block outside noise there are options even outside of the realm of music, like binaural beats and coloured noise.

aeshetics: ditch them (if necessary!). they can be fun for sure and graphics specially can be another creative outlet to add to your portrayal and all that is great, but tumblr rp has a very specific aesthetic that is considered “trendy” (you know the one. ridiculously overexposed, everything looks black and grey with pops of red, you need to squint to see what’s on the picture.... that one). 

i know from talking to other people about this that i’m not the only one who doesn’t vibe with it at all but has also felt at some point the lowkey pressure to conform so as not to be seen as “sloppy”. no one wants their blog to be dismissed at first glance. but here’s the thing, you don’t need to follow the aesthetic(tm) for your blog to look put together. 

embrace minimalism if it helps minimise your anxiety over it. just pick a solid colour and use that for reply dividers and icon borders, use simple psds for your icons, use raw 100x100 icons or no icons at all. whatever feels right for you. 

i know it’s easier said than done but sometimes it is easier when you’re reminded so here’s your permission to stop stressing over graphics. everyone else feels the same as you and don’t actually care if you don’t care for the type of promos and icons that are considered trendy. 

and maybe i’m a little bias here, but simple and clean graphics + formatting looks a million times more put together than overly complicated aesthetics that are hard to read and see. and if someone feels like aesthetics are a requirement to write with them, that’s not someone you want to write with.

drafts piling up? start pick one at random and edit something in it. even if that’s just trimming the post and getting it ready to write a reply. then write anything. it doesn’t matter what it is, write your muse’s first reactions and feelings in response to your partner’s reply. whatever comes to you immediately, can be just a line of dialogue from your muse’s immediate reaction or just a vague description of their feelings. again, even if it’s just “he was angry and sad” this is going to give you the essence of your reply and a foundation. and once you have a few sentences you’ll find it much easier to keep going.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Mister April

A/N I had an angst-ridden update to the Metric Universe all queued up, and then I thought, nah.  The sun is shining, people are getting vaccinated.  Angst can wait.  So this little ficlet fits into the Metric Universe after The Second First Christmas, but before Calculation Theme.

The entire Metric Universe, now chronologically ordered, can be found here.

March 16, 2019, Spittalfields, London, England

“Wait.  You mean you’re actually Mister April?!”  Several bottles into the six-pack of Tennant’s lager that he had brought home after work, Claire’s exclamation was too incredulous for Jamie’s liking.

“Aye.  Every year since I signed on, save one.  At first t’was flattering, but now, weel...” He peeled the label from the bottle held between his knees, cursing the trajectory of their late night conversation.  The idea had been to take advantage of the fact they were both off tomorrow to spend some time with his girlfriend, listen to a little music, get a bit sloshed, then hopefully fall into bed together.

“Can I see?” Claire interrupted his momentary sulk.  “I mean, I’ve been dating a veritable calendar boy for almost two years, and I’m only just now figuring it out.  Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“Seems to me ye’ve seen me wearing far less, Sassenach.  But fine, look yer fill.”

Grabbing his laptop, Jamie entered his name and London Fire Brigade Charity Calendar into a search engine.  A stream of results filled the screen.  Claire’s eyes goggled and she grabbed the computer, opening the first image.  A much younger Jamie appeared, rugby shorts hanging from the graceful arcs of his hipbones.  He reminded her of a Thoroughbred race horse, not an ounce of flesh to spare, kinetic energy in masculine form.  She checked the date: 2012, before they had ever met.

Further clicks brought her to subsequent years.  Each showed a beautiful man in the prime of youth, fit, cocky, a devil-may-care gleam in his cornflower eyes.  She knew it was her Jamie, but she barely recognized him.

He was missing from the 2015 calendar.  Claire did the math and realized that he would have been in the hospital when that year’s pictures were taken.  Instead of primping and smoldering for the camera, he had lain in an ICU bed for weeks, before undergoing painful rehabilitation and numerous skin grafts.  The brash young man of the earlier images had disappeared, erased by an industrial explosion in an instant.  In his place, the Jamie she knew had emerged. More cautious.  More prone to sadness, but with a limitless capacity to spread joy.  Would she had fallen for him, had they met before his transformation?  She honestly couldn’t say.

By 2016, the pictures had changed.  Jamie posed in a shirt, sometimes unbuttoned to the waist, but always with his shoulders covered.  The gleam in his eyes had dimmed, and instead of an infectious grin, his smile was forced.  She was certain no-one buying the calendar would notice.  He was still a beautiful man, with his burnished curls and Nordic bone structure.  But she could see what those photos cost him.  She knew.

“Dougal wanted me tae show my scars.  Figured t’would be good publicity, I reckon. Heroic firefighter burnt like a human candle comes back tae fight fire ano’er day. I told him I wasna some charity case he could trot out when it suited him.”

She fetched his hand from his lap, giving it an understanding squeeze.  Jamie had once confessed that he felt comfortable bearing his scars to her alone because she had already seen him at his worst, and that left no room for pity.  He was a proud, stubborn fool, and she loved him.

“You know what this means, don’t you?  There’s only one way to make this right.”

Not waiting for his response, she rose, sought her balance for a moment, and went to grab her phone.  Connecting it to their TV audio, she scrolled her music library, looking for a suitable choice.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, pressing play.  A synthetic tambourine and clap bass filled the room.  He recognized the opening lines of OutKast’s Way You Move.

“What are ye on about, Sassenach?”

“You’ve been sharing your glorious body with the Greater London area and god know who else on the Internet for years, Jamie.  As a philanthropist, I applaud you, but as your girlfriend, I’m a tad perturbed.  I am hereby re-asserting my rights to exclusive content.  Now stop lollygagging and get your fine ass off the couch.”

“Sassenach...” he laughed, starting to grab hold of her meaning and feeling a shot of adrenaline course through his veins.  Even before his accident, he had never...

“Don’t make me put it on repeat, Fraser.  Oh, look, here comes the chorus!”

Claire sat back on the sofa, her legs tidily crossed on their coffee table.  The room was dark, except for the undying city lights outside.  No-one was there to see except the one person he trusted to look without staring, to laugh without mocking, to understand without judging.  He’d never known Claire to ask for something she didn’t truly want, and he wanted to give her everything she desired.  Even if it came at the expense of his dignity.

“Ye ken I canna dance fer shite, right?” he said as he stood, taking an extra long pull on his lager.  He was going to need all the liquid courage it could offer.

“I’m well aware.  But as the woman who shares your bed, I can testify that there’s nothing the matter with your sense of rhythm.  If it helps, don’t think of it as dancing.  Think of it as upright simulated sex.”

His face was already hot from the alcohol and embarrassment, but with Claire’s words he felt the heat spread downwards across his chest and towards his groin.  Almost without willing it, his hips began to twitch in time to the beat.

“Now we’re talking!” Claire exclaimed with a grin, leaning back like the only patron at a very private strip club.

He was still dressed for work.  The navy shirt he wore beneath his jacket had no buttons, so he began by easing it from under his belt, baring his navel briefly before sliding it back down.  Claire sulked dramatically, making him laugh.  

With the song’s next horn flourish, he reached behind his neck and lifted the shirt clean off in a single tug, shaking out his hair afterwards.  When he next glanced at the couch, his girlfriend’s smug smile was gone, replaced by a blatant leer that sent shivers down his spine.  She wasn’t even pretending to look at his face anymore, spending her time somewhere between his shoulders and his waist.  He wasn’t really sweating, but he made a point of wiping his pecs before letting the shirt fall to the ground.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, already a tad breathless.

“Immensely.  Don’t stop now.”

Fortunately, his boots and socks had already been removed, so with the next verse he made a show of unbuttoning and unzipping his blue trousers.  Claire’s eyes followed the movement of his fingers like she was memorizing them for the exam.  He could feel his cock grow heavy.

With a shake of his ass for good measure, the pants hit the floor.  Only a tight pair of boxer-briefs stood in the way of utter nudity.  They were doing a poor job hiding his belated enthusiasm for Claire’s request.  The fact that her eyes were now glued to the bulge of his erection only encouraged his excitement.

As the repeated chorus faded away, he carefully slipped the waistband over his now-rigid cock.  The material slid down his legs and he stepped free.  If someone had mentioned his scars in that instant, he would have no idea what they were talking about.

In the ensuing quiet, Claire sat up and very deliberately began to disrobe.  Once naked, she came at him like a heat-seeking missile, one hand reaching around his back to pull him tight and the other dragging him into a kiss.  They collapsed to the floor, rolling around on the area rug in a fight for dominance.  He let her win, because feeling her rise and fall over his length like a cresting wave was the best runner-up prize he could imagine.  

The sex was torrid, and frantic, and not at all polite.  The kind that left bruises and invoked daydreams for days.  Afterwards, they lay in a sweaty heap, trying to catch their breath.

“See?  I knew you had it in you,” Claire muttered into his clavicle.  “A bit more practice and you’ll be as good as the pros.”

“I didna realize I was auditioning fer a second job.”  He brushed Claire’s curls away from where they were tickling his nose.

“Oh, I have no intention of sharing your talents, lad.   Never fear.  But I wouldn’t object to a repeat performance.   Besides, I was so distracted by the show, I completely forgot to film you!”

Jamie groaned, pulling her tighter against him as sleep called him away to dreams.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Traveling with you - Kiro

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event, 与你同游, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

This is an event for Chinese New Year, where you get to visit a Spring Festival Temple Fair with the love interests :>

Players are able to select the order in which they visit various locations, so they aren’t meant to be in chronological order!

Prologue: here

More: Gavin l Lucien l Shaw l Victor

🌟 TEXT 🌟

MC: Ding dong--

MC: You’ve received a new invitation. Do you wish to open it immediately?

Kiro: Nope.

MC: Why can’t you cooperate with me?

Kiro: I’m waiting for Miss Chips to invite me personally, and not some automated system. 

Kiro: However, since Miss Chips has appeared, where are you inviting me out to?

MC: Will you be really busy these days?

MC: I just saw a pamphlet for this year’s Loveland Temple Fair, so I immediately wanted to ask if you wanted to go.

Kiro: A temple fair! What a lively place!

Kiro: Yes yes yes, we’ll go tomorrow.

MC: But you’re still quite eye-catching... will anyone notice you?

Kiro: The temple fair will be really crowded, so no one will pay me any mind.

Kiro: Also, I can put on a disguise. With a wig, hat, and spectacles, I can guarantee that no one will recognise me!

MC: Along with your excellent acting skills, mm... perfect!

MC: In that case, let’s rest early tonight, and rush there together tomorrow.

Kiro: Sure. Goodnight, Miss Chips. I’ll look for you in my dreams~

-

🌟 Location: Traditional Snacks Stall 🌟

MC: I notified Savin beforehand. Today, you’re allowed to have food that’s “not so healthy”.

Kiro: Yay, long live Miss Chips!

MC: Don’t celebrate too early. Next week, he’s going to supervise your workout sessions.

Kiro: Things belonging to next week shall be left to next week. Let’s hurry and see what delicious foods there are.

Standing next to the snacks stall, the both of us involuntarily glance at the same spot-

Golden-bright tornado potatoes are lined up neatly behind the glistening glass shelf. The strong scent of fried potatoes awaken the hungry bug in my belly.

Three minutes later, we carry three sticks of tornado potatoes, walking along the street of the temple fair.

Kiro: It’s horrible that there aren’t smaller versions of this. Otherwise, we’d be able to try all sixteen flavours!

MC: Exactly! If we weren’t leaving room for snacks later, we’d have definitely gotten them all!

We nibble on the carefully selected spicy river snail noodles, smoked salmon and honey flavoured tornado potatoes. Fragrance and crispiness mark the start of the Spring Festival’s delicacy journey.

-

🌟 Location: Game Stall 🌟

Kiro: Scissors, paper...

MC: Stone!

Kiro: I also did ‘paper’!

At a tie yet again, the level of chemistry we have is really pretty high.

MC: Why don’t we state the game we want to try at the same time? Three, two, one!

Kiro: Pitch-pot!

MC: Pitch-pot!

Kiro: Great minds think alike.

[Note] Pitch-pot is a traditional East Asian game that requires players to throw sticks, arrows, darts, etc. from a distance into a large canister!

Without another word, I quickly pull him over to the destination.

When we arrive at the pitch-pot stall, there aren’t many people there. A few participants even wear Hanfu while playing.

Kiro: So cool. Next time, we've got to dress like that too.

MC: It’s more practical for you to think about how to throw the arrows into the canister first.

Kiro: No problem. Leave it to me!

The so-called “leave it to me” is basically Kiro borrowing the flexibility from years of dancing experience, and leaning forward.

Instead of saying that he’s “throwing” the arrows, it’s more accurate to say that he’s “dropping” the arrows. But it’s actually really effective.

Fan A: Look at that guy over there. His profile resembles Kiro.

Fan B: Yes, yes, the way he stretched his arm out - doesn’t it look like the signature move from his recent title track?

Kiro stiffens. Hand trembling, the final arrow falls outside the canister.

Our eyes meet, and we hurriedly take the prize from the store owner, fleeing the scene quickly.

-

🌟 Location: Firecracker Stall 🌟

Kiro: “Tiny Magic Firecrackers”? Why does that sound like a secret weapon belonging to a superhero?

Kiro and I are squatting in front of a stall selling firecrackers, and he’s looking at the rope-like firecrackers in my hand.

MC: In that case, I’ll give you a proper look at the broad and profound world of firecrackers. Here. Hold this end, then light the other end.

Kiro follows what I say, and my words are drowned out amid the loud sounds of the firecrackers.

Even though it’s daytime, the flames from the tiny firecrackers remain spectacular.

The fireworks extinguish very quickly, and Kiro’s blue eyes sparkle.

Kiro: Turns out there are firecrackers I can hold in my hand! It reminds me of a French cartoon with a mystical dragon with the ability to produce fireworks! I wonder if I’d look dashing in pictures if I were to swing them around at night?

Despite my repeated reminders telling him to take care of his safety, he continues setting off a box of tiny firecrackers.

Seeing his face blackening from the smoke, I chuckle while buying him another stick.

-

🌟 Location: Auspicious Stall 🌟

Kiro: So? Can you see it?

MC: Mm... I think I see the word “Middle”.

This year’s Auspicious Stall involves pulling slips of paper which have been tied onto red strings at quite a height, and they aren’t easy to retrieve.

We’re currently looking through two binoculars that Kiro conjured out of nowhere, carefully inspecting the thin slips of paper to see if we can spot the words on them.

MC: I think I see one with the word “Great” - it’s over there.

Kiro quickly brings over a ladder and steps onto it. With my guidance, he selects a slip.

Unfolding it, the red “Small Blessings” rests on the paper quietly. At the bottom, there’s a random line written it: “Men of great wisdom often seem slow-witted”.

I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Kiro: Ooh, why do I feel as though the words are implying something about me?

MC: So why were you so determined to draw “Great Blessings”?

Kiro: It’s all because I want everything in life to go smoothly for you...

Kiro sighs, and it seems he’s genuinely upset about this. My heart grows warm.

MC: With Kiro by my side, I’m already lucky enough!

-

🌟 Location: New Year Handmade Items Stall 🌟

Next to the table, Kiro is facing the sample “ushering in wealth and prosperity” ideogram.

Kiro: You know that I’m not really good at drawing. This is far too difficult to write.

MC: But earlier, you very clearly promised that you’d write a word for me.

Kiro looks aggrieved.

Kiro: Could you pick an easier word? I can’t write it if it’s too difficult. If it looks ugly, the blessings won’t come true.

MC: I’ll lower the difficulty for you then. Just write the word “blessing”.

Kiro nods happily, copying the word incredibly earnestly.

Since he isn’t used to writing with a brush, every stroke is extremely meticulous.

Even after he’s done with the final stroke, Kiro’s brush doesn’t stop.

Kiro: In order to make up for the strokes I couldn’t write, I’ve specially drawn a few more...

Two teddy bears are leaning their heads against each other. The teddy bear on the right even has an adorable tiny flower on its head.

Kiro: This is a out-of-print, limited-edition Kiro calligraphy, and it’s given to the only Miss Chips in the world. Don’t worry, I’ll continue creating things for you wholeheartedly in the year ahead.

[parvulous-writings]

A Ship’s Crew

Victor Farley x Mainland!Reader

Genre:  Adventure

Warnings: Mentions of death, and bones.

Summary: The reader has chosen to join Captain Victor Farley, and the crew of the Omen. An introduction to the main members of The Omen. 

Words: 2.6K

Notes: Wow! Recently reached 200 followers! I am beyond amazed! Thank you all so, so much for showing interest in my work! It means so much to me! :D  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Thank you to the amazing @rey-is-not-a-skywalker​ for allowing me to use their wonderful characters, Stubbs and Destiny! Truly, it would not be a story without that pair.  This is for you, bor. 

Not my gif 

“Well, now you know just a little bit more about the world around you, and what we as a crew stand for.” Victor spoke again. “You of course have a day or so to think on it, but… Would you care to join us?” He extends a hand to you.

Do you take it?

You consider the Captain’s offer for a moment, running your current and available options through your mind, before extending your hand to meet his, shaking it with a firm grip. He gave you a charming and hearty grin, starting to laugh happily. “Oh, splendid, splendid!” He exclaimed, moving his other hand so that they both clasped yours. “We’ll make you feel right at home here, I assure you... We’ll get you your own equipment when we get to Galleon’s Grave- for now, though, let’s get you introduced properly to the crew, shall we?” He grinned, walking around the table, and putting an arm over your shoulder. “Ah, wait, hold on.” He chuckled, slipping away from you again and grabbing his heavy coat from where he had left it over the back of the chair. He slipped his arms through the green and grey sleeves, doing up the middle two buttons. Victor looked to you, gesturing with his head towards the cabin door. “Well, let’s get moving then, whilst there’s still some daylight to be utilised.” He held the heavy door for you, and you step out on to the deck again.  The crew were still rushing this way and that- though they seemed to have calmed down considerably since you last saw them. They were moving much slower now, more of a meander than anything. Victor payed them no or little mind, beckoning for you to follow him up some steps, towards the helm. You take the steps carefully as the keel of the ship rode and broke through a particularly rough wave. Farley cleared his throat to capture your attention, and you turn to look towards him, rather than the expansive open waves that covered the horizon. “This man here,” He placed his gloved hands on the shoulders of the man stood at the helm- his bright red and yellow coat a stark contrast to the dull and dark colours of the ship’s deck. “Is Stubbs. He’s my first mate; and the finest merchant I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting on these seas.” The man he was essentially showering with compliments gave a quiet chuckle.  “Thank you, Captain.” Stubbs replied, a wide smile on his face.  “Of course, my good man. You know I only speak the truth.” Farley gave him a fond smile as he spoke. “We’ve known each other since the day I arrived on these seas,many years ago,  and hopefully we’ll know each other for many more to come.” Stubbs nodded happily in agreement with this. It was quite clear from the way they were acting around each other that they were close. They were so relaxed, and so obviously happy, it brought a smile to your own face. 

“So, sir,” You start, and Victor turned his gaze onto you. “How long have you been here?” You asked him, and his brows furrowed slightly as he started to think. He ran one hand over his mustache and down his beard. “I’m not quite sure... I had just turned nineteen when I decided to stay here on the Sea of Thieves...” He looked to Stubbs, “How many years have we known each other, Stubbs?” He asked, quietly, as if he didn’t want you to hear him. Stubbs shook his head with a gentle laugh, “Too many, and not enough, sir.” Was the first mate’s happy reply. Victor playfully rolled his eyes at this answer, laughing softly at his friend.  “Good enough, thank you,” He started to move away from the helm, beckoning for you to follow behind him.  “Before you go, sir- we’ve about an hour till we arrive at Galleon’s Grave.” Stubbs pointed to the horizon as he spoke- and you could see a rather pointed island off in the distance, and you presumed it to be the outpost that Victor had spoken about prior.  “Ah, brilliant. Keep her steady for me for the time being. I’ll bring her in to port shortly.” He assured Stubbs, which seemed to relief the merchant a little bit. Truth be told, it was risky business letting anyone besides Captain Farley sail The Omen into port, either at an outpost or an island, for the ship did not seem to respond as well to anyone else. 

You get guided down the steps back onto the main deck. Victor leads you towards the central mast, on which leant a young woman- topless bar a few deep blue bandages around her chest, shorts with a belt that seemed to only serve the purpose of holding a cutlass every now and then. Her chest was smothered in tattoos, similar to how Victor’s arms had been. These were very different in hue though; where Victor’s had been a rather faded black ink, this woman’s was a stark and rather vibrant red. They looked almost... Sore.  “This is Destiny.” Victor’s voice roused you from your thoughts, as your eyes locked with the cerulean haired woman, who gave you a little bit of a smirk. “Our resident Reaper representative.”  “Try saying that three times fast, eh, sir?” Destiny chuckled, as she pushed herself away from the mast. Victor rolled his eyes at her joke, folding his arms over his chest and using one hand to prompt her to introduce herself through her own words. Destiny turned her gaze back to you, “As Captain Farley said- I’m the Reaper’s Bones representative here on The Omen. I do what I have to to get a job done, you follow?” She paused, and you gave her a little bit of a vague look. “Okay, okay; I do risky things some people think are stupid.” She simplified her explanation quickly.  “They are stupid.” Victor mumbled as he looked over to the right, and Destiny sighed in exasperation.  “No, they’re not. Name one thing I’ve done recently that was stupid, Captain.” She challenged.  “Would you like the alphabetical list, or the chronological one? I’m fairly certain that Stubbs has both in his possession.” Farley replied, deadpan. Destiny didn’t look impressed, to say the least.  “Off the top of your head, sir.” She clarified.  “Alright.” Victor adjusted his stance slightly, prepping himself for his example. “Last Monday- we were doing our usual route around Crescent Isle and Sailor’s Bounty, and you launched yourself off of the ship, and straight into a gunpowder skelly, merely because you claimed to see what we were searching for.” You didn’t understand much of what Victor was saying, but from the mention of gunpowder you gathered it was none too pleasant.  “I did see it! I saw the loot, I swear!” She exclaimed. “The skeleton just... Got in the way!  It wasn’t there when I fired myself out of the canon!” Victor ran his hand over his face as Destiny kept on talking.  “You may be one of my most trusted friends, my girl, but.. Sometimes I do wish you’d think things like that through, rather than being so... Recklessly impulsive.” He turned on the heel of his boot to walk away, but it seemed that Destiny had one last thing to add.  “I got us the gold, though, didn’t I?” You didn’t need to look at Destiny to know she had a rather smug smirk on her face- you could hear it in her tone. Victor looked over his shoulder, and gave a simple nod.  “Yes, Destiny, you got us the gold.” He replied, simply, before facing ahead again and heading up towards the held once more. Destiny gave you a two fingered salute as she took up her normal space leaning against the central mast- where you had found here earlier.  “Catch you later, rookie.” She grinned at you, before turning her attention back to the crew who were now rushing around about her. 

You jog to catch up with Victor, nearly slipping on the sea-soaked wood beneath your feet. The Captain grabbed your forearm, laughing softly. “Careful there.” He pulled you back up so you could steady yourself again. “Don’t worry, you’ll be getting used to things like that...” He told you as he started up the steps towards Stubbs and the helm. “You know what? I’ll buy you a good pair of boots- you’ll be needing them I think.” He glanced down at your shoes as he spoke. You smile appreciatively at his offer, and nod heartily in agreement. “You never know,” The Captain continued, “You night be able to get a coat like mine.” He mused.  Stubbs was within earshot of the pair of you now, and merely laughed at Victor’s comment. “Who on all these seas would want a coat as heavy or as dull as yours, Sir?” The merchant joked with a wide grin, to which Victor replied with a playful slap. At this, instead of retaliating, Stubbs relinquished the wheel- and it was here you managed to catch a glimpse of what the wheel was fashioned out of. Instead of wood, as one may have expected, the spokes were made out of... Bones. Human bones. You give a quiet, almost horrified gasp as you take an instinctive step back, and Stubbs quickly moves to catch you should you fall. “I know how bad it may seem to you,” The Aussie blurted, “But truthfully it’s not as bad as it may seem- they’re skeleton bones!” He exclaimed, before realising what might be wrong with that explanation. “That is to say, they were essentially dead when we got to them...” He explained, and you calmed down ever so slightly.  “You remember what I said about the Order of Souls?” Victor asked you, calling over his shoulder as he navigated the sea vessel around a rock protruding from the ocean waves, “Well, this is one of the rewards they may try to give you when you bash enough skeletons back into the sand. The capstan, and canons are the same- see?” He pointed briefly forward, down to the deck. At a glance, you didn’t see anything as unusual as the wheel had been. Then you saw them- first the skull, seated in the middle of the capstan, surrounded by femurs; and then the canons, adorned with the ribcages of long dead skeletons. Truly, if you were an enemy of the Order of Souls, The Omen would be one hell of an adversary to get through. 

“Raise middle and back sails!” Victor bellowed, making sure his voice reached all the crew on deck. The crew immediately set about following the orders they had been given, shouting to one another to communicate which way to pull the ropes, all working together as one to do as they had been told. Victor was quickly turning the wheel, and now you could in part understand why his arms had been so toned when he rolled up his sleeves back in the captain’s cabin. “Raise the front sail!” His voice boomed again, as the ship drew closer to the wooden dock.  “Should we anchor, sir?” Stubbs asked, and Victor shook his head in reply.  “When do we ever anchor, Stubbs?” He retorted with a faint chuckle. “It makes us sitting ducks- we’ve been through this before.”  “I know, Captain,” Stubbs sighed, sounding a little exasperated. He shook his head as Victor patted his shoulder with a laugh.  “Now, now, don’t go sulking off. I know that look.” Victor grinned at the man he was speaking with. “I was hoping you could help Ver and Jade deliver some of our cargo to the merchants whilst I take our new crew member down to the tavern and the other facilities available.” Stubbs looked over his shoulder with a smile.  “Alright... I can never refuse something like that from my Captain.” The merchant mused, before heading down the stairs onto the main deck, talking with two other crew members dressed in similar clothes to him- they must have been Jade and Ver.  “Right, now this way,” Victor caught your attention, leading you to the side of the ship on deck, where a gang plank had been lowered onto the dock. The sound of Victor’s boots on the surface of the wood sounded almost like a horse, and you followed swiftly after, glancing up and down the dock. 

You had disembarked near a small market stall-like structure built into the dock- covered in crates, cages and other goods to be transported across the seas. Stubbs, Ver and Jade moved towards the small area, arms full of crates of silks and tea. They were very clearly the merchants, and welcomed the three pirates graciously.  You walk further, and the wooden planks of the dock transition into soft sand. You walk up a little slope, catching up with Victor and walking beside him as he reaches the door of the local tavern. There was a woman leaning against a support beam, and eating a mango.  “Ah, Captain Farely. It’s good to see you again, how long has it been?” She asked him with a smile.  “A long time, Larina.” Victor replied with a chuckle, “But I can’t stop now- new crewmate to become acquainted with,” He nodded to you as he held the heavy tavern door open, gesturing for you to enter the dimly lit establishment first. “I’ll be seeing you.” He nodded to Larina, ducking inside  as she waved her goodbye with a low chuckle. 

The tavern was rather small- it would just barely be able to fit the crew of the Omen in there, and not all of them would be able to sit down. “You go and find a seat, I’ll get us some drinks.” He told you, and you nodded in reply. He approached the bar, smiling in greeting at the barmaid. You see them exchange a few words as you take a seat at a round, rough table. The wood threatened to stab a splinter into you hand or finger, so you try to keep your skin away from the surface. Victor soon returned to you, placing a large, metallic tankard in front of you; to which you give him a quizzical look. “Is this..?”  “All yours, yes.” Victor chuckled. “It’s alright, I was just as concerned when my captain put my first tankard in front of me.” He told you, taking a slow sip of the frothy grog in his own tankard. “Take it slowly- it’s strong stuff. You’ll get used to it eventually, but for now just take it one mouthful at a time,” He suggested with a warm and friendly smile. He then raised his tankard ever so slightly, extending it to you. “Well- to the newest member of the family on The Omen!” He proclaimed. “May your seas be blue and calm, you gold and glory bountiful in equal measure!” He chuckled, as you gently knocked your tankard against his with a small, almost invisible sheepish smile. You take a cautious sip of the alcohol, and almost choke on the liquid.  “Oh my god,” You sputtered. “That’s revolting!” You slam the tankard down onto the table, causing it to shake, and Victor chuckles lightly.  “Yes...” He agreed quietly, looking down into the barrel of his drink. “It is less than savoury... But honestly, after a while, you don’t really notice it.” He leant a little bit closer to you so he could whisper. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to finish it all.” He assured you, before leaning back and getting comfortable again. “Anyway. After this, we’ll get you some proper gear- you can pick out whatever you like, I’ll splash out on you this once. But you lose or damage any of it- you’re on your own for that.” He grinned playfully.  “Alright, thank you, Victor.”  “My pleasure,” Farley nodded, raising his tankard again before taking another sip. 

[lovelywingsart]

Fresh Air

-- Karl Heisenberg x OC (AFAB, She/They) --

This is technically the second story I have so far, but of course it isn't the second in the entire timeline. I'm posting the ones I have in chronological order for now!

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*Warnings?: Mention of memory loss

Summary: A little adventure leads Emelia to Karls personal workshop near the surface level. Turns out it's not as warm as the factory, and there may be a small surprise in store for her...

The hall was mostly silent, almost closed off from the rest of the factory. Emelia wandered through, looking through every nook and cranny she could see for an opening. She swore she saw him come this way... or at least she thought she did. She wasn't too incredibly fond of the man, but curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she found herself following him in order to explore.

She only paused as she heard distant humming, following the sound quietly. The noise seemed to reverberate quietly as she grew closer, and she found it was coming from a grate near the ceiling. She looked around, only finding straight piping to climb up with. 'This works...' she thought, carefully maneuvering to climb the pipe and look through the grate. There... She could see him in a smaller wooden chair, casually smoking his cigar and writing on... something. The workbench had been partially covered by a fabric of sorts, but the rest of the area was surprisingly organized despite the random clutter. She perked up slightly as she heard the humming and muttering of a song she wasn't familiar with as he mindlessly scribbled, and she carefully inspected the hatch for the grate. It wasn't locked... She could open it silently, right? With a careful nudge, she lifted it about an inch, only to cringe as it let out a horrendous squeaking noise.

The sound of humming stopped as the man whirled around in the chair, and she nearly fell as he stood threateningly. She froze as metal pieces were suddenly in the air, and he gave an irritable look.

"What the hell are you doing?!" He snarled, barely calming once he realized it was her. Emelia stared at him for a moment before gulping slightly and slowly emerging with a grunt as she hauled herself up.

"I was just... looking around..." she said quietly, pushing herself up to sit on the edge with a huff. "Take my bloody head off why don't you, Heisenberg..."

"I should. How did you find this?"

She didn't move as he made his way over, and she nearly thought he would kick her back down. But instead, he simply stood next to her as she looked up at him.

"I followed you. Kind of. I'm not entirely stupid, you know..." She mumbled, finally pulling her legs up before closing the hatch. She saw him take a step back from the corner of her eye before she turned and looked around. "Is this your... 'office'?"

There was silence for a moment before he finally let out an amused chuckle.

"No, of course not." He replied, making his way back to the bench and taking another drag of the cigar. It smelled... oddly sweet, she thought.

She looked around again, settling herself on the ground near the hatch. It was then that she noticed it was... cold. Much colder than the factory... Her eyes trailed over to the set of stairs that led up and she tilted her head, her face twisting in slight confusion.

"Does... Does that lead outside...??" She asked. He turned his head to look at her, arching a brow.

"Yes...?"

Outside.... Outside.

"I..." she tried, reaching to rub her arm. It was getting colder the more she sat here... even the slightly tattered long sleeve shirt she wore was feeling through it. But she kept her eyes on the door.

"I... haven't been outside..." she muttered.

There was more silence as he stared at her, only to start laughing.

"What do you mean you haven't been outside?? You were human, weren't you?" He said, turning to face her with an amused grin. But that grin faltered as she looked at him with a frown.

"I don't remember..." she shook her head slightly, her voice quiet. "I've been down there since I got here, you know that."

"Y-... Right." He managed, looking to the stairs himself. A grin then returned to his face, and he made his way back to her. She jumped as he held out his hand. "Come on, then."

She stared at his hand for a moment.

"... What?"

"We're going outside, Emelia. I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, now come on before I push you back down that hole." He played, smirking as she glared at him. But she took his hand carefully as he helped her stand, leaning on him slightly as she kept her balance. He was... warm. Almost as warm as the factory itself, she thought.

She followed as he lead her up the stairs and to a door at the top, her eyes taking in her surroundings. This looked so different compared the caverns of the factory... Brighter, no giant machinery, and not entirely carved out of rock. In fact, her face lit up with surprise as he opened said door and turned the corner, finding what almost seemed like the inside of a decently sized garage or shed. She paused as she looked around, her eyes focusing on every little thing, from smaller scraps on the floor to ropes on the support beams. And it was cold... So cold.. She could feel Heisenbergs eyes on her, meeting his curious gaze behind the glasses he wore.

"Yes?" He asked. She shook her head.

"Nothing, I just..." she started, simply taking a breath and looking around once more. "This is... different..."

He was silent for a moment before laughing, catching her off guard enough to jump.

"Wait until you go outside, then. The great outdoors!" He joked, wandering off to the side and beginning to rummage through a pile of things.

Emelia kept her eyes on him, watching as he turned and grabbed a thick looking piece of fabric and tossed it at her. She caught it quickly, coughing as dust flew off.

"What-"

"Cover yourself. You'll need it." He replied simply, making his way to the door.

Emelia said nothing, only listening and shrugging the fabric over her shoulders with an irritated huff and following. She stopped next to him as he returned his cigar between his teeth, only to jump back with a gasp as he suddenly swung the door open.

A blast of freezing air entered the building, and she was suddenly blinded by a layer of white on the ground. She covered her face with the fabric, but dropped it slowly as Heisenberg walked out.

"I hate the cold!" He laughed, turning to her. "Welcome to snow, Emmy."

"Snow..." she repeated, now staring wide-eyed at the area around him. Snow... Snow... That was... familiar. Very familiar...

She took a few steps forward, looking down as she felt her boot sink into the whiteness. She felt the still falling flakes land on her head, and she looked up. It was so bright... And cold. But it was still almost fascinating.

"Bring up anything familiar?" Heisenberg asked, walking back to her. She glanced at him before nodding.

"Maybe a little..." Her voice was quiet, "But not much..."

"At least it's something." He shrugged, taking a drag off of the cigar once more. Her lip curled into a slight snarl as he blew the smoke, some ending up in her face. She suddenly reached out and plucked it from his fingers in irritation.

"Hey-" he started, only stopping as she put it between her own lips. Her eyes met his as she took a long, slow breath, the smoke flowing from between her teeth.

"This I remember how to do..." She said quietly, inhaling once more before finally handing it back. She had to admit, she had slowly started to enjoy messing with him as much as he did her. "Next time it's mine..."

She looked away from the dumbfounded look on his face, looking out to the snowy fields. It was so... peaceful. Entirely different from the factory... Bright sky, large snowy mountains... Any previous thoughts left her mind as she stood, almost letting the snow accumulate on her shoulders and dampening her hair. She took a large breath, inhaling the fresh, crisp air before taking another step forward.

The next thing she knew, the fabric had slid off her shoulders as she began to run, vaguely hearing Heisenberg call out behind her. She only stopped as she nearly tripped over a piece of scrap sticking out from the snow, her lungs burning and breathing ragged as she looked up to the sky once more. She wanted to remember... Oh god, she wanted to remember. Vague memories of snow played over in her mind, triggered by the feeling of the cold substance, but she could barely understand them. They seemed too far away in time to even register. She hadn't been outside in months... Maybe even over a year, but she didn't know... The sweetness from the cigar on her tongue seemed to ground her as she stood in place, only to fall to her knees and sink into the snow. She kept her head up, keeping her eyes to the sky as she let herself fall back, the freezing chill reaching her bones after only a second. She could somewhat hear crunching footsteps approaching as she lay in the snow, her tattered clothing now undoubtedly wet and mildly uncomfortable. She closed her eyes for a moment as the footsteps got closer, only opening them again once a shadow crossed her eyelids. She met the concerned, yet somewhat irritated face of Heisenberg as he stood over her.

"You're an odd one..." he mumbled, only to jerk back as a single tear fell from the corner of her eye.

Emelia reached up with a freezing hand, wiping away the tear and some snow flakes with confusion.

"What..." she started, only to look back at the man over her. He gave a huff, backing away slightly.

"That's enough, Emelia." He said, looking around. It seemed as if her were searching for something; or keeping a lookout. "Time to go back inside. It's damn cold out here."

"I... I know, I..." she tried, only stopping as she realized she was shivering. The realization of the sheer cold suddenly hit her, and she bolted up into a sitting position. She looked at her clothes, frowning as she realized they were entirely wet. She was soaked to the bone from simply laying, and she looked back up at Heisenberg for a moment before sighing.

He held out his hand once more, and she grabbed it as her legs wobbled somewhat once she stood. She jumped as he returned the heavy fabric around her shoulders, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a light push to start her moving. But she didn't argue, keeping her head down and focusing on the light warmth she could feel from him. It wasn't until they were at the doors that she spoke again.

"... s-sorry..." she mumbled, shivering as she stepped over the threshold of the shed.

"Maybe think next time you decide to run off, yeah?" He said, glancing as her once they were both inside.

".... sorry..." she repeated quietly.

Heisenberg closed the door and latched it shut before silently taking her arm and leading her down the stairs once more. She didn't look at him. She couldn't tell what he was thinking as they reached his work space, shivering once he finally let go and paused for a moment to look at her. He seemed to think before sighing.

"You can be a real pain in the ass, Emmy..." he said, wandering into a separate area through a door that was off to the side. "I must say I'm happy you're not AS brainless as the others, but not by much."

"A-At least I can s-speak to you..." She replied, stuttering from her heavy shivers. She tilted her head as she heard rustling, running a hand through her damp hair. "And n-n-not cut off my own limbs..."

She couldn't stop the small twitching smile as she heard a genuine laugh from him. It wasn't often, but at least it meant he was in a decent mood.

"I'll give you that, too." He said, finally emerging. "Here."

He shoved a bundle of clothing into her chest, earning a light cough from the force. She looked at them, confused.

"What are these...?"

"Clothes to replace the ones you have now." He replied simply. "They're old, but durable. And not wet. You should fit"

"... Oh..." she managed, staying silent for a moment before nodding. "Thank you..."

Heisenberg didn't reply, instead giving an acknowledging grunt and backing away. Emelia stared at the clothes for a moment before looking back at the grate, taking a breath and making her way over. She only stopped as she heard him chuckle, looking back at him.

"You don't have to go back down if you don't want to, you know." He said, sitting back down in the chair he had been in previously. He gestured to the room around them, as well as the door. "This place is bigger than you may think."

She looked at him for a moment before letting out her own chuckle, surprising him enough to look at her.

"I'm good." She said, watching as he tilted his head. "That was... That was enough fresh air for today... And besides, I'd rather be back down there."

"Oh? And why is that?" He asked. She crouched in front of the latch, sliding it open and lifting the grate. She swung her legs down before looking back at him one last time with an amused smile, clutching the fabric around her shoulders and the clothing to her chest.

"I think I hate the cold."

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Nine

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. Synathehol is a TNG thing I think, so. On Earth in this story they drink alcohol, thank you. I hope everyone is well :) Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in? 

Shock of all shocks, I didn’t sleep well. “What are you listening to?” Thira asked as I pulled my headphones out. “Oh, it’s...” I floundered before waving her off, “Don’t worry about it, I can only understand, like, some of it.” “What are you up to?” “I’ve got a lecture in--” I glanced at the time, “Like an hour, so I have got to run.” “Are you coming to Liquara tonight?” Thira asked, watching me gather my things. “Ah... I think so?” I glanced back at her as I packed my PADD into my bag. “You can take one night off,” Thira said, “Loosen up, have a couple of drinks...Maybe meet somebody?” She waggled her brows at me, and I laughed, unable to help it. “I don’t think that’ll be happening,” I said, pulling bag onto my shoulder. “Come on, when was the last time you dated?” Thira asked, folding her legs up under herself. “I don’t know, my last year of the Academy?” I shrugged. “...Yikes,” Thira muttered. “Thank you for that-- I’m leaving now!” I tacked on before hurrying out of our room. -- I did manage to make it to my Dominionese lecture on time, with a very large coffee (loaded with extra espresso and additional caramel drizzle). I got to the lecture hall just on time and took the only available seat left - right next to Captain Pike. I couldn’t help my stiff posture as I sat down, taking out my PADD and putting on the virtual display sensory headset that was left out for me. As the instructor began to lay out what we’d be working on, I felt Pike lean over, his bicep pressing against mine as he murmured, “Late night?”

I hummed the affirmative, picking up my coffee and taking a sip as if to prove it. I heard Pike chuckle beside me, and I fought the urge to turn my head, see the waiting smile. I kept my eyes on the instructor, then on the Dominionese that appeared on the headset. I could still feel Pike’s arm pressed to mine; that didn’t matter, right? I could focus on something other than contact. I zoned in on the text on the headset, letting my fingers move over my PADD as I worked through the first few rows of translations. Now and again, the instructor would interrupt us, calling on students to read their translations aloud, correcting for grammar and syntax. Pike and I escaped the questioning; I’d found that unless the workshops or classes were geared specifically toward alumni, instructors tended to leave visiting students alone. Pike didn’t lean over to chat anymore throughout the rest of the class, which was a relief, but he didn’t lean away, either. He was close throughout, arm still resting against mine, thighs occasionally brushing, or our feet would knock against one another under the desk. Every single time I’d tell myself that if this was Una, or Thira, it wouldn’t be making my heart jump the way it was. If this was Spock-- Actually, no. Spock would keep his limbs to himself.

Nevertheless, class passed without incident. I removed the headset as it ended, closing my eye for a moment to help it readjust. “Well, that was informative,” Pike piped up. I glanced over at him, nodding, and was more than a little relieved to find him focused on packing away his things. I turned back down to my PADD, saving the notes I’d taken as I saw Pike’s head turn back to me, presumably as a result of my lack of verbal response. “You heading back to the ship?” He prompted. “Ah-- No. There’s a language panel on Iconian in...”  I glanced at the time on my PADD, “Like ten minutes, so, I’m just gonna hang out here.” "Packed morning,” Pike commented, brows raised. I shrugged. “I just--” “Like to keep busy?” Pike finished knowingly, smiling. I returned the smile in spite of myself, nodding. “Exactly,” I confirmed. “Well, try to get some rest some time this week, lieutenant,” the Captain said, standing and patting me on the shoulder as he passed me. I returned my eyes to my PADD, unthinkingly answering, “Yeah, you, too.” I heard Pike’s steps falter, but I didn’t raise my eyes to meet what I was sure was a questioning gaze. I just reopened my Dominionese and reviewed my answers until I was sure he was gone. -- I did not want to go out. After the last 24 hours I’d had, I just wanted to take an extra long, extra hot shower and curl up in bed with my PADD and a bottle Risian wine. But I also knew that if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Thira -- and possibly from Una. I got to Liquara a little while after everyone else (the panel on Iconian had run long and delayed my getting back to the ship; I’d taken longer to get ready because I’d had to re-talk myself into going every five minutes). “You’re alive?” Thira teased as I settled into a seat beside hers and across from Una. There were a few others at the table - Spock, Nhan, and Connolly, as well as a few people from engineering that I vaguely recognized. “I was just telling everyone how you had your headphones on this morning and you were listening to something that sounded so harsh, but kinda...Lyrical. What was that?” Thira asked. The surrounding party looked at me expectantly and I answered, “Klingon poetry.” “I wasn’t aware there as an intensive on Klingon poetry this week,” Una commented, brow raised. “This was more of an independent study situation,” I admitted. “Is there anything in particular that sparked your sudden interest in such a topic?” Spock asked. I shrugged, reaching for a menu and skimming it in favor of meeting anyone’s eye. “Just had the urge, I guess,” I excused before looking around, “I haven’t been here in a while, so, someone refresh my memory: are the slush-o mixes worth the hangover?” -- I stayed out later than I had anticipated. I didn’t partake in many sugary alcoholic drinks on the Enterprise, so it didn’t take long for a decent buzz to kick in. People peeled off as the night wore on, until it was down to myself, Thira, Una, Spock, and Connolly -- practically the ready room crowd.

I should not have stayed out, though. I should’ve had one drink and then ducked out gracefully. But I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in? “My point is, if I chose first to go back and stop T.S. Eliot from writing Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and then subsequently traveled forward in time and stopped Oppenheimer from designing the atomic bomb--” “Why would you choose to halt the writing of a book rather than the creation of a catastrophic weapon?” Spock asked. “Okay, two reasons: One - It is a time machine, Spock, I’d have literally nothing but time. Two-- No, actually, three reasons-- two, that book came out in 1939, the Manhattan Project didn’t start until 1942, so I think it is safe to say that despite its historical significance to mankind, I would not be doing the world a disservice by visiting those events in chronological order.” “And the third reason?” Una asked. "The movie CATS was the first step to the subsequent tanking of Universal Studios in the 22nd century, so that’s my first priority if I ever get a personal time machine,” I said simply. His laugh joined in with the others-- my ear caught on that sound, the way it had the night before. My eyes darted to the other end of the table, and I felt my smile falter a little. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Spock that I hadn’t even noticed the Captain settled on the other side of Connolly. Pike’s eyes met mine as the laughter settled, and I gave him a quick smile before averting my eyes. I could feel Una looking at me, and when I raised my eyes to hers, I found her brow quirked. She peered around Connolly at the Captain. “What kept you?” She asked. “I was speaking with Admiral Cornwall about our next mission. Nothing for us to discuss tonight. How was the lecture?” He asked. When silenced followed the question, I realized it had been directed at me. I met Pike’s eye again. “Informative.” I left it there, picking up the menu again and looking it over. Part of me already know I was going to be switching to water, though. -- I remembered why I’d liked being called to the ready room so much at the beginning - when there were so many of us, before I was better acquainted with the Captain, it was easier for me to hang back; I didn’t feel as pressured to speak up. And at Liquara, with Una, Thira, and Connolly there to steer the conversation, and Spock to interject (heavily), I didn’t feel that the conversation lagged anywhere. And I was being good - keeping my eyes to myself, only looking at the Captain when he was speaking; smiling and laughing an appropriate amount, and definitely, definitely not thinking about that sigh of his name and the giggle I’d heard the night before. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving.” Thira had managed to catch what I had assumed was a subtle shrugging on of my jacket, but what to her was apparently a beacon of retreat. I gave her a small, regretful smile. “I just realized how late it is.” “You’re not going to the long-range sensor lab again, are you?” Spock asked, watching me. Unbeknownst to me, he’d been there himself the night before, and had actually left shortly before I had. I laughed a little, shaking my head. “No, not tonight. I’ve got an Exoarchaeology and the 22nd Century intensive that I’ve gotta be up for,” I excused, “I already settled up at the bar.” “I thought you were going to ask about their drink special,” Una pointed out, raising a brow. I shrugged as I stood. “And I did. Right before I settled up. Have a good night, guys,” I cast a quick smile around, careful not to let my eyes linger on anyone for too long before I turned and left. That had been good, right? Natural. I had contributed to the conversation, I hadn’t hung on the Captain’s every word like some giggling schoolgirl. I’d more than earned that extra long, extra hot shower. And maybe one Klingon poem. “Headed for the shuttles?” Every single instinct told me to walk faster, pretend I hadn’t heard him. I turned in spite of this. He wasn’t too far behind me. I stopped walking, giving him the chance the catch up. "Sort of our only way to get back to the ship right now, so, that was the plan,” I nodded. Pike pulled his communicator out, raising it to his lips. I was a little tipsy, but I was looking at the communicator, I swear, not at Pike’s mouth. “Pike to transporter room. Two to beam up.” “But--” Before I could finish my sentence, we were in the transporter room. “But?” Pike asked before nodding to the crew. I gave them a quick wave before stepping off of the pads behind Pike. “But I thought the transporter room was out of commission until the Enterprise’s diagnostic was complete,” I said, following Pike to the turbolift. “Diagnostic was completed this morning, Enterprise was cleared,” Pike reported, brow furrowing, “I mentioned that earlier.” Maybe he had; I had been making an active effort at the bar to not listen too intently to what he was saying, and apparently I’d done too good of a job. I nodded once. “Right. Sorry, I must have slush-o mix in my ears,” I muttered. We stepped onto the turbolift, each reaching for the control panel. Pike and I both lowered our hands, and I heard Pike murmur, “Go ahead.” I entered my destination before Pike entered his. There was a pause before the lift hummed. “...Lieutenant, may I ask you something?” “‘Course.” “Please don’t take this unkindly, but,” Oh god, “Is everything alright?” I turned a frown up at Pike, confused. “Why do you ask?” “You seem to be burying yourself in work. Between the lectures yesterday and this morning,” How did he know about yesterday? “The long-range sensor lab last night, your lecture tomorrow-- I’ve been told you took Onafuwa’s one-day intensive?” Una. Blabbermouth. “All compelling evidence, but need I remind you, Captain, that we are in the same turbolift right now because we just left the same bar?” I pointed out. Pike’s brow quirked. “Be that as it may, I just wanted to ask the question on the off-chance it needed asking.” I turned my head again to face the turbolift doors. “I’m alright, Captain.” “...Then why couldn’t you look me in the eye and say that?” “Is that why you left?” I asked, looking up at him then. “Excuse me?” “The bar. Is that why you left the bar? To ask me this?” He blinked once, twice, then pursed his lips, shook his head once and said, “No.” I couldn’t help the smug look that overtook my features as the turbolift doors opened on my floor. Looking back, I’d pass the boldness off on the copious amount of slush-o mix I’d had at the bar. “Never join the Starfleet poker league, Captain. You don’t bluff well,” I said before stepping off of the lift and leaving him behind.

[pretty-face-breaker]

“You can. I can’t.”

The time has come that I add some chronology to this story. Santiago is planning escape. References this drabble.

c.w. referenced beating, whumpees planning to escape, possessive whumper, ‘belonging’ to whumper  

--

His job today was to be still and discreet. 

Each box that was loaded onto the trucks, he noted down with a quick but legible scribble. They all looked the same so he couldn’t tell which had what; although, it wasn’t that much of a mystery. It was always one of two things. Still, he didn’t ask—didn’t need to. 

The sun had stopped beating down on the workers who were bustling efficiently from truck to truck, each man pulling his share. With enough horsepower, the backs had gone from empty to neatly compact with various shapes of cardboard boxes and some steel ones. 

Hayko didn’t notice much but resolve in the tan faces, felt nothing but resolve in the way they pulled up boxes with heavily muscled shoulders. Every pen stroke of his tried to imitate that. Well, it was nearly everybody besides Don Eladio and Nick, who were more so supervising than working. 

Nick stood far enough away that he wouldn’t be breathing down his neck, but he noticed it was close enough to watch him. Hayko doubted yesterday’s scene had been forgiven so easily and although Nick was now aware of the mens’ plot, that didn’t mean he’d forgiven him for sending his worker to prison. 

No, it was more likely that he was angry. Angry he hadn’t let him deal with the issue himself. 

He felt around his mouth with his tongue, prodding the sore cheek. 

Under the weight of his silence, he wondered if he had made the right—no, intelligent choice of letting him know. Saving his skin, for once. But with further contemplation, Hayko reassured himself that if he had let the man die, he would very quickly follow him.

Their relationship was no secret and neither was the fact that his life was still owed to Nick’s decision, however painful that might have been for the first few months. Come to think of it, how had Nick managed to get away with keeping him alive as a personal pet to begin with? 

The word made him uneasy.

Hayko shook his head, clearing the tension and silently went back to scribbling down package numbers. Although, he could feel the green eyes undoing him from behind. In turn, he kept his own glued to the clipboard and tried to take up as little space as possible. Nearly two years, and he still wasn’t used to the man’s freakish possessiveness.

“Take ten,” Eladio called out gruffly, pushing off the truck he was leaning against. “I don’t wanna see any of your asses on the ground after that.” 

He let the sigh that he had been penning up in his lungs whistle out as the bustling noise stopped. As the workers cleared out for water and rest, he noticed one pair of feet that had yet to leave. Santiago.

The man was pacing slowly with his thumbs hooked in his belt and seemed aware that Hayko was watching him. Finally, he turned to meet the look. His brows were creased in frustration. 

Hayko glanced back first, checking to see if the men overlooking the operation were still there and miraculously, they weren’t. Had likely gone for a drink themselves. He inched up to the man, taking slow steps as he let the clipboard swing next to him. 

His eyes searched Santiago’s cadence. “You alright?” The question came low and for a moment, the man looked panicked as his eyes swept the area for people. He took a breath that was shakier than usual, closer to the way Hayko breathed before answering any baiting question asked by Nick. 

“Yeah, fine.” 

“I just noticed you were—... looking at me for a while as you were loading.” 

Santiago pursed his lips and admitted another “Yeah” that went high in his throat at the end. He seemed reluctant to get it out. “... Listen, you, uh, busy after this thing?” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully with the threat of spare ears. “I want to talk to you.” 

His voice was hushed and Hayko had a sense that he knew why. Whatever it was, from his shuffling, it couldn’t be said here. He went for a nod until he stopped himself and quietly returned “Sure.” 

Even if he couldn’t tell, it felt like they had come back. 

“Break’s over. Get moving,” Nick called now as if on cue, and his eyes narrowed catching sight of the two. “Love, Santiago, don’t get cute with each other when you’re working.” He scoffed at Eladio’s sharp laugh, shaking his head as they took back their place against a truck and the two culprits split immediately on the order. 

While he relaxed at the diligent obedience, he was nagged at by a suspicion that wouldn’t subside. He figured it was paranoia, if anything. Yesterday had made him paranoid.

…

Santiago was leaning against the fence when Hayko crept up to him, letting his hair down and around his shoulders. He combed a few strands loosely, as if intending for them to obscure his face a bit more. Santiago pushed off, burying his hands in his pockets. 

“I’ll get to the point.” Still hushed. 

Hayko shuffled nervously but waited with intent and focus. 

“My s—... I have a relative. They’re in Mexico. I’m not asking you to come with me all the way there but I need someone to drive me at least out of the state so I can hitch a ride.” 

“You can get out?” he breathed. 

“Yes. It took some time but-” 

“They’ll kill you if they find out… if they know.” 

Santiago’s face hardened. “Is this any way to live?” he hissed. 

Hayko was silent, speechless. Recognized that he was afraid this would be the talk. Recognized that he was afraid and that the man wasn’t. 

“Hayko, I need you to help me. I’m asking as a friend.” Santiago wet his lips, desperate to find the words he needed. “I need your help.” 

He knew what his answer would have been weeks before he gave it. “Okay.”

“You can come with me-” 

“No,” he snapped as soon as he suggested it. “I can’t. You can. I can’t.” That put an end to it for now but Hayko anticipated an argument later on. Santiago exhaled in relief and nodded, eyes dropping to the ground as he mumbled a breathless “Thank you.”  

Hayko didn’t sleep that night, thinking.  

 --

 Tagging: @doveotions @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome--hunter @heathenville

[colehasapen]

(CHAPTER 3) there's a river full of memory STAR WARS

Rex is on edge. It doesn’t show on his face - he’s too well trained to be obvious about his unease - but it hums in his bones and makes his skin itch, heart racing in his chest. His tongue feels glued to the top of his mouth, his lips refusing to form the shapes needed to speak, but he forces it, despite the way it makes him feel like his skin doesn’t fit his body, because he has duties to attend to and any slip up could have the Longnecks deciding to finally decommission him.

Cody and Obi-Wan didn’t check in. Rex knows from experience that not every comm call can be made, he knows that it’s not always possible to send a message, but Cody had messaged him, hours ago, with an all-green signal. They had created the signal even before their relationship with Cody’s General had begun, to assure each other that they’d made it out of their most recent mission in, mostly, one piece, and that they’d be free to comm after debriefing. But it hadn’t happened. Rex had waited for their usual time, he waited as it came and went, and his mind had spiraled into all the terrible things that could have happened to them since then. He’s been moving on autopilot ever since, going through his duties as is expected of him to his usual high standards, but most of his attention is on his comm, waiting to see if his brother or partner would call.

They don’t. Instead when his comm goes off, it’s General Skywalker who summons him down to the bridge.

He lets out an internal sigh when he steps into the room, bucket tucked under his arm, to find his General standing in front of the holos of Generals Windu and Yoda, a faint frown on his face. General Skywalker isn’t exactly subtle about his general dislike of the High Generals, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to make sure Rex would be there for his meetings as a form of emotional support. Rex respects and cares for his General, but it doesn’t mean he’s comfortable playing interference between him and the High Council, even if he would continue to do so if it was what his General needed him to do.

Rex snaps off a quick salute, “Generals.”

“Captain Rex.” General Windu greets, expression severe, and the tilt of General Yoda’s ears makes Rex nervous as he comes to a stop at General Skywalker’s elbow. When he glances at his General out of the corner of his eyes, the Jedi shrugs awkwardly, fiddling with the glove over his mech hand, like he tends to do when he is unsure.

The holo flickers - another call coming through - and when it’s accepted Cody shimmers into being. Rex jolts, catching himself before he can sway closer to his brother in alarm; Cody’s expression is flat, blank in the way Rex knows unnerves people who don’t know his older brother, but the minuscule twitching of his fingers against his thigh betrays his uneasy mental state.

“Welcome back, Commander.” General Windu is saying, but Rex barely hears it over his focus narrowing in on his brother.

Why is his brother in the call instead of General Kenobi? What had happened after Cody had sent the green signal?

General Windu crosses his arms over his chest, “How is Obi-Wan?” The question is odd; Rex doesn’t think he’d ever heard any of the High Generals refer to each other by their first name, or any other Jedi as such unless they were young or were a part of their lineage. It’s just a part of the Order’s culture, Rex had come to understand - a way to show respect. So why hadn’t General Windu used the other General’s title?

What had happened to Obi-Wan?

Cody’s eyes twitch slightly, and he folds his hands behind his back. “Resting again, sir.” Cody reports, “I have troopers looking after him right now.”

General Skywalker snorts, “You must have needed to chain him to the bed.” He says, and Cody flinches. General Windu grimaces, sharing a look with the ancient Jedi beside him, and General Skywalker’s brows furrow, eyes sharpening. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The Master of the Order sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Master Kenobi and Ghost Company were assigned to a mission to retrieve an ancient Force relic-”

“I’m aware.” Skywalker interrupts, and Rex winces at the disrespect aimed towards their superior officer, stamping down his own instinctive anxiety induced by the action. “What happened?”

Windu’s brows tilt, and he sighs. “As of three hours ago, Master Kenobi was chronologically regressed to the physical and mental age of a human child of twelve standard years.”

“What?” Skywalker cries, and Rex stiffens, fingers tightening on his helmet, eyes darting over to Cody’s hologram.

The Marshal Commander gramces, but inclines his head in a soundless nod. Rex shuts down his distress before he really gets the chance to feel it, pushing it away to a box to deal with later when no one could witness it. Rex shuts down his negative emotions, ignores the shaking of his hands around his bucket, and builds a wall around his thoughts.

Not now, he tells himself.

“Why wasn’t I told?!” General Skywalker demands.

“Regulations and protocol dictates that General Kenobi’s status was to be reported to the High Generals above all else.” Cody’s voice is monotonous and flat, but Rex knows his older brother better than he knows himself, and can read the silent apology in his words when their eyes meet.

But General Skywalker doesn’t know Cody, and the synthleather of the man’s glove creaks from the force of his fists clenching. “He’s my Master.”

General Yoda’s ears twitch, “His Padawan, you no longer are, Knight Skywalker.” The ancient Jedi says simply, effectively pulling Rex’s General’s ire towards himself instead of Cody. “The correct thing, Commander Cody did. Put feelings above duty, one cannot.”

General Skywalker gets that twist to his eyebrows that Rex knows - it’s the one that so often precedes an explosion or a Seppie patrol torn to shreds. This, however, is not a situation that requires a well-placed fire, so Rex clears his throat, drawing attention to himself instead of his General. “Sirs.” Four pairs of eyes swing towards him, and Rex tries to ignore the cold sweat gathering at the base of his neck. He forces his heavy tongue to move through years of practice. “Is General Kenobi’s-” he hesitates on the word, unsure what to use, “-state reversible?”

Please say yes , Rex begs to any possible higher power that may be listening. He’s a clone, he already owns nothing, not even his own life, but what he and Cody have with their Jedi is theirs . It’s the only thing they could ever claim. Not openly, of course, not while they were at war and Rex and his brothers were all-but slaves. The only thing stopping them from being recognized as slaves is the lack of laws recognizing them as sentient beings, but Obi-Wan treats them like humans. He lets them be themselves, like the individuals they couldn’t be outside of the protective walls of their rooms; he lets them be as soft and gentle as they could ever want to be, they can put away their weapons and the violence of their lives and just breathe.

They own nothing, but Obi-Wan had given them his heart. He had loved them and trusted them and treated them like people . It wasn’t just sex to the Jedi - if it was, he never would have chosen Rex - and for Rex and Cody, it was a sign that they could dare hope for an ‘after the war’. They could dare to dream.

Rex could dream. A farm, so much Cut and his family’s, the place where Rex had first started considering what he wanted in his life, and a peaceful life without any more fighting. No more death, no more worrying that his brothers won’t walk away from the next battle. Children, and a life without the knowledge of the suffering in war for them. But if Obi-Wan is gone , if he couldn’t be turned back, then he would take those dreams with him. Rex would keep fighting, of course, because that would be all he could do until he’d inevitably end up as just another name said during remembrances, he’d still keep fighting to hopefully see the end of the war.

It wouldn’t be the same though, not after his life had so dramatically changed the moment Obi-Wan had sauntered into it. Rex wasn’t sure how he’d manage to go back to the way he was if Obi-Wan was gone, not after he had fallen so hard for him.

General Windu’s frown is tight, “As of this moment, we do not know.” The High General says grimly, and Rex taps anxiously on his helmet, throat burning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” General Skywalker growls, “How do you not know? You’re the Council!”

General Windu sighs through his nose, “The Council is not all-knowing, and many of our records were lost during the Sith Wars.” He rubs a hand across his jaw, and he looks exhausted enough that Rex can read it even through the holo.

Ponds would have insisted his General rest, if he was still around to do so. He probably would have dragged him to a bed by his ear - he had done it to Cody plenty when they were still cadets.

“Master Nu is scouring the Archives for any information we have on the relic, and the Council has sent Master Tholme to study the Temple where the artifact was stored.” General Windu is speaking again, and Rex mentally throws himself as far away from his thoughts of Ponds and the body lost to the void of space as quickly as he can. “We have ordered the Negotiator to return to Coruscant while the bulk of the 212th reroute to join Knight Secura, under the command of Admiral Block.” Cody nods along as the High General speaks.

“I’ve turned control over to Captain Fordo to command the ground troops.” His brother states, “Officially, Ghost Company is docking for shore leave.”

General Yoda dips his head in agreement, “Know Young Obi-Wan’s state, none can.” The ancient Jedi says seriously.

“Shouldn’t we report this to the Chancellor?” General Skywalker asks, but General Windu shakes his head.

“We cannot let news of Obi-Wan’s condition spread, for both the security of the Republic, and his own safety.”

“Chancellor Palpatine is a wise man.” Rex’s General argues, but Rex is more inclined to agree with General Windu, despite the ache in his head that follows - the sudden burst of anxiety over not reporting to the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. “I’m sure he’d be able to help,” the Knight tells the assembled command, “Obi-Wan is a General of the GAR, the Chancellor will want him to recover.”

Generals Yoda and Windu share a long, heavy stare full of words Rex will never be able to translate, before the Grand Master shakes his head, tapping his cane pointedly on the ground. “A Jedi problem, this is.” The old green Jedi says, “A Jedi solution, it needs. Know, the Chancellor cannot.” Then, the High General studies Rex and his Jedi, humming thoughtfully, “Return to Coruscant, Torrent Company will. Classes to attend, Padawan Tano has. Meditation and relaxation, you need. Shore leave, you will have.” The statement makes the clamp around his lungs loosen, and Rex lets out a quick breath of relief. “Connect with the Negotiator, you will.”

He needs to be with Cody. Cody’s the only one who understands the crushing storm bottled into his chest, and Cody needs him too; Rex can tell just by looking at the tightness in his brother’s stance that relaxes by a fraction when the Grand Master’s order comes through.

[captainamericasbeard]

Warm Cinnamon (Prequel to Honeysuckle Girl)

Honeysuckle Girl

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 1,686

Warnings: None.

Summary: Y/N moves into the Tower and she’s overwhelmed by the scent of a certain Alpha. 

A/N:  My daughter was throwing up at 3 o’clock this morning and this dropped into my head. It’s the prequel to Honeysuckle Girl, a drabble I wrote for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ a few weeks back. Read it in chronological order or release order, whichever you chose. Fair warning, there’s no actual Bucky in this one but isn’t the thought of his scent almost enough? 

“You’re really going to like it here, everyone is really nice,” Steve says, making small talk as the elevator speeds its way up to the residential levels of the tower. You smile nervously at him while your hands fidgeted.

“I’m not going to lie, I am nervous,” you said.

“There’s no reason to be,” the alpha replied, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. The elevator reaches its destination and the doors glide open with a ding to reveal a modern yet cozy living space. Large couches and plush chairs surround a huge tv. To your left is a hallway that seems to lead to private bedrooms. From your right you can hear boisterous laughter and the sounds of cooking.

As you step off the elevator you catch a scent. It’s not fresh but it’s there and it eases your nerves head to toe. It’s all warm cinnamon and spices and leather thats been in the sun. You breath deeply looking for the source of the scent but there’s no one there.

“You okay?” Steve asks at your sudden stop. You realize you’re standing still with your nose slightly in the air and your eyes closed. You shake your head to clear your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I just smelled something is all,” you reply.

“Probably dinner. It’s Italian night and Sam goes a bit heavy on the garlic. Hope you packed your toothbrush,” Steve says chuckling at his own joke. You have to laugh at him as he puts your bags down by the elevator and leads you to the kitchen.

The whole team is gathered there and it’s an intimidating sight that stops you in your tracks. Your overwhelmed with the scents of all the alphas in the room but none of them is the one you caught by the elevator. Your shoulders slump slightly in disappointment.

“Team, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the team!” Steve announces and every eye turns towards you. They’re all friendly smiles and waves and a girl with long red hair gets up to wrap you in a warm hug.

“I’m Wanda! Let me introduce you around,” she says, kindly hooking her elbow in yours and guiding you around the room. She introduces you to everyone and settles you at the table next to her as dinner is served up. You fears and nerves are quickly calmed in the presence of these heroes. After a dinner of traditional spaghetti and meatballs and a dessert of tiramisu (Sam really goes all out) Steve catches you yawning into the back of your hand.

“Ready for bed?” He leans over and asks quietly.

“Yes, please,” you murmur sleepily. Steve gets up and announces your departure to bed while you stand and offer a wave to the group. Wanda stands and gives you another hug.

“Movies and drinks tomorrow night, yeah?” She asks glancing at Natasha.

“Absolutely,” you say, giving her hand a squeeze.

You follow Steve into the hall where he’s grabbing your bags. There’s that scent again and it gets stronger as you move down the hall. You stop in front of a closed door.

“Whose room is this?” You ask Steve, feeling rather sheepish.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve says, “he’s away on a mission. Left today.” The disappointment is clear on your face.

“For how long?” You ask.

“Couple of months at least. Sorry kid.” Steve says, chuckling at your obviously smitten state. He gently puts his hand on your back and leads you to your room. He opens the door to a beautiful cozy room complete with flowers on the bedside table.

“Wanda’s been pretty excited for you to move in. She’s the only omega in the house so I think she’s been looking forward to a friend.” You smile thinking of Wanda as you open your bags searching for a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Thank you Steve. For everything,” you say and the alpha gives you a quick squeeze before he leaves closing the door behind him.

You toss and turn for a few hours until you hear everyone’s doors close for the night. Once it’s all silent you sneak from your bed, down the hallway to Bucky’s door. Looking to your left and right you silently open the door and slip into his room. It’s simple with a messy bed, a set of drawers and an overflowing bookcase. But more importantly it smells wonderful. You lean against the closed door as you breathe in his scent for a few minutes. You feel totally relaxed as waves of spices and leather wash over you.

You know you can’t sleep in here so you slip over to the open closet and sneak out a well worn hoodie. You slide it on and zip it up letting the warmth of Bucky’s scent envelope you. You tip toe back over to the door and slip out, closing it behind you. You turn around and there’s a super soldier leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a shit eating grin on his face.

“Watcha doin’, Y/N?” He asks.

“Nothing!” You reply.

“That’s Bucky’s favorite hoodie, you know.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself as if Steve is going to try to wrestle the hoodie away from you.

“I can tell,” you say a slow smile stealing over you features.

“Alright,” Steve says with a sigh, “back to bed, kid.”

“Okay, Dad,” you joke sticking your tongue out at him as you follow him back up the hall. You slip into your bed and pull the hood over your head. You breathe deep and slip off into a sleep filled with dreams of a mystery man you’ve never met.

————

Over the next 3 months the entire team learns of your crush. You get caught sneaking out of Bucky’s room several times. Sometimes you slip in there when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Othertimes you just want to feel close to him so you lie in his bed while you scroll on your phone. And you’ve started walking around in his clothes which is pretty much a dead giveaway. Even clueless Clint eventually figures it out.

Sam teases you mercilessly about it. When you learn he’s in contact with Bucky you have to promise to do the washing up for 2 weeks to keep him from saying anything. Nat thinks it’s sweet. You had been most intimidated by the super spy at first but after a few movie nights you realize she’s and old softie with a romantic streak. Wanda shows you pictures of Bucky and you’re pleasantly surprised to find he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

One day Steve comes into the kitchen at breakfast and announces that Bucky will be returning the next day. Your heart skips a few beats and your stomach does flip flops while the rest of the team turns and looks at you.

“What?!” You cry out, crossing your arms defensively.

“Whats your move, kid?” Sam asks. You sit there with your arms crossed, staring at your empty plate and worrying your bottom lip for a few minutes. An idea crosses your mind and you look to Wanda to see what she thinks. The red head easily reads your thoughts and gives a shrug of her shoulders while she nods.

“I think it could work,” she says nonchalantly.

“What?” Sam asks impatiently. You swiftly get up from your seat and dump your plate in the sink as you scurry out to put your plan in action.

You go out and buy beautiful fresh white linens and a new white comforter for Bucky’s bed. Then you come home and spend hours meticulously crafting the loveliest nest you ever seen out of every pillow and blanket you can find in the tower. Finally you put on your favorite bright yellow scarf and curl up in the nest to take a nap, letting your scent fill the room. When you’re done sleeping, you curl the scarf up in the middle of the bed. An offering for having taken so many of Bucky’s clothes.

The next day is torture. Your a bundle of nerves, annoying everyone as you pace the tower and wait for Bucky. Finally around 3 o’clock Steve finds you and informs you that Bucky probably won’t be in till past midnight. You look as though you could burst into tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know how anxious you are to meet him. I can smell it off of you.” Steve says with a kind smile.

“It’s not that Steve. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he hates my scent. What if I’ve been dreaming about him for 3 months and it all means nothing.” You spilled out all your fears as Steve wrapped you up in a hug. Steve was all sunshine and fresh cut grass and while it was nice, it wasn’t Bucky.

“He’s going to like you, I’m sure of it. And the way you caught his scent when you first got here, the way it was the only thing that could calm you down at times, I honestly think you might be true mates. Try not to worry about it too much. Just see what the morning brings, okay?” You pull away and nod your head.

You stayed up as long as you could but eventually Steve was shaking you awake on the couch and Bucky still hadn’t come.

“Get some sleep kid,” he says as he shoves you off to bed.

“Okay Dad,” you tease. You get to your room and pull on Bucky’s favorite hoodie, zipping it all the way up. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, it mostly smells like you, but you take comfort in the fact that it’s his. You crawl into bed and you’re asleep within seconds.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning your consciousness stirs at the sound of the elevator dinging. A warm inviting scent wanders down the hallway, slips under your door, and tickles your nose. You sigh deeply in your sleep and roll over feeling calm and comforted like you haven’t felt in months.

[kairos-in-wonderland]

Day 2: Knights in Shining Armour

Right, today’s submission is going to be shorter than yesterday’s 😂 This is actually based on a wip I’m writing (but I have a habit of not writing in chronological order so it’s not being uploaded anywhere) and I thought it would be perfect for day 2, I hope y’all enjoy it!

Pairing: OC/Gwaine

Trigger warnings: violence, attempted kidnapping, strangling (only for a moment)

 .

The princess entered the tavern in one of Camelot’s border villages, taking a glance around at the patrons before taking a seat in the corner of the room. She’d been there not much less than an hour, eating and relaxing after the long ride – but then a man approached her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye, there was a silver snake emblem on his shirt and her pulse immediately quickened. He was one of Cenred’s knights.

“Well, well, well…” he started, leaning on the table, “If it isn’t the little princess of Camelot, fancy seeing you all the way out here.”

“Well, it is part of my kingdom,” she muttered, “but I don’t believe that you live in Camelot,” the princess stood, finally turning to face him, “so, what is one of Cenred’s knights doing this side of the border?”

“Well, I was just here for a drink – but now I’ve got a much better idea,” he said, reaching to touch her face. She slapped it away and reached for her dagger, “ah, you think you can put up a fight?”

“I am the daughter of Uther Pendragon, of course I can put up a fight,” she smirked – the knight drew her sword and she ducked under it, using her dagger to slice across the inside of his arm. The princess managed to disarm him and they continued to fight, but the knight managed to catch her off guard. He took the dagger from her and pinned her against the table with it against her neck.

“Looks like Uther didn’t train you too well,” the knight laughed, just as another man walked towards them.

“Need some help?” he asked, looking to the princess.

“Back off,” the knight muttered; he switched the hand he was holding the dagger in, strangling the princess as he went to slash at the newcomer. But the man was too quick, before the blade even got close to him he had punched the knight square in the face, knocking him back so hard that he knocked himself out on the table behind him. The princess coughed hoarsely as she sat up, clutching her throat.

“I think you’ll be wanting this back,” the man commented, handing her the dagger.

“Yes, and it seems I owe you my life. Thank you,” she said, getting off the table. It was at this point that she finally got a look at him – deep brown hair that flowed down by his shoulders and hazel eyes that shone gold in the light of the candles. He had a sharp jaw line that was speckled with stubble, causing the princess’ pulse to quicken, “I’d buy you a drink but I should be heading home,” he grinned at her and took the knight’s sword.

“Allow me to escort you out then?” he suggested, and she smiled back as they left the tavern together. As they approached her horse, she turned to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “What was that for?”

“For saving my life,” she said, “sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Gwaine, and you are?”

“Acelina.”

“That man in there, he kept calling you ‘princess’, are you?”

“Yes,” she nodded sheepishly, “and he’s a Knight of Essetir, that’s why he attacked me. My father is an enemy of Cenred’s, it would’ve been good leverage. So, thank you, Gwaine.”

“Perhaps you would let me join you on your ride back home?”

“Have you nothing better to do?” she laughed, and he smiled.

“Nothing better than escorting a beautiful girl to her home,” he smirked, and the princess flushed pink.

“I bet you flirt with every girl you see, Gwaine.”

“No, just you.”

“Alright,” she gave a nervous laugh and nodded before mounting her horse, “I’d appreciate your company, the ride back to the castle takes two days at best.”

“Well then,” he mounted his horse, right next to her own stallion, “let’s hope I can keep you entertained.”

Acelina couldn’t help but grin as she rode towards Camelot with Gwaine, him regaling her with stories of his exploits across the five kingdoms. It was a comforting feeling, having him there with her when they had to camp for the night in the forest of Ascetir, “So, Gwaine, where are you from?”

“Caerleon’s kingdom, my father was one of his knights.”

“You’re of noble birth then?” the princess felt a glimmer of hope at the thought.

“Technically. But I don’t like it. Caerleon didn’t give any help to my mother once she was widowed, left her penniless with a baby and no husband – he has the title but he’s not noble in anyway.”

“When did your father die? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Early enough that I don’t remember a thing about him.”

“I understand, my mother died giving birth to me and my brother. I have this feeling of her, but my father never speaks of her,” she sighed, staring into the flames, “you should get some sleep, I’ll be on watch for now.”

“Okay then, goodnight my lady,” he joked, laying against a tree with his jacket draped over his torso. She couldn’t help but stare at him as he fell asleep – there was something about him that intrigued her, something that she couldn’t quite understand. Acelina spent the few hours of her watch making shapes in the fire, muttering spells under her breath to create different animals in the flames.

When Acelina woke the next day, she realised that Gwaine’s jacket had been draped over her during the night, and she smiled softly as she looked around for him. She couldn’t find him at first but as she cast her eyes to the side she saw him walking towards her, shirt in hand and shaking out his damp hair, “Sorry, went to quickly wash in the stream,” he shoved his shirt on and Acelina stood to hand him his jacket, “you were shivering while you slept, didn’t want you to be cold.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, blushing slightly as she looked up into his eyes. They kept eye contact for a few moments until she nervously cleared her throat and reached for her bag, “uh, have you fed the horses?”

“Yeah, while you were sleeping, thought you’d be eager to get home.”

“Do you honestly think your company is that unpleasant?” she joked, but he looked uneasy, “It’s not, I enjoy your company Gwaine.”

“You’ve only just met me,” he sighed, and she took a step towards him, “I can be a lot to deal with.”

“Well, I like what I’ve seen so far,” she assured him, tentatively reaching up to stroke his cheek, “I think, if you’d let me, I’d like to get to know you properly.”

“Really?” he laughed nervously, and she nodded, “I think you’d be the first,” there was a moment of eye contact, both of them unsure, before Gwaine leaned down to kiss her. Acelina responded eagerly and moved her arms to rest on his shoulders as his hands moved to her waist. When they finally moved apart it was with a deep breath and unmovable grins on each of their faces.

“Now I’m actually kinda glad that knight tried to kidnap me,” Acelina laughed, smiling up at Gwaine, “otherwise I probably wouldn’t have seen you in the tavern.”

“Well, I have to admit, that was a pretty great ‘thank you’ for saving your life,” he smirked, and she slapped his arm, “come on. As much as I’d love to stay here with you, your father will be expecting you home soon. I don’t think we want it to get to the point where he sends out a search party.”

“Okay, we’re just at the edge of the forest so it should only take a couple hours to reach the lower town,” she sighed, and they set about packing up and then riding back to Camelot. Gwaine stopped and dismounted his horse as the castle got closer, “you’re not coming with me to the castle?”

“I don’t think that your father would appreciate you being with a commoner,” he sighed, and she got off her stallion to go over to him.

“Do you really dislike nobility that much?” she asked, trying to mask her disappointment.

“I dislike people who think nobility just comes from the title, that those without a title can’t be noble in the deeds they do,” he explained, taking her hands in his, “You, Acelina, are not like that – you have a good heart. And beautiful eyes,” she laughed and shook her head at him.

“So, I take it that you don’t usually tell people about your father?”

“I’m surprised I even told you,” he admitted, “there’s just something about you that I knew I could trust. I’d like to see you again though.”

“Well, my father likes to send me to the different villages within Camelot quite often, especially in areas that are by his enemies’ borders. I’m expected to instil their loyalty to him, make sure that, if a man like Cenred decides to try and take Camelot’s land, they will only pledge allegiance to him. If you write to me about where you are then I can try to meet you at the closest village to where you are.”

“That sounds perfect,” he grinned, pressing a long, soft kiss to her lips, “I think I’ll travel to Howden, maybe you can meet me there soon?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she assured him, stroking his cheek before getting back on her stallion, “just a thought… Address your letters to Mirabelle, she’s my maid. It’d be a bit suspicious if I was getting letters from someone who isn’t some kind of knight or prince, he cares a lot more about titles than I do.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, my lady,” he grinned, kissing her hand before she rode off towards the castle.

 .

Once again, please let me know if I’ve missed anything that could potentially be a trigger and I’ll add it to the tags. Happy Camelove! 🥰💜💙

[theboredwritertm]

Turn Into the Noise - Nixon

Summary: In 1942, a female soldier, Alice Crowley, joined the ranks of Easy Company at Camp Toccoa. Nixon tries to cope with his growing feelings for the woman throughout the war, but is forced to deal with her budding relationship with Spiers.

Warnings: brief mentions of assault, descriptions of a concentration camp, alcohol abuse.

A/N: This is part of a series I’ve been writing on and off for about...geez, maybe 4 or 5 years now. I had planned on waiting until I was finished writing all of the chapters to post them, since I wanted them read in a specific order (they’re written by character, rather than in chronological order, with each chapter being about the relationship between the chosen character and my OC). I realized I might never get a chance to finish it all the way I want, but I’ve always been happy with this chapter - it’s also the only one I’ve managed to finish. This is the first time I’ve posted any writing on tumblr, too! There are some jokes/references that will make more sense once the other chapters are posted. 

Words: 16 820 (it’s a long one)

Pairing: Speirs x OFC, Nixon x OFC

***

I was three days in on a drunken sin

I didn’t much care how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

  -  (The Work Song, Hozier)

 7th May, 1945

Berchtesgaden, Germany _________________

They sat out on the terrace with bottles of expensive champagne, celebrating a victory that had been a long-time in the making, and after spending the better part of three years playing their own parts in achieving it, the spoils they now reaped were all the sweeter.

Nixon lay back on one of the chaise lounges, his arms resting behind his head as he took in the stunning views around them. On the next chaise over, Harry Welsh grinned as he chugged from his bottle of champagne, embracing the joy of the moment, thoroughly drunk. He glanced over at the man seated at the end of the lounge by his feet. Speirs had barely taken his eyes off Alice since Winters had announced the German army’s surrender. The lieutenant herself was staring out across the vast, mountainous landscape, deep in thought.

“You two set a date yet?” Harry asked them, hiccuping as he glanced between the pair. He thought of the girl waiting for him back home and set his bottle down on the table beside him. He hadn’t thought he could feel any happier than he already did, but recalling the glowing face of his beautiful fiancee the last time he had made love to her gave him a surge of joy he had forgotten was possible.

“Yeah, June 6th,” Alice deadpanned, turning back to them, glancing first at Nixon. He stared ahead with a grin, shaking his head.

Laughing more than the joke merited in his drunken state, Harry reached once more for his alcohol and sent the bottle crashing to the marble below. “Oops,” he said, laughing all the more.

From his position by the balustrade, Winters tried his best to throw the man a disapproving look, but his small, signature smile gave him away. This was one of the happiest days of their young lives – knowing that the long years of training and fighting – the pain they had endured, the friends they had lost – it was all somehow worth it.

Harry reached for the bottle in Speirs’s hand and the captain held it out of his reach. “Get your own.” He looked up as he felt the bottle pulled from his grip regardless, and watched his bride-to-be take a long drink of the golden liquid. She smirked as she drank, and tipped him wink, reveling in the smile that her small rebellion had managed to draw from him; his wild, brown eyes still filled with a lust they had yet to sate.

Though even the privates had managed to find time to bed the local women, fortune had never smiled on the two officers. They had either been too busy leading the men, planning and executing orders, or simply finding time somewhere in between for the most basic of needs, like eating, showering and sleeping. Not to mention keeping their relationship under tight wraps – fraternization was a punishable offence, and there was no question that either one of them, or both, would have been sent home if anything had gotten back to the colonel.

It hadn’t been too hard to hide – Lieutenant Crowley treated all the men the same, never showing favoritism, even when rank was involved. She had always held onto the belief that respect was something to be earned, not forcibly given, and her time at Toccoa with Captain Sobel had only strengthened that belief. She cared for every single one of the men she had served with – Speirs just happened to be the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She frowned to herself now as she found her beverage depleted, upending the bottle just to be sure. Catching the original owner’s look of annoyance, she placed a hand on his shoulder and grinned.

“There’s plenty more,” she reassured him. Her fingers brushed against his neck briefly as she passed by and he smiled once more. “Anyone else while I’m up?” She looked to Winters, who shook his head.

“I- Um, me. Please,” Harry requested, but she shot him a look.

“I think you’ve had enough, Welshy.”

“What?” he attempted to argue.

She glanced down at the shattered remains of his last bottle. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I don’t think I’ll be the one thanking you in the morning,” he chuckled to himself, seemingly proud of his little joke. He looked over at Speirs and the laughter died from his face as he caught the dark glint in the captain’s eyes. He had to be drunk to make a comment so suggestive. Hiccupping again, he looked back at Alice and found she wore an almost identical expression.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, given the circumstances,” she told him, and he seemed grateful for the gesture, knowing her reputation well, “But thank-you for proving my point.” She stopped by the last person in line. “Nix?”

He shielded his eyes and squinted up at her. “Mm?”

“You want anything?”

He caught the little crease that appeared between her brows as he stared at her, taking too long to answer.

“You know what? I think I’ll come take a look with you,” he smiled, getting to his feet. “You always did make volunteering for things look like fun.”

Speirs turned to shoot her a subtle look and Alice gave a reassuring little smile. He was worried. She didn’t blame him after what had happened the last time she and Lewis Nixon had found themselves alone together.

*

“Where we headin’, Crow?”

Alice turned to give her helper an odd look as they walked through the living room of Hitler’s favorite retreat. Nixon had never once called her by her company nickname. It was the only sign he had given that he was even remotely drunk.

“What?” he asked with a playful grin, but she just shook her head.

“Kitchen. I think I saw some bottles in there.”

“God, I wish I’d taken you to see Goering’s wine cellar.”

“Why’s that?”

“I could have used the extra pair of hands.”

She chuckled. “I never took you for the looting type.

“I wasn’t looting,” he replied, with a teasing frown, “I was liberating the bottles from their shelves.”

She threw him a disapproving look for his choice of words, and paused to survey the surrounding cabinets and the pantry at the rear. Most of it had been picked clean by the other soldiers as they had made themselves at home in the place; but the alcohol was making her hungry, and the effect of the beverage was hitting her much harder than usual for the same reason.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“Why? You gonna whip me something up?”

“Yeah, well now that the war’s over, I thought I’d better put myself back in my place.”

He laughed and watched her pull open a cupboard door.

“Goddammit. Beans! I’m sick to death of fucking beans!”

She slammed the cupboard door closed.

“You know, I heard someone say Hitler was a vegetarian,” Nixon told her.

“No shit?”

“Yeah. He didn’t smoke or drink, either.”

“Christ, no wonder he started a war. Too much time on his hands.”

He chuckled. “Explains how I keep so busy.”

While Alice continued her search, Nixon grabbed a few of the bottles that sat grouped on the counter. When he turned back, he found her leaning against the opposite counter looking thoughtful.

“Hey, Nix?”

His eyebrow quirked up as he approached her.

“Yeah?”

“Say you were to get a certain…invitation. In the mail.”

“Mm?” he teased, knowing exactly where she was going before she even asked. He leaned back on the counter beside her and watched with a small smile as she struggled to find the right way to ask.

“Would you come to the wedding?”

“Depends whose it is,” he joked, his smile widening to a grin when she rolled her eyes. “Sounds mighty mysterious to me.” Then she turned her gaze back to him and he felt the same uncomfortable flip in his stomach he had gotten the night he had landed himself in trouble with her. He had thought the feeling had gone away – but it was proving to be like a cancer; coming back just as it seemed to be cured. He caught her eyebrow twitch and realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Of course I would come.”

She smiled, looking almost relieved. “Good. That’s…that’s good. I’m glad.”

And he knew it wasn’t just about the wedding. It was her relief in knowing things were okay between them. He had been one of the first people to welcome her at Toccoa; the first to make her feel welcome. He had been the one stupid enough to put that friendship on the line, yet here she was making the effort to make things right.

“You might have some trouble during the ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace’ part, though,” he joked, wondering just how much he actually meant it. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“No, I just thought I’d send out a bunch of invitations to people I don’t want there. You, Sobel, Dike…”

He let out a good laugh at that and she screwed up her face.

“God, it doesn’t feel right putting you on a list with those men.”

They smiled at each other, then her gaze shot to the doorway where Speirs was standing, and some of the humor died from her face. Every time he looked at her when she was in Lewis Nixon’s company, she felt as if she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Get what you need?” he asked her, glancing briefly at Nixon.

“We were just on our way back.” She plucked a bottle of champagne from Nixon’s hand and tossed it to him. Even in his semi-drunken state, the captain managed to catch it – just. “I believe I owed you half a bottle.”

“This is a full bottle,” Speirs pointed out, with a smile Nixon found odd, but Alice had come to find endearing; it was just another of the man’s many quirks that she had grown to love.

“So just drink half,” she replied with a crooked grin.

Smiling to himself, his mind swallowed up with thoughts like crashing waves, Nixon suddenly realized why Speirs had come to check on them. He had always found it amusing how possessive the man became when Alice was around him – and it was only ever when she was around him; Nixon had never seen the captain act that way when she was around the other men of Easy Company. To him it almost suggested that there really was something dangerous between them. Maybe Speirs sensed some competition. But there really was no competition – Alice had made that very clear to him on that fateful night. He hated to think about what he had done to her, almost as much as he hated to think back to what he still considered to be the single worst week of his life. He had made it through D-Day, had shivered his way through the snowy forests of Bastogne; still, nothing compared to that one day back in Landsberg, when all the events of that week had culminated into one stupid decision that had nearly cost him the friendship of a good woman.

***

25th April ,1945

Heidelberg, Germany _________

“Hey, you’re back!”

Normally, hearing her voice and seeing that sly grin would have lifted his spirits; but as he stepped out of the building Winters had designated Battalion HQ, Nixon couldn’t even muster up a smile. She climbed the stairs, pausing on the step just below him to take a seat on the slanting concrete balustrade, arms folded across her chest.

“How was the jump?” she asked, her voice a little softer now as her piercing green eyes searched his, sensing his mood.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. She nodded, reading his answer loud and clear.

“You want coffee?”

He gave a soft snort and finally a small smile appeared. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.” The words felt forced. He would have loved even more to get blind drunk and pass out in his bed, but just couldn’t find it in him to turn down a drink in her company.

Moments later, he was seated out the front of the building that was serving as the company supply store, staring at the surrounding ruins of bombed-out buildings. He heard the distinct voices of George Luz and Alice as they argued over something trivial, the dispute peppered with occasional bouts of laughter. When she finally returned, Alice was smiling and shaking her head, a steaming metal cup in each hand. She passed one to him and sat down beside him. Taking a sip, he glanced down at the contents as an odd taste hit his tongue.

“What’s in this?”

She glanced over, fighting back a smirk. “A pinch of love, a dash of devotion...”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t recognize it. Two ingredients my wife’s never used.”

“I’ll pass on the recipe.”

He chuckled and met her gaze, holding it for a moment as all thoughts of the woman back home melted away.

“I made yours Irish,” she finally explained, “You look like hell, Nix. What happened?”

His smile fell away and he stared out at the rubble once more. He looked as if he had aged years, despite having only been in combat for several months; his once handsome face now pale and drawn, a stark contrast against his dark hair and brows. Alice recognized the signs of battle fatigue when she saw them, having witnessed it many times in the freezing cold Hell of Bastogne: the listlessness, the irritability, the vacant stares, and the dark circles around once playful eyes.

“Plane went down. I made it out with two other men. That’s it. Now, it’s up to me to write letters to all mothers of the men who didn’t make it off. Make it sound like their deaths were worth it, somehow.”

“Isn’t that their CO’s job?”

He simply shook his head. The CO hadn’t made it either.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Oh, plus I’ve just been told I’ve been demoted, so there’s that.”

He took a long sip of his coffee, not caring that it scalded his throat on the way down, desperate to work the added alcohol into his system.

She had a pretty good idea why he had received such a harsh penalty, and suddenly felt guilty for adding the whiskey to his drink. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lew.”

He glanced over at her and managed a small smile. It was oddly refreshing to hear a woman cuss the way she did. He had become so accustomed to the ‘proper’ women his mother and father invited around for their dinner parties, and their high teas, and their little meetings for whichever new club or association they happened to have joined. The women who wore their hair in the latest styles, dressed in the finest clothes with their little matching purses and shoes. Women who gossiped about women who dressed the same way they did and went to the same meetings and events they did, but somehow managed to find themselves ostracized for one imagined faux pas or another. And then there was Katherine. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought of the woman he had married. Straight out of college, they had fallen into bed and then quickly into what they had believed was a loving relationship. Looking back, he wasn’t sure if love had ever been there to begin with.

“Really hasn’t been your week.”

“No,” he replied bitterly, “That it has not.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice had never been good at knowing the right thing to say, and though she held a lot of love for the man beside her, she couldn’t think of an appropriate way to voice it. It had taken her a long time to work out her feelings towards him, mistaking them at first for genuine adoration; she enjoyed his company, she cared about him immensely, and she knew if it came down to it, she would take a bullet for him – but then that went for every man in her company. The biggest difference, as she had come to find, was the attraction. Even now, sitting next to him, knowing what he had been through, knowing that he was married, she felt the urge to comfort him in a more physical way. She drove the thought from her mind.

It wasn’t until the following day, when Nixon received his long-expected ‘Dear John’ letter, that Alice witnessed him let loose an unbridled tirade of frustration. She had never seen such a raw display of emotion from the man, and the look of concern from his best friend – Major Winters – only drove home just how deep Nixon’s problems went.

It wasn’t long after that they bundled into their jeeps and troop carriers, and drove on to their next destination along the Rhine. Alice stood at the rear of her own vehicle, half-tuned in to the conversations going on between the men behind her, the other half of her focused on the car behind them that carried Winters, Nixon and Speirs. Speirs had offered her the seat next to him, but she had declined, opting to travel with the rest of the troops, where she had always felt most comfortable. Looking back at them now, she noticed Nixon’s gaze was unfocused, his expression blank. She glanced over at Speirs and he smiled at her. She returned the gesture as best she could and then turned away, running her fingers back through her hair with a sigh before replacing her helmet.

“I’m gonna find me a nice Jewish girl,” Liebgott was saying, “with great big, soft titties and a smile to die for, marry her, then I’m gonna buy a house. A big house with lots of bedrooms for all the little Liebgott’s we’re gonna be making. She oughta like that. Hey, lieutenant, it’s a shame you’re not Jewish.”

“Yeah, I’m missin’ out big time,” Alice joked absentmindedly, her brow still marked with a troubled frown. A few of the men chuckled, Liebgott included, but having known her since Camp Toccoa, he knew when something was awry.

“Hey, Al,” came Luz’s voice now, full of mischief, “Get this, right? Janovec here’s readin’ an article says the Germans are bad. Can you believe that?” He grinned at her expectantly, waiting for the witty retort she never failed to provide.

The lieutenant threw them a look of mock-concern. “Gee, Janovec, I think you oughta tell Eisenhower. You might be onto something there.”

Luz laughed and gave the private beside him and playful whack, but seated across from him, Liebgott still hadn’t lost his look of unease.

“Whatta you got planned for when you get back, lieutenant?” he asked her, hoping to distract her from whatever thoughts were bogging her down.

Her eyes flicked over to him and she considered the question. “You mean if I make it back.”

“That’s just Speirs talking,” Webster remarked with a grin. She looked to him, smirked, and cocked an eyebrow, before considering Liebgott’s question some more. Of course, she knew very well what she would be doing, but she wasn’t in a place to reveal that information just yet.

“You know me, Lieb, I never have a plan. I make it up as I go.”

He smiled at the reply, but others weren’t so satisfied with the response.

“You mean you’re not gonna marry– ”

“Who, Janovec?” she cut him off quickly, her expression suddenly severe. One look at her sharp eyes and the private swallowed the rest of the question and dropped his gaze.

“No one, ma’am.”

The men who knew her best exchanged looks, struggling to hold back smirks, and she looked around at them, her look of warning softening. She turned back to the jeep. Speirs was observing the surrounding landscape and Winters was reading through some papers with his usual look of steady focus, but Nixon had finally managed to shift his gaze to meet hers. It still held that vacant quality from earlier, but underneath that she could see the turmoil he was going through, and the contrast from his usual jovial self was painful to witness.

*

She found him later, in a rare moment of free time as the division settled into the town of Buchloe for the night, not far from their intended destination.

“You can always get another dog, Nix.”

He chuckled, but it was tinged with a hollow bitterness. Sitting beside him, allowing him a minute to gather his thoughts, Alice put a hand on the back of his neck and massaged gently – an instinctual gesture to comfort someone in pain. As she rolled her thumb in small circles, working her way into his tight tendons, Nixon dropped his head forward and hummed.

“This is the worst it’s gonna feel, the day you receive the news. It’ll get better from here. I promise.”

She spoke as if from experience, and since he knew she had never been married or divorced – as the intelligence officer, he was privy to a lot of information, especially when he sought it out directly – he wondered what pain she had gone through that could allow her to relate. Then he remembered: her baby brother. God, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten about that – he had even been the one to summon her to Winters’ office. He didn’t think he had ever admired her more than when he had read that letter from her mother; knowing that she had been sitting on that loss for such a long time without ever saying a word.

“Until I have to go back home to the bitch,” he replied now, pushing the thought from his mind.

He watched her stick two cigarettes in her mouth and light them.

“So, don’t go back,” she suggested, holding one of the smokes out to Speirs as he passed by on his way into the building behind them, where Winters had made himself at home. The captain took it as if he had been expecting it, then kept walking without saying a word. She held out the second one to the man beside her, but he shook his head. He had noticed the way her hand had fallen to his shoulder as the other man approached, reducing the gesture to something less intimate.

“Germany’s not so bad,” she went on, “You know, once you get used to the fascism.”

She felt his body vibrate with laughter and he turned to give her the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in a while.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is a pretty little place. I guess I could stay. But only if you stay with me.”

She met his gaze and the humor-disguised proposition hung awkwardly between them. His smile fell away, and for the first time she felt the true extent of the feelings that had been forming between them over the past two years. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Speirs returned. She looked up at him. He gave the slightest jerk of his head and the lieutenant was on her feet.

“Well, duty calls,” she said, “Look after yourself, okay?”

Nixon didn’t answer, staring blankly ahead and only came out of his trance when she clapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up, gave a very unconvincing nod, and then watched her walk away with the man he knew she was in love with. What hurt more was knowing Speirs felt the same way about her.

**

28th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ____________

“Alright, two bucks.”

Alice watched as her captain tossed a couple of notes into the middle of the table. Frowning at his optimism, she attempted to sneak a peek at his cards and couldn’t help but laugh as he jerked them away and threw her a disapproving look.

“Are you in or what?” Speirs asked her, gesturing to the pot, “Or too busy cheating?”

“Christ,” she laughed at his harsh words, “Here.” She smacked two bills down and leaned back in her chair, taking a long drag of her cigarette. It was a cozy little setting, drinks served all around and a fire crackling merrily just behind them. It was the most comfortable they had been since they’d left Aldbourne, what felt like another lifetime ago. Somehow, out of all the countries they had been to, it was the homeland of their enemy that felt the most hospitable.

To her left, she watched as Nixon made to pour himself a new glass of his beloved Vat 69 only to find the bottle empty. To his left sat Carwood Lipton, then their final player, Harry Welsh. The men stared at the boozy captain, waiting for his bet. He sighed and tossed down his cards.

“I’m out.”

Whether he meant out of the game, or out of his favorite beverage, Alice wasn’t sure. Nixon rose noisily from his seat and looked around for another bottle, wandering into the adjoining room when he failed to locate one. Alice watched Speirs’s face turn stony at his fellow captain’s behavior. Unlike the three other men, he and Alice had opted for coffee on the off chance they were suddenly called back into combat. It seemed highly unlikely at this point, but it was in the man’s nature to be practical like that, and she had followed his example. He caught her gaze but didn’t say a word.

“Alright,” Lipton said, tossing in his own money, “I’ll call your two and raise you another two.”

“Geez, get a little alcohol into this guy and he takes no prisoners,” Alice joked, “Kinda like you, Ron.”

“Are we still talking about that?” Speirs replied.

She threw him a smirk and he stared back, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Lipton smiled at the reference in that good-natured way of his, but the moment was interrupted as a loud clang sounded from next door. They turned their heads, but were quickly drawn back into the conversation, trying their best to ignore their friend’s frantic behavior as he continued his hunt for more alcohol.

“I can’t believe we’re not jumping into Berlin,” Harry mused, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“No shit,” came Lipton’s reply.

Tuning out for a moment, Alice turned in her seat to check on Nixon, hearing a strained ‘Goddamn it’ as he crouched in front of Major Winters’ trunk. Her expression grew heavy with concern. They had all ignored his habit at first. They were in the middle of a war, witnessing and playing hand to horrific things on a daily basis – it seemed like a reasonable way to take the edge off the day. Then it became so that she rarely saw him without that familiar silver flask in his hand. More recently, after his third jump into occupied territory, the toll his addiction was taking on him had become all too obvious. As the battalion’s intelligence officer, it went without saying that he needed a clear mind to relay the important information and any new orders they were given; a single incorrect piece of information could mean the difference between life and death for hundreds of men.

“This war’s not about fighting anymore,” she heard Speirs saying, “It’s about who gets what.”

“Like finders keepers?” she said as she turned back, recalling the brazen way he had stripped almost every house of its valuables from the moment they had stepped into Germany.

He smiled and looked at her with the dangerous glint in his eye that the men seemed to find terrifying, but that she found alluring. “Yeah. Like finders keepers.”

Nixon appeared from the bedroom and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, looking forlorn.

“Deal me out of the next hand,” he said before walking towards the front door. Alice stared after him, frowning, then lapsed into thought.

“What about your money?” Harry called after him, but the only reply he received was the sound of the door slamming as the captain stepped out into the cold, wet night. Harry sighed. “Are we waiting on him again?”

Lipton nodded, answering in the affirmative, when Alice was struck by a sudden recollection.

“Oh, shit!”

The three men looked at her, slightly taken aback by the outburst. They still hadn’t gotten used to the sound of a woman cursing, though Speirs knew he’d likely have a lifetime to do so.

“I just remembered something,” she told them, pushing back her seat and tossing her cards face-down on the table, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Now we’re waiting on her, too. Great,” Harry sighed, “Anyone else have somewhere they need to be?”

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” they heard her call back as she moved down the hall towards the exit, and the two remaining lieutenants laughed. Speirs’ face was still, however, as he silently watched her exit the building.

It was pouring rain outside, and the sudden burst of cold brought back memories of the hell that was Bastogne. Alice paused at the top of the steps, allowing a moment to bring herself back to the present, then turned onto the street below. She caught sight of a familiar figure.

“Nix! Hey, Nix!” she called, in a voice that had the ability to reach across an active battlefield.

He turned towards her, drenched from head to toe, looking utterly lost.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked her, catching the way she shivered. He strode over to her and led her over to an undercover area.

“I’ve got something for you,” she explained, voice raised to compete against the torrential weather.

“What do you- ” he began to ask. She gestured for him to follow, and they came to the building he knew she was staying in. The confused frown he had worn since she had first appeared on the street only deepened as they stepped into her room. In his drunken state, he was having trouble thinking of anything other than where he hoped this odd encounter was going. He glanced over at her bed, thoughtfully.

With a swipe of her hand, Alice shoved the discarded items of clothing and small stack of books off the top of her trunk, and opened the lid with a loud creak that brought Nixon back to reality. He heard her make a pleased sound and she got back to her feet.

“Here.” She held out a new bottle of his beloved drink. He just stared at it.

“How did you…?”

“I talked Winters into letting me take one. I thought something like this would happen one day.”

“Something like what?”

“That you’d run out.” She cocked an eyebrow and he couldn’t help but wonder just how badly he’d been behaving in the absence of his booze.

“You did that for me?”

“Well, more for the benefit of everyone else, really.”

He chuckled and stepped towards her, completely ignoring the bottle he had been so desperate to find.

“God, I think I love you.”

The smile seemed to melt from her face, replaced with confusion as he wrapped his arms around her waist and mashed his lips against hers. There was a split second of indecision where she almost considered giving in to her long-growing attraction – to risk the love of a good man for a moment of self-indulgence with another; then the odor of the alcohol and the stale smell of his sweat hit her and she was brought back to her senses, struggling to free herself from his grip.

But he wouldn’t let go.

It was only when her fist connected with his jaw and he was stumbling backwards that he realized what he had done. The look on her face, the mix of confusion, betrayal and regret, was something he had never forgotten. He looked down at her hand as she flexed her fingers and tested the pain in her knuckles. She was probably going to bruise. Rubbing the spot on his jaw, he thought that he probably would too, but he didn’t care. Nothing in that moment hurt more than knowing she might never look at him the same way ever again.

“Ron and I are engaged.”

The statement was a rude slap that shocked him awake better than a cold shower ever could have.

“When the hell did that happen?”

Trying her best to ignore the sharp edge in his voice, she said, “He asked a couple of days ago, and I-”

“And you said ‘yes’,” he finished for her, with a bitterness that made her blood boil. “So you’ve been engaged this whole time? Comforting me, telling me things are going to be okay, meanwhile you’ve promised yourself to that fucking lunatic?”

When he glanced up to meet her gaze, all resentment and anger fell away. He had never understood how the other men could fear this woman – she was always so quick to smile, easy to laugh and one of the most selfless people he had ever come across. But as she stood before him now, he saw not the warm and accepting Alice he had come to love, but Lieutenant Crowley of Easy Company; the cold, ruthless battlefield commander. And all at once he understood that fear.

“I’m sorry your wife’s divorcing you. I’m sorry you got demoted. And I’m sorry you lost all those men on your last jump. But if you ever lay your hands on me like that again, I will knock your fucking teeth out. Do you understand me?” She spoke in a hushed tone that only managed to intensify everything she said.

A flush crept into his cheeks as her words unlocked a deep shame that the alcohol had been doing well to keep contained. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, croaking out, “Yeah, I got it.”

Then all at once the other Alice seemed to reappear. She glanced at his jaw, lifted her hand towards it, hesitated, and then rested it awkwardly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nix.”

And he knew it wasn’t just for the punch.

*

When they finally made it back to the poker game, walking in a heavy silence, their waiting buddies looked up. They were a miserable sight, drenched from head to toe, expressions downcast. Spotting the bottle in Nixon’s hand, completely missing the mood between the two in his own semi-inebriated state, Harry smiled.

“Hey, look at that! You found one!”

Nixon stared at him, before he realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, yeah. Pays to have friends, I guess.” He glanced over at Alice as they both returned to their seats, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Lipton and Harry exchanged the briefest of looks, but said nothing.

As Alice moved to pick up her cards, Speirs spotted the bruises forming on her knuckles and glanced up to see the other captain rubbing gingerly at his jaw as he poured himself a fresh glass. Speirs tensed, but the second he moved to get up, Alice placed a hand on his thigh to still him. She didn’t look at him, but in the light of the fire he could see the mix of emotions glistening in her eyes.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order,” Nixon began, attempting to sound conversational, but failing to hide his bitterness. That seemed to do it for Lieutenant Crowley. She tossed her cards onto the table and pushed back her chair, caring little for the amount of attention she drew to herself in the process.

“You know what? I’m out. Keep the money. I really don’t care.”

Everyone but Nixon watched her leave, and when he felt their eyes burning into him, wanting some answers for her sudden change in temperament, he stared down into his glass.

Speirs waited for the slam of the front door, then folded his cards, stating casually, “I think I’m going to call this one, too.”

Harry sighed and downed the last of his drink. He checked his watch and saw it was well past midnight. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Might be the last decent night’s sleep we get.”

Lipton glanced from Nixon to Speirs, and caught his commanding officer throw the other captain a dark look as he got to his feet. Like most of the men of Easy Company, Lipton was well aware of the relationship that had formed between the CO and his first lieutenant; but as for her and Captain Nixon – Lipton had only ever seen the two talking and joking around since they had first met back in Toccoa, though it had always appeared the same as the friendship she shared with him and the other men.  Catching the bruise as it now formed on the disgraced man’s cheek, Lipton fought the urge to go and check on her.

Nixon emptied his glass in one gulp, quickly setting to pour another, ignoring the scrapes of chairs as the others got up. He caught Harry’s gaze as the lieutenant grabbed his winnings, and watched the man force a smile.

“See you in the morning, Nix.”

Nixon stared down at the liquid in his cup as if deciding whether or not to drink it, and gave a sad, empty chuckle. “Yeah. Sure.” Then without any further hesitation, he drained the glass.

**

29th April, 1945

Landsberg, Germany ______________

He tried to find her the next morning, to at least catch sight of her, but she was either avoiding him, or keeping busy elsewhere. He was standing beside Winters, who had already twice questioned the dark bruise along his jawline, when he was caught off guard by the familiar face as Lieutenant Crowley approached them. Ignoring him completely, she stopped in front of the major.

“Sir, do you mind if I tag along on that patrol this morning?”

“You like volunteering for patrols, Al?”

She gave a light chuckle, though she didn’t like to think back on the one she’d led in Haguenau.

“Just feeling a little homesick. Thought a stroll through the woods might help.”

“Might not be a stroll,” Winters reminded her. Though it was unlikely they would come across any trouble, word had come down from battalion that there had been instances of German soldiers retreating into the forest and forming a kind of guerrilla resistance.

“Honestly, sir, I could use the distraction.”

Hearing those words, Nixon finally looked away from her as his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch; a feeling he knew well – guilt.

“That’s fine. I’m sure the men would be glad to have you along.”

Offering a final smile, he gave a nod to dismiss her and turned his gaze immediately to the officer beside him once she had left.

“What happened, Nix?”

He took in the bruise on his friend’s cheek and pieced it together with the lieutenant’s unusually cold behavior towards him, disliking what it added up to.

“A misunderstanding,” Nixon replied with a sigh.

“Do I need to ask her?”

“What? Jesus, no. If you did, she’d tell you the same thing, anyway.”

“I need this resolved. She’s one of my best officers. We’ve come too far to let something personal cloud decisions that could get people killed.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it under control, alright? And it’s not…it’s not personal.”

Winters stared at him, expression firm, eyes searching his face in that uncomfortable way that made him feel almost naked.

“Nix?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and looked up with a begrudging, “Yeah?”

“Stop lying to me.”

**

“So, can you or can you not teach me the best way to find a beehive?”

“Luz, I swear to God.”

Stepping through the trees of the forest on the outskirts of Landsberg, Alice felt herself smile for the first time since the incident the night before. She looked at the men around her: Luz, Perconte, Randleman, Powers, Christenson, Vest and O’Keefe, and felt herself relax as they made their way through their designated area.

Perconte scrunched up his face, “Whatta ya talkin’ about, a beehive?”

Luz just grinned, holding his lieutenant’s irritated look, then shook his head, “Never mind.”

“Say, Al,” Perconte went on, and she knew just from his tone that he was about to say something she wasn’t going to like, “I heard you got into it with Cap’n Nixon, last night.”

Luz whacked him on the arm to shut him up, but the gesture came too late. Perconte looked back at him, shrugging him off, and George just rolled his eyes. Turning back to see if he would receive an response, he found Lieutenant Crowley gazing at him in a way that made him stop in his tracks.

“You heard what?” she asked. Her voice was casual, but one look at her eyes and he knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

“Nothing,” came his nervous reply. He heard Luz give a chuckle as he passed by. “Shut up,” he told him, but it only made his friend laugh more.

“Why’d you want to come along, lieutenant?” Christenson asked now, caution to his tone after witnessing the exchange with Perconte. He had always found Alice to be quite amicable – it was Speirs that terrified him – but it had always made him uneasy that she seemed so comfortable in that man’s presence, even from the very beginning when the rumors about him had been most prevalent.

He recalled one incident in particular, back in the woods in Bastogne. He had been one of a handful of men who had been left behind to hold the line while the others moved out to take Foy. He had been sitting in his foxhole with Perconte and Sisk, listening to the story of the executed German prisoners for the first time, when the rumored killer himself had made an appearance. Obviously having heard the retelling on the infamous story, Speirs had offered them each a cigarette, which, alarmed, they had politely declined. Then up sauntered Lieutenant Crowley with a casual, “Mind if I bum one of those?” She had pulled one from the pack, pausing to let him light it for her before asking, “Going my way?” He had replied with an odd smile and a simple, “That I am,” and then the pair had walked off together, leaving the three soldiers gaping after them.

“Don’t you know? She loves to volunteer for patrols,” Bull replied now, through a mouthful of cigar.

Alice chuckled, thinking back to Winters’ similar response. “I had no idea that was a running joke with you guys.”

“Ain’t no joke,” Bull told her, “Only you’d be crazy enough to keep volunteerin’ for shit that’d get ya killed.”

“I dunno, this doesn’t seem so dangerous to me,” Shifty said in his gentle Southern drawl, surveying the quiet forest around them.

“Exactly,” Alice nodded, “Shifty the sharp one, as always.”

“Kinda reminds me of Bastogne,” Perconte interjected with a frown, glancing around at the others, “Doesn’t it remind you of Bastogne?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Luz replied, “Except of course there’s no snow, we got warm grub in our bellies, and the trees aren’t fucking exploding from kraut artillery. But yeah, Frank, other than that, it’s a lot like Bastogne.”

The others grinned, but as usual the sarcasm went over Perconte’s head.

“Right?” he agreed.

“Bull, smack him for me, will you?” Luz said. “Thank you.”

They had a good chuckle as Randleman clouted the soldier in the back of his helmet, then continued on in a comfortable silence. Alice fell into step next to Luz, feeling the weight of her uncertainty gradually falling away. She had been in desperate need of a distraction, between dodging an apologetic Nixon, and a concerned Speirs. She almost felt like she was a sergeant again; back amongst the men without the worry of managing an entire company. It was the breather she had needed, and it was only then that she realized she had been spending too much time among the fellow officers. She hated that feeling of isolation from the rest of the men.

“How ya been, Al? You doin’ okay?” Luz asked her, in a voice low enough that the other men wouldn’t hear. As she considered her answer, she flexed her fingers, testing the damage from the night before.  

“Yeah,” she assured him, “Gettin’ there.”

He smiled and clapped her on the back, stepping passed her as they continued on. Alice lapsed into thought, keeping her ears pricked for any unusual sounds, but the further she walked, the more she seemed to notice that something wasn’t right. She glanced to Shifty, who had taken point, and caught his eye, noting the crease that formed in his brow.

“George,” she called in a hoarse whisper, signaling for them to stop. Luz turned back to look at her, a frown crossing his face when he caught her expression.

“What is it?” Christenson asked.

“It’s quiet,” Shifty answered for her.

“Yeah, cause Perconte stopped yammerin’,” said Luz.

“Hey, Luz, you know what- ” Perconte began, but was quickly cut off.

“Shut it, you two,” their lieutenant ordered, taking a few steps forward. All around them, the forest was still. Not so much as a birdcall cut through the unnatural silence. She had only ever seen something like this once before, back when a fire had broken out a few hundred miles from her home. The mere smell of the smoke had driven all surrounding wildlife to safer ground. Testing the air now, she caught a different scent. “You guys smell that?”

“Again, Frank,” Luz joked, but Alice held up a hand to shut him up. The humor fell away from his face and he sniffed the air. There was a bad odor, now that she mentioned it. He hadn’t noticed it much before, happy to simply be among friends on a relatively safe patrol for once. Plus, they’d experienced their fair share of bad smells throughout the campaign; body odor, vomit, excrement – both animal and human – blood, spoiled food and the ever-present smoke as buildings went up in flames. But this one hit closer to home. This one they knew all too well.

Bull stepped forward. “Smells like–”

“Death,” Alice finished for him.

It was then that she spotted the thin tendrils of smoke wafting through the tree line up ahead. Without a word, she took off towards it. The men quickly followed.

They stepped out of the forest and spotted the source of the smell and the smoke. At first, they were unable to comprehend what they were looking at. One by one they looked to Lieutenant Crowley for orders, but for the first time she appeared just as lost as they were.

“Frank,” she said, “How’s your ass feeling?”

Perconte looked over at her with a frown. “My ass?”

“Reckon you can make it back to base?”

Realizing what she was saying, he nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off the barbed wire.

“Yeah. I can manage.”

“Get Speirs,” she ordered, her mind going instantly to the person she trusted most in her moment of uncertainty. He would know what to do, she told herself. Perconte turned to move, slinging his rifle across his back when she said, “No, wait. Get Winters. Just get an officer. Any officer. And medics. I think we’re going to need ‘em.”

“You are an officer,” he said stupidly, as if she had somehow forgotten, but she just shook her head.

“I think we’re going to need someone higher up for this.” Her mind whirred as she considered someone who might at least have some insight into what they had found. “And bring Captain Nixon.”

**

When they first pulled into view of the camp, Nixon spotted Alice beside Sergeant Randleman. Easily one of the biggest, toughest men in the company, Bull was now crouched on the ground with a broken look on his face. The lieutenant was speaking softly to him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying hard to hold herself together in the process. Each member of the small patrol held the same expression, as if it had become their new squad insignia; a telling mark of their recent discovery.

Hearing the crunch of tires on gravel, Alice looked up with a blank kind of confusion. As the officers jumped out of the jeep, Winters came towards her first. Nixon began to do the same, but faltered for a moment until she met his gaze for the first time that day.

“Lieutenant Crowley?” Winters said gently, as she stared off, then when she didn’t answer, “Al?”

She looked at him and he caught the lost look behind the eyes that were usually so confident and focused.

“Sir?” she blinked. He stared at her a moment before she realized what he wanted, but at first she struggled to find the words. “Uh, we were travelling north through the forest, Shifty on point. The smell hit us first. Then we followed the smoke. I had Luz, Christenson, and Vest scout the perimeter while Powers and Randleman did a sweep of the surrounding woods. I remained on watch with O’Keefe at the front gate. We attempted to make contact with the, the people, the, uh, prisoners. None of them speak any English. We found no guards, no enemy soldiers. I have no idea how long these people have been alone for, sir. As far as I can tell, they’ve been without food and water for a while.”

“The fires are fresh,” Speirs noted, looking up at the rising smoke as he stepped up beside her, and she nodded, feeling a little better with him by her side. “Guards can’t be long gone.”

“That’s fine,” Winters told her. Then, sensing her distress at her inability to find some way to help the people behind the wire, added softly, “You did good, Al.”

“You haven’t heard of this sort of thing back at headquarters, Captain Nixon?” Alice asked, turning to the other officer.

He didn’t respond for a moment, not used to being addressed by her in such formal manner. “Uh, no. Nothing like this.” He couldn’t help but stare, completely thrown by her behavior. He had only ever seen her like this once before; back in Haguenau, the morning after she had lost a man on patrol. She had blamed herself his death, somehow concluding that it was a reflection of her abilities as an officer. Even now she almost looked as though it was somehow her fault that the people behind the fences had met such a horrific fate, as if she could have prevented it from happening had she done something differently.

“I didn’t have any way to get it open. I just thought…”

It was the first time they had seen her at a loss for what to do. Winters nodded, understanding, and they turned to look back at the dozens of emaciated figures. Behind them, more men from Easy climbed off of a truck, each of them coming to a halt the moment they caught sight of the living skeletons, a few of them covering their noses as the smell washed over them.

Acquiring bolt-cutters from the truck, Christenson stepped forward and opened the perimeter gate. Alice and Winters stepped through, then exchanged an uncertain look.

“Open it up,” Winters ordered.

As Christenson cut the chain on the final gate, urging the starving prisoners away from the entrance with some help from Perconte, Alice felt someone step up beside her. She looked at Nixon, then turned to the group of medics behind her, ushering them in first to evaluate the condition of the men in the filthy, striped clothing.

“Do you speak any German?” Winters asked Christenson, but the man shook his head. He turned to Alice and she did the same.

“Is Liebgott with you?” she asked him, “I’ll go find Liebgott.”

She moved quickly, glad to finally be of use again, creating as much distance as she could between herself and the camp, finding it difficult to breathe. She paused for a second, took a deep breath, and then pushed through the group of Easy company men who were filtering in, passing Speirs along the way. He paused to say something to her, but she barely seemed to notice him.

“Liebgott?”

“Yeah?” came a voice from the back group. She spotted him holding the perimeter with a couple of others.

She jerked her head for him to follow her, her expression saying enough.

“What the hell is this place?” he asked her, another one to note the worrying change in her usually self-assured demeanor. After spotting the telltale patches on the prisoners’ chests, Speirs had been quick to place Liebgott on the perimeter to create some distance between him and the camp. The Jewish-born soldier hadn’t questioned it; he hadn’t seen much of what they had found, but with the smell coming off it he was only happy to oblige.

“That’s what you’re going to find out for us,” Alice replied, fighting to hold back the bile in her throat as the breeze blew the rancid smell of decay into their faces.

“Alright, boys,” she heard Lipton instructing as they walked passed, “These people need care. Give them water, any rations you might have. Grab some blankets.”

Hearing the clear, logical orders, Lieutenant Crowley seemed to snap out of her daze, walking with more purpose as she led the translator back to Major Winters.

She stood beside him, with Nixon to her left, and Speirs behind her as Liebgott questioned the healthiest of the men – and considering the condition of some of the others, that really wasn’t saying much. His clothes were filthy, draped over his emaciated frame. His skin had a waxy, yellow pallor to it as it stretched across his bones, and his eyes were two sunken pits. The stench coming off of him was not unlike that of the camp itself.

The guards had left that morning, he told them, running from an enemy that they knew was closing in. In a last ditch effort to hide their atrocities, they had shot as many prisoners as they could, before burning down a few of the huts with the men still inside. Any prisoners who had tried to stop them had also been shot. Without time to destroy all of the evidence, and running short on ammunition, they had locked those remaining inside and left them to die of starvation and disease that many were already well on the way to succumbing to.

Winters listened carefully, then asked the most pressing question: how was it that these men had come to find themselves treated with such cruelty? There was no reason in his mind that could compel men to treat fellow human beings with such brutality, but perhaps the minds of the Germans worked differently. He recalled the treatment of the women back in Eindhoven who had been accused of sleeping with German soldiers; the way they had screamed and begged as they were beaten on the streets, their shaved heads still bleeding from the townspeople’s vicious conduct. Humans always found a way to justify their violence.

“Can you ask him what kind of camp this is? Why are they here?”

Liebgott relayed the question and they waited, watching the gaunt man consider his words before he replied.

“He says it’s a work camp. There was a word he used, but I’m not familiar. ‘Unwanted’, maybe?”

“Criminals?” Winters guessed.

Liebgott tried that, but the prisoner frowned at him, clearly offended, and gave a very clear ‘no’.

“Doctors, musicians,” Liebgott translated, “Tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals.” He shook his head, not quite understanding how these things related to their imprisonment. Then the man spoke a word that resonated deeply with the soldier. He asked him again, just to be sure, and the man nodded. Like Speirs, he too had noticed the stars stitched onto their soiled clothes as he first entered the camp, but hadn’t made any correlation between the symbol and the men’s incarceration. It was beyond his reasoning that something as simple someone’s religious faith could have them wind up in conditions like this.

Winters stared, waiting for the reply.

“They’re Jews,” Liebgott said. The prisoner continued on, then seemed to become deeply distressed, gesturing up the road, voice breaking with emotion as tears welled in his eyes.

“Liebgott?” Nixon asked, brows knitting together as the prisoner began to cry.

“The women’s camp is up the road.”

Alice broke from the circle then, hands on hips, overcome and finding it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just the smell; it was knowing that no matter how hard they had fought, they hadn’t been able to stop the suffering of these people. Maybe if they had made it sooner… She walked in a daze towards the front gates and came to a stop when she felt it was far enough. Taking a few deep, even breaths, she gazed down the road and considered her next move. A hand found her shoulder and she jumped.

“You’re not going,” Speirs said evenly, reading her mind. Though he somehow managed to maintain his usual stoic expression, she could see just from his eyes how much he had been affected, too.

“They’re out there, just like these people were. They’re locked up in there, waiting for help to come.”

“You’re not going,” he repeated in the same tone. “They’ve got someone on the radio to send another company over there. You don’t need to see that.”

Her breath became uneven again and she asked with a tight voice, “Ron…what if there’s children?”

He considered the horrific possibility, looking away from her and into the forest, then realized the more likely truth. He sighed as he considered whether or not to voice his thoughts. “I don’t think there would be.”

It took her a moment to process his response, and when she realized what it meant – how the men in this camp had barely managed to survive – she gave a quick nod and took a few steps further out with her head bowed. She came to rest beside the troop truck and in a moment of violent release, drove her fist into the side of it. She felt the already-bruised skin split, but didn’t care. The pain grounded her. She looked at the smear of blood she had left on the vehicle, then turned stare out into the forest for a moment. Speirs watched her take a deep breath and turn back, walking with purpose, her expression suddenly focused and determined.

“Stop,” he said, blocking her path. She watched him with a curious frown as he patted down a number of his pockets, finally coming across the object he was after. He took her hand gently in his own and wrapped it in the small bandage he had kept from his field kit. “I’m not having you catch something in there,” he frowned, clearly disapproving of her sudden outburst. “And you need to give that fist a break.”

She glanced up at him, finding an unusual softness to his usually sharp eyes. “That’s why God gave me two, Ron.”

He threw her a look of warning, but that too had a strange gentleness to it. It was the same way he had been looking at her that morning, as they’d briefed the men about the patrol. That presumption of vulnerability from a man who had once witnessed her beat a man to a bloody pulp – who had seen her take out a kraut-infested building on her own with a gunshot wound to the arm – had quickly begun to drive her insane.

He followed her back through the gates. The rest of Easy Company had fanned out, helping whoever they could and exploring the rest of the camp, which stretched out much further than they had first imagined.

Seeing more prisoners pouring out of the surrounding huts, Alice turned to Speirs. “What are we going to do with all of them? We can’t leave them here.”

“Where are we going to take them?” he replied, as if that were the better question, his face drawn as they passed shriveled corpses by the roadside. “I don’t even know if they’d survive the trip.”

“Not back to the town. For all we know, they’re the ones who put them here.”

He nodded. “Sink’s on his way with the regimental surgeon. They’ll figure it out. For now, we do what we can.”

They came to a stop behind Captain Nixon and Major Winters, and stared up at the looming train cart as the door was pulled back. The stench hit them immediately. Bodies were stacked inside, each in various stages of decomposition, some with their mouths open, frozen in their final death rattles.

Alice turned away, covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. She spotted Bull and Luz coming out of one of the huts looking troubled, and moved to approach them. Catching her questioning look, they shook their heads, but she misread the gesture.

“More dead?” she asked, voice solemn.

“Some are,” Bull replied in a similar manner, “Most o’ them are alive. We need to get some more doctors out here.”

“They’re on their way.”

“Christ, what the hell is this place, Al?” Luz asked, and together they looked around, taking in the horror they had stumbled upon.

“This?” Alice replied, barely able to comprehend it herself, “This is why we fight.”

*

“Winters wants us to find some food,” Nixon relayed to the two officers in front of him. He looked like hell. He had made it halfway through the bottle of Vat 69 Alice had given him, before passing out on his bed, waking up that morning in a puddle of his own piss. He had accepted it as his lowest point. But now, seeing the starving, dying men imprisoned in the Nazi work camp, the piles of corpses scattered around the yard, his own problems had quickly been thrown into perspective. He felt a deep shame work its way inside of him, and as he glanced between Captain Speirs and Lieutenant Crowley that feeling of self-loathing only intensified.

“We don’t have a lot of rations,” Speirs thought aloud.

“We’re going to have to loot the townsfolk. There you go, Ron. Something you’re familiar with,” Alice joked absently, retaining her solemn expression.

His mouth twitched in a grim smile, “What did we have there? A bakery?”

“Yeah, a couple of cafes, too, I think. Maybe a general store. Want me to tell the men?”

Speirs glanced up, biting his lip in thought and gave a nod.

“Tell Winters we’re on it,” Alice said to Nixon, and he, too, gave a nod of approval.

*

On the orders of Lieutenant Crowley, second platoon returned to the town of Landsberg and took any food they could find, most of it coming from the storerooms of German businesses. Ignoring the complaints of the owners, who had somehow managed to go about life as usual while innocent men and women were dying just outside their gates, the soldiers obeyed her one rule; no unwarranted bloodshed. But that didn’t mean things didn’t, at times, get violent. Still haunted by the smell and the sights of the camp, the soldiers took out their disgust on the German villagers.

By the time they made it back to the camp and began handing out the food to the crowd of desperate prisoners, Colonel Sink had arrived with the regimental surgeon, Major Louis Kent.

“We need to stop giving these men food,” Major Kent explained to them, “These men are starving. If we give them too much, too fast, they will eat themselves to death. Also, we need to keep them in the camp until we can find a place for them in town.”

“You want us to lock these people back up?” Nixon asked.

“We’ve got no choice,” Sink assured him, not liking the idea any more than they did.

“Otherwise they might scatter,” the surgeon added, “We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better…”

“Lieutenant Crowley!” Winters called, keeping it formal in front of the colonel, but Sink was quickly dragged away to a radio call.

Alice glanced over from where she was supervising the distribution of the food with Lieutenant Welsh, and made her way over.

“We need to put them back inside until we find a better place for them,” Winters explained.

She narrowed her eyes, as if unsure that she had heard right.

“Al, we’re gonna need to lock them back up,” Nixon told her.

“Come again? You want us to put them back in there? With the dead?” she asked, the emotional toll of the day growing evident by the edge in her voice, “These people think they’ve just been liberated.”

“They have been liberated,” Winters assured her.

She nodded, “A little hard to tell someone that while they’re looking at you from behind a barbed-wire fence.”

The two men dropped their gazes.

“We need to get this done,” Winters said softly.

“Who’s gonna tell ‘em?”

He looked back at her and she already knew the answer. Her hand moved to her face as she rubbed her eyes and drew in a steady breath. She sighed, willing this nightmare to be over; for the prisoners, for the soldiers, and for herself.

“Alright. Christ. Liebgott!” Spotting the soldier among the prisoners, she waved him over for the second time that day.

“You want me to what?” he said, after she had relayed the orders. “I can’t tell them that.”

“You have to, Joe,” Winters replied.

There was a quiet moment when the guilt of those instructions hung heavily on all of them, and Alice found herself wishing she could speak the language, if only to relieve Joe of the painful task. This one hit too close to home for him, they knew. Just as she was considered having Webster carry it out instead, Liebgott finally answered, “Yes, sir.”

Alice walked with him and stood by the back of the truck as he climbed up and spoke the dreaded words. The relief and happiness drained from the faces of the starving men as they stared up at him. All at once they began to panic and, just as Major Kent had predicted, the prisoners made an attempt to scatter; after their fleeting moment of freedom, they were once again under someone else’s control. The men of Easy herded them back through the gates as gently as they possibly could, sending the crying, begging men back to face the bloated, fly-blown faces of their friends and loved ones who hadn’t made it. The mood was grim as they watched the tortured souls milling around the fence in a desperate frenzy, their frightened moans stirring some of the most battle-hardened men to their own silent tears.

Standing in a daze, the day’s events weighing on his mind, Nixon looked back at Liebgott. He watched as Alice climbed up beside him in the truck and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her as his body began to shake with silent sobs. She didn’t seem to notice the glistening streaks that fell along her own face.

**

That evening, after getting a head start on his drinking for the night, Nixon found Winters in his office going over papers and constructing his report of the day’s events. The captain looked pale and lacking in decent sleep as he looked through the liquor cabinet to his friend’s left, attempting to read the foreign labels on the unfamiliar bottles.

“Thought you weren’t drinking the local,” Winters commented, pausing from his work.

“I’m just…browsing.”

Winters threw him an unconvinced look, then went on, “I heard from Division. Been finding camps like this all over the place. Seems the Russians liberated one a lot worse.”

“Worse?” Nixon narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than what they had witnessed behind those barbed-wire fences.

“Yeah,” the major sighed, weary at the thought, “Apparently. Ten times as big. Execution chambers. Ovens.”

Nixon cocked his head and waited for him to elaborate on the last part.

“For cremating all the bodies.”

“Jesus,” Nixon said, at a loss for any other words to express the disgust that sat like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

Winters nodded. As he spoke the words, he almost understood why his friend drank as much as he did; it was enough to make any man turn to alcohol. Almost any man. Winters preferred to use those thoughts as a means of keeping sober.

“Locals claim they never heard of the camp,” Nixon told him, “They say we exaggerate.”

He recalled the trip back into the village to collect food for the prisoners. Speirs had been right to send Alice to lead the mission; she was just the right balance of commanding and compassionate, and when it came time to forcibly remove the food from the citizens, she had maintained a surprising level of civility. He had even seen her break up a few violent confrontations started by the traumatized men of her platoon, despite her own obvious desire to lay into the people who had allowed such suffering to go on right under their noses.

“Well, they’re gonna have a hell of an education tomorrow,” Winters said, looking somewhat pleased by the turn of events, sharing the attitude of the other soldiers of Easy in terms of the civilians. “General Taylor declared martial law about an hour ago. Ordered every able-bodied German in town aged fourteen to eighty to start burying the bodies, and they’ll begin tomorrow. Tenth armored are going to supervise clean-up.”

“And what about us?”

Glancing up at his friend, Winters couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Usually Nixon would be the one telling him these things; but that was before he had been demoted. Now he was out of the loop and, it seemed, simply out of luck.

“We head for Thalem, tomorrow. Twelve-hundred hours.”

Nixon nodded, and another thought came to him. He considered the best way to word it without sounding suspicious, so instead of asking after the person directly, went for the next best thing – the less obvious thing.

“You seen Speirs?”

When Winters looked over at him again, he realized he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought in his semi-intoxicated state.

“I think he’s with Al. Why? You need to talk to him?”

Nixon chuckled, aware that Winters was only teasing now, though the major’s expression remained stern. He recalled her confession from the night before, the one bit of information he was certain only he was privy to, and in a burst of alcohol-fueled impulsivity, said to the major, “You know they’re together, right?”

Winters went back to his papers, answering casually, “I’m aware.”

“You know that they’re engaged?”

Hoping to catch him off-guard with this bit of information, too drunk to care that it could get both officers in question booted out of the company, he was surprised again to see the man nod.

“Yeah, Ron told me this morning. It’s not impacting their performance on the field. I don’t have any issue with it. Plus, I think it’s a good match.”

“You do, huh?” He wondered what had compelled the man to inform Winters of the pending union, then recalled his thoughtless offer of ‘congratulations’ the night before. So, Speirs had thought he would be so petty as to try and get them reprimanded out of pure jealousy. Maybe he was right. After all, he was certain that Alice hadn’t shared the secret with him out of faith in his character. It had almost sounded liked she was trying to remind herself why she couldn’t give in to whatever urge she had been feeling. He had felt it in the kiss; a moment of indecision when she had started to kiss him back. He had gone to bed with that thought still playing in his mind, even with the dull ache of his bruised jaw reminding him what a stupid idea it would be to pursue it any further.

Nixon stared down at the floor, focusing on the frayed edges of the rug as he found himself caught off guard again. Realizing the risk he had just taken in divulging a secret that wasn’t his, he considered the outcome had he not been speaking to such a reasonable and considerate superior officer. On one hand, Speirs could have been transferred, even kicked out, losing Easy Company the best CO it’d had since Winters, and leaving a gap in Alice’s life for Nixon to try and edge his way into. On the other hand, they could have lost Alice, the next best officer they had; a woman who had worked hard to prove herself good enough for the paratroopers, and one who had not once hesitated in the battlefield to protect her fellow comrades, even when it meant putting her own life on the line. Still, with her gone, he would have had one less distraction, one less reason to want to drink himself into a stupor every day.

The sheer selfishness of those drunken truths made him sick to the stomach, and he left to find something to sober himself up; hoping a cup of coffee and a conversation with the lieutenant herself would do the trick.

He ran into Speirs as he stepped outside holding two empty canteen mugs. Though there were plenty of fine china cups inside the house, he knew Alice hated them after once witnessing her being served coffee in one. She had lifted the delicate item awkwardly between her calloused fingers and joked, “If you see my pinky sticking out, do me a favor and cut it off.”  

Ever observant, Speirs glanced down at the two aluminum items then back up to meet his gaze.

“For Winters and I,” Nixon lied, annoyed that he felt he even had to explain himself.

Speirs gave a nod, but the glint in his eye told Nixon that he had caught the fib. As the demoted officer moved down the stairs, Speirs called, “I take mine black, no sugar.”

Nixon looked up in time to catch his disconcerting smirk, and muttered some colorful words as he trudged away.

*

He hadn’t expected to catch Alice in her room, since she wasn’t one to sit around in once place for too long, so when he ducked his head in to check, he didn’t notice her straight away. She was seated on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, her back resting up against the frame. For a second he thought that he had caught her at a vulnerable moment, but when she turned her head, catching the scent of the hot coffee, she offered him a gentle though somewhat unsure smile. He gestured with one of the cups, hoping it made a good enough excuse for his presence, and she nodded for him to come in.

Stopping in front of her, he passed her one of the mugs before considering the best place to sit. There was up on the bed beside her, but he felt like that was an invasion of her personal space – and for all he knew, she was already sharing that space with another man. He glanced around for a chair, feeling at a loss for appropriate options, when his gaze came to rest on Alice. Holding back an amused chuckle, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she patted the ground beside her.

“I just…I wasn’t sure if-”

“Just take a fucking seat, will you,” she chuckled softly and shook her head. He laughed with her and did as she suggested. They sat in silence for a moment, coffees steaming between their hands as they replayed the events of the day, the silence quickening into a soundless grief.

“Do we need to talk about last night?” he finally asked her, forcing himself to look at her.

“Christ, that’s what you came here to talk about?” There was an edge of disbelief to her voice that he didn’t like. “I was about to ask you what you’d heard about the prisoners, what Sink’s plan is with them. How we’re going to help them. I think that’s a little more important than whatever happened last night, don’t you?”

Her sharp reasoning cut deeply as he was reminded yet again of his inadequacies as an officer. He had never felt the contrast between them more than he did at that moment: her, selfless and focused on the task at hand; him, selfish and increasingly preoccupied with his own personal dramas. He saw then why it would never work between them.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual,” he said, attempting to make her smile again. It worked. He considered telling her about the larger camp Winters had spoken of, but saw the redness of her eyes and the distant look that often came into them as they sat there; images of the sick, dead and dying flashing back into her mind against her will. He doubted any of the soldiers from Easy would be getting any sleep tonight. Finally, he settled on one piece of information he thought couldn’t hurt.

“General Taylor’s ordered all able-bodied townsfolk to bury the dead tomorrow. Tenth armored is overseeing it.”

“Oh.”

He glanced at her and saw an almost disappointed look grace her features. “You don’t want to be there to see that,” he told her.

She recalled Speirs saying the same to her only hours earlier, and shook her head, but it wasn’t to agree with the statement. “I thought we should see it through.”

His thick eyebrows pulled down into a curious frown as he stared at her.

“I wanna be there to see their faces when they’re forced to confront the things they’ve allowed to go on,” she explained, “I wanna see that.”

It was a twisted confession, but one he found he could relate to. Not one of the citizens had believed him when he had asked them about the camp up the road, yet he was certain the death camp contained former residents of the town.

“We could go, if you want? Drive out in the morning? Honestly, I’m curious to see how they take it, too.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

“How the fuck could they let them just take them like that? I wonder if they knew what they were going to do to them…”

“I can’t imagine they had a lot of choice,” Nixon replied, “A lot of what the Gestapo and the SS get up to tends to be by force. Guns to heads, all that.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Nixon glanced over at her, somewhat skeptical considering the scenario. A dark look came over her and the battle-hardened face of Lieutenant Crowley was suddenly looking back at him. “If someone came up to me, put a gun to my head, and said ‘We’re taking Liebgott, and there’s nothing you can do about it’, I’d do my darndest to prove them wrong. Hell, even Sobel doesn’t deserve a fate like that.”

“No one does,” Nixon agreed. She ran her hand back through her hair, and he caught sight of the bandage.  Knowing she hadn’t done nearly enough damage the night before to warrant a wrap, he asked, “What happened there?”

She sighed. “I punched a truck.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You punched a truck?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding disappointed by her impulsive outburst, “I punched a truck.”

“What did the truck ever do to you?”

���It tried to kiss me.”

He laughed for what felt like the first time in days. “Okay, I deserved that.” They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, the incident weighing heavily on both their minds. “Did I ever actually apologize?”

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, her tone suggesting how uncomfortable the whole topic still made her. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I did.”

He chuckled again and nodded. “Yeah, that you did.”

“I guess I figured that, after that punch, you were well and truly sorry anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

She turned to look at the mark she had left on his jaw, fingers moving up to touch the purple discoloration.

“How’s it feel?”

When her eyes flicked back to meet his and she saw the way he was looking at her, she withdrew her hand immediately.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“For what? Christ, I’m the one with the problem, here. You’ve never done anything wrong by me. I mean that, Al. I mean, what the hell was I thinking?”

“You were drunk.”

“When am I not?”

He joined her as she chuckled, but his sounded empty, almost bitter. As they lapsed back into a more comfortable silence, a thought came back to Nixon.

“So, how’d he ask?”

“Hm? Oh. Um, he just said ‘We should get married after this’ and I said ‘Sure’.”

“You said ‘Sure’?”

She chuckled, a playful grin on her face, “Yeah, you know Ron and I, we’re not big on theatrics. We like to keep it simple.”

“Already with the ‘we’?”

“Yeah, well. It’s been ‘we’ for a long time.  How are we going to take out those German guns? What are we going to do with these German prisoners? Not that we were always on the same page with that stuff.”

“Did you ever talk to him back in Toccoa?”

She smiled to herself as she thought back to those days. “I ran into him a few times. You know that story about me beating up that guy from Able?”

“Yeah?”

“He was there.”

Nixon’s eyebrows shot up again. “That actually happened?”

She gave him a sheepish look, forgetting that it had always been treated as a rumor.

“Who was it?”

Thinking back to D-Day, where she had watched the life drain from the young man’s eyes as he bled out under her hands, Alice just shook her head and said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, are you really going to marry him?” Nixon asked her after a moment.

The content smile that appeared on her lips told him all he needed to know, but she still replied, “Yeah, I am. I love that fucking lunatic.” She turned her gaze to him with a playful scowl and he recalled his words from the night before. Her expression turned a little more serious and she said softly, “You know it would never have worked between us, right?”

The comment hit him hard. It was something he had considered so many times before, something he had used to ground himself whenever he caught her in a rare moment of vulnerability and felt his stomach flip as he was hit with a rush of adoration for her. 

The first time he had felt it was way back on D-Day. She had approached the officers on her way out of the town she had just helped secure for use as Battalion HQ. Her uniform and hands had been stained with someone else’s blood, some of it smeared across her forehead; her stripy, black paint mixing with sweat as it ran down her face. He had watched as she’d removed her helmet and swept her hand back through wet strands of pale-blonde hair, forgetting about the blood and leaving a crimson streak in her wake. She had just made it back from taking a third building, and the motley group of soldiers she had collected after landing still tagged along after her like a mother duck. He had listened to the respectful words of appreciation she had spoken to them before telling them to disband and track down their original units. Then she had stalked over to him with a grin, a greeting of ‘Hey, Nix!’, and a smack on the shoulder that had sent the first shock-wave of affection through his body.

“Why do you say that?” he finally asked, aware of the tightness in his voice.

“One of us wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Well, that’s the foundation of every good marriage, Al.”

She threw him a look and he realized she wasn’t kidding around.

“Besides, I usually feel pretty good when I’m with you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he waited for her reaction.

“We’re from very different worlds,” she began, acutely aware of the overriding melodrama in the words.

“You never read ‘Romeo and Juliet’?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, must have been exclusive to you Ivy Leaguers. Maybe Webster can give me the rundown.”

He laughed again and took a sip of his forgotten coffee, testing the temperature. It had cooled down enough to take a hearty gulp.

“I mean, can you imagine taking me to meet your parents? The esteemed Nixons of New York City meeting Alice Crowley of the Appalachian Valley. ‘Well, howdy, Mr and Mrs. Nixon, real fuckin’ nice to meet you. Your son’s a helluva guy. Sure was nice servin’ with him, especially when it came to those debriefin’s…”

Nixon snorted into his cup, sending up a spray of coffee that splashed them both.

“So, you see my point?” Alice grinned, as he cleaned himself up.

“You’re putting that accent on.”

“How could you tell?”

They gazed at each other, smirking at the playful exchange they had grown accustomed to when in each other’s’ company. Alice could see exactly where he was coming from. It didn’t matter that their backgrounds weren’t the same, or that his parents might not approve. There was enough there to lay the foundation for a genuinely happy relationship. But she would never be able to look past the alcoholism, and deep down she knew it was the seed that would take root in her heart and grow into a destructive bitterness that would eventually drive them apart. He was not the man she was supposed to be with, even if, in that moment, she felt a familiar nagging doubt in the back of her mind, urging her to reconsider.

She broke the gaze and finally took a sip of her warm coffee, frowning as an unfamiliar taste hit her tongue.

“What did you put in this? Not love and devotion, I’m assuming.”

“Didn’t think you’d drink it if I did,” he replied, grinning, “I made yours Irish. You look like hell, kid. What happened?”

***

June 6th, 1946

Boston, Massachusetts ____________

Lewis Nixon was not at all surprised by the amount of familiar faces inside the church, and suspected that every single member of Easy Company had made the effort to show up; they were not about to miss the union of two of the most feared and respected officers that the company had ever seen. He was certain he had even caught a glimpse of Colonel Sink as he’d found his seat in the pews. He had received his invitation about a month earlier, and could only shake his head when he saw the proposed date. True to her word, it was something only Alice Crowley would do.

Ronald Speirs stood at the altar, staring expectantly down the aisle, a look of marked determination on his handsome features. The captain looked particularly dashing in his dress uniform, but when the music started and the bride stepped in, the husband-to-be was completely forgotten. All eyes turned to Alice. She looked stunning in her white silk gown; her pale, blonde hair hung down her back in glossy waves against the snowy tulle of her veil, and her red lips brought out the healthy glow in her cheeks as she smiled. She looked so happy.

Escorting her down the aisle, Dick Winters looked the part of the proud father, having accepted her request for him to stand in Elliot Crowley’s place, since the man himself had been killed in an accident many years before. Viewing Winters as a sort of father-figure all throughout their European campaign – despite there being the smallest of age gaps between the two – he had been her first choice for the role. Exchanging a glance with him now, her grin grew wider and he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. As they passed Lewis in the pews, they both turned their heads to look at him and he simply smiled back, ignoring the way his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Alice in her attire.

Somewhere nearby, Nixon heard Bill Guarnere whisper loudly, “Fuck me dead,” and caught the woman next to him jab him in the side with her elbow. Alice had to press her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

As they reached the altar, Dick gave her away with a nod to his old captain, who returned the gesture, unable to hide his joy at the sight of his beautiful bride.

When the time came for them to exchange their vows, Nixon couldn’t help but think back to his comment in Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest all those many months ago, pushing the thought from his mind as the priest began to speak.

“Repeat after me,” he said to Alice, “’I, Alice Martha Crowley.’”

“I, Alice Martha Crowley.”

“Take you, Ronald Charles Spiers.”

“Take you, Sparky.”

The church erupted in laughter as the groom stared at the woman before him, fighting back a grin. She stared right back, challenging him to keep a straight face as their friends called ‘Sparky!’ from the rows in front of them. Nixon joined in the merriment, but his own laughter felt hollow in his chest. Finally, after the laughter and catcalling had died down, they reached the part he had been dreading. The priest turned to the congregation as the happy couple stared into each other’s eyes, the entire world falling away around them in their moment of bliss.

“If anyone here has any reasons as to why these two individuals should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Nixon took a deep breath…then breathed it out in a heavy sigh. He caught Winters’ eyes flick over to him and suddenly felt ashamed of himself.  Dick knew him better than any man or woman in that building. He had actually been considering speaking up – that thought had actually crossed his mind. Thankfully, he was not nearly drunk enough to act on it.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Over a hundred heads craned forward to witness the act they had long imagined happening in secret on the battlefront, and knowing this, Speirs did his best to add a touch of showmanship. With one hand behind her neck and the other on the small of her back, he leaned her back and kissed her with the same amount of passion he had the first time, back in Germany after their victory had been announced at the Eagle’s Nest. The scene was met with the kind of whooping and hollering only men of the US military could provide, and when Alice was lifted upright again, they cheered all the more for her pink, glowing face as tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

*

“You finally did it, huh?”

“Hey, Nix!”

Catching her alone after the ceremony, he allowed himself to be pulled into a friendly embrace. The other guests milled around outside the church; Speirs caught in the middle of a mini Dog Company reunion as his old squad mates shared their congratulations.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Alice said, stepping back.

“You always were a woman of your word.”

He took her in from the closer proximity. He hadn’t thought she could look any more beautiful, but outside, under the churchyard’s big oak tree, with the sunlight dappled across her skin, she was a far cry from the sweat and dirt encrusted lieutenant he had seen fighting back in Europe.

“What?” she asked, and he realized he had been staring. Dropping his gaze, his eyes came to rest on the shape of her belly. The dress was doing a good job of covering it, but from this range the bump was undeniable. Catching his expression, Alice winced. “We got started a little early.”

“You’re pregnant?” he asked, his thick eyebrows jumping up.

“Yeah. We were hoping no one would notice,” she chuckled. “Especially the priest.”

“Wow. God, that’s…. I can’t imagine you as a mom.”

“What are you talking about? I raised a whole goddamn company of kids. I think I’ll be alright.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you might actually have something there.”

“So, what’s her name?”

“Who?” He looked up at her, momentarily confused by the question, distracted by the brightness of her eyes. “Oh, her. That’s Laura. She didn’t want to come.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well, she found the invitation, asked how I knew you, and somehow ‘we served together in the airborne’ wasn’t a good enough answer.”

“So, what, she thinks I’m an old girlfriend or something?”

He chuckled and replied, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Alice gazed at him for a moment, sensing his apathetic mood.

“You don’t like her,” she realized.

“Well, I better. Since I’m marrying her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was kind of sudden. Sorry I didn’t get the chance to return the invitation. But, hey, maybe you can make it to the next one.”

“Geez, Nix.”

She frowned at the joke and watched as he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his old, familiar flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, and then, catching her concerned look, he held it out to her. She looked around and spotted Speirs still surrounded by his old comrades.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, then with a mischievous smirk she grabbed the container and took a sip.

“This is a new low,” Nixon told her, “Giving whiskey to a pregnant lady.”

“Hey, I could have said no.” She passed him back the silver flask and gave a little sigh.

He watched her for a moment, and simply seeing the content look on her face ate away at his long-harbored bitterness. Finally, he smiled. “Congratulations, Al. I’m really glad you’re happy.”

She looked back at him and realized that he genuinely meant it. With a small smile of her own, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks for coming, Lew.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if that meant leaving Laura at home. Oh, that reminds me, I should probably go find her, before she remembers how much she doesn’t want to be here.”

Chuckling, Alice watched him go with the painful realization that she might never see him again. Her heart ached at the thought of not being able to enjoy the company of these men every day, as she had for the better part of the last three years, but seeing them all with their family, their girlfriends and their wives, she couldn’t help but feel excited for the next chapters of their lives. Glancing over at her new husband, she caught his gaze and smiled, looking forward to the next chapter of her own.

Lewis found his fiancée chatting with Dick and the man’s long-time love, Ethel. Laura smiled brightly as he approached, and he quickly put on his own most convincing smile in return. As he listened in to the conversation, his arm draped around his bride-to-be, he looked around at the crowd of guests, glancing back every now and then to assure his interest in what was being said, laughing when the conversation called for it. He finally spotted Alice talking to Bill Guarnere, George Luz, Donald Malarkey and Buck Compton, the bride holding their rapt attention as she smoked a cigarette and grinned as she retold some story from their time in Europe. Even in her wedding dress, made up like a Hollywood starlet, she still managed to stand like an officer addressing their troops, and that was how he decided he wanted to remember her; not as the blushing bride of Ronald Speirs, but as the woman who had managed to capture a town with only a handful of men on D-Day; the woman who always managed to have a smile just for him.

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

Rogue Demigod - Chapter One

Fandom: Percy Jackson & the Olympians

Pairing: Annabeth Chase x Percy Jackson

Summary: Two years after Luke Castellan's demigod rebellion was ruthlessly crushed by the Olympians, Annabeth realizes that a string of attacks against minor gods across the country might be the actions of another half-blood. Determined to not let history repeat itself, she leaves camp to meet them. Au where Percy never went to Camp Halfblood.

Word Count: 3.5k | 1/?

ao3 ||| ff.net ||| wattpad ||| quotev

As Annabeth walked into Chiron’s office in the Big House, she noticed the shimmering remnant of an Iris message. Behind the glimpses of rainbow that hung in the air, Chiron’s face was grim.

“Another attack?” she asked.

Chiron nodded wearily. “A minor god in Texas, not far from Houston. Tyche, goddess of luck, destiny, and fortune.”

“Did she see what attacked her?” Annabeth sat down on the edge of Chiron’s desk.

He shook his head. “Same as the others. A sudden deluge of water, which got her off-guard as well as temporarily blinding her. But she swears whatever it was had a celestial bronze weapon.”

“Maybe it’s not a monster,” Annabeth suggested, putting a pin in Houston on a map already covered in pins.

“What else would it be?” Chiron asked. “All the Titans were accounted for, as well as the other minor gods and goddesses. Besides, they would have been able to do a lot more damage. Tyche was shaken and a bit injured, but not severely. It is entirely possible that a monster happened to have a celestial bronze weapon that it got from a previous fight.”

Annabeth stared at the map, unconvinced. There was something weird about this.

“With camp starting up again this week, we’ll be able to send out a quest,” Chiron said. “Then we will know more about this, and hopefully be done with it. The gods are growing impatient with our inaction.”

Annabeth frowned. “And of course they can’t do anything about it,” she muttered.

Chiron looked at her reproachingly.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly, then sighed. “So, who are you going to send?”

“Not you, Annabeth,” Chiron said, kindly but firmly. “You know the gods wouldn’t approve of you going, and besides, I need you here.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean me,” Annabeth said. “I was just curious. If this thing can take on minor gods, we need to send someone who can handle it.”

Chiron nodded. “I’ll ask for volunteers and choose from them.” He watched as Annabeth continued to look at the map. “Can I have your word that you’ll focus on getting the camp up and running and not on this?”

Pulled out of her thoughts, Annabeth quickly turned away from the map. “Of course,” and she quickly left the room.

Something about this was nagging at her though. There was something odd about this case.

Back in the Athena cabin, she pulled up the local news for Houston on her laptop. The main story was of a freak wave on the coast – the attack on Tyche. But further down, there was a story about a large, burly man rampaging in a bar before being pulled out into an alley by someone no one saw and disappearing leaving signs of a struggle. The description was how Annabeth imagined mortals would see a minotaur through the Mist.

These two events happened not an hour apart, and Annabeth could not help but wonder if it was the same thing that was involved in both. But she had never heard of monsters attacking each other.

There was only one logical conclusion here, and as Annabeth investigated previous attacks, it became clearer and clearer, but she did not want to think about it.

The attacks on both minor deities and monsters, seemingly indiscriminately. The fact that it never pursued or even attacked demigods. The celestial bronze weapon.

Annabeth closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair and wondered if maybe she was reading too much into it.

The first week of camp was a flurry of activity. Campers arrived, old and new. Annabeth helped to show them around and did not have a lot of time for her own research.

Thalia arrived at the end of the first week. While Annabeth had decided to hold off on college for a year, Thalia had gone last year.

She hugged Annabeth tightly. When she pulled back, she smiled. “How have you been?”

Annabeth’s relationship with Thalia was a bit odd. Although they were now kind of the same age, they had not always been. When they met, Thalia was five years older than Annabeth, but now, due to some magical shenanigans involving a pine tree and the Golden Fleece, they were basically the same age. Nonetheless, Thalia still felt the need to protect her.

“I’m alright,” Annabeth said. “Keeping busy.”

Thalia nodded. “Me too.”

“I actually need your perspective on something. A… research project I’ve been working on.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, smiling, “Of course you would do a research project for fun. I’m forced to do that shit for classes.”

“Don’t swear around the younger campers,” Annabeth said absentmindedly as they headed to the Athena cabin.

In the cabin, campers were unpacking. They all nodded hello as she and Thalia entered. A few stole glances at Thalia in particular. In addition to having once been a tree, she was one of the only two children of the Big Three gods – Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.

She and Annabeth had also been close to Luke Castellan. Before.

As they approached Annabeth’s bunk, Thalia spotted her bulletin board with a map of the US with the pins of the attacks. Thread connected them in chronological order and cut-out headlines pinned alongside them.

“Wow,” Thalia said. “and I thought you didn’t like conspiracy theories.”

Annabeth frowned. “It’s the attacks,” she lowered her voice so that the other campers could not hear. “They’ve been happening all year, more frequently lately.”

“I’m sure Chiron’s got a handle on it,” Thalia said. “Why do you need me?”

“Chiron thinks it’s a monster and is going to send out a quest to kill it.”

“But you’re not so sure.”

“Exactly.” Annabeth pointed to one of the pins and the headlines pinned near it “April fourth, attack on a group of satyrs in Sacramento. Two days later, an empousa was killed in Concord, which is on the way to San Francisco, where to next attack happened.”

“And monsters don’t generally kill each other. They’re attracted to demigods.” Thalia sighed. “Annabeth, if Chiron thought it was a demigod, don’t you think he’d be handling the situation differently?”

“I didn’t tell him what I thought, because he wouldn’t believe me.”

Thalia studied to board again. “If it was a demigod – and I’m not saying I think it is – why would they be attacking minor gods and satyrs?”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Thalia sighed again.

“Annabeth, this is why I thought you should go to college too, and not stay cooped up at camp. You need to move on, not try to find a second chance at saving Luke.”

They had not said the name in months, but Annabeth never went a day without thinking about him. “It’s not that –”

“Yes, it is,” Thalia said. “We couldn’t save him and now you think you see someone like him, someone you can try to save.” She put her hands on Annabeth’s shoulders. “We need to let him go.” Annabeth could see the pain in Thalia’s eyes. Luke had meant as much to Thalia as he had to her.

“Chiron’s right,” Thalia said. “It’s just a monster.” She smiled again. “I’ll see you at the campfire.”

When Thalia left the cabin, Annabeth noticed that a lot of her siblings were glancing at her cautiously. She quickly straightened her shoulders and took a breath. She was the head counsellor of the Athena cabin and basically Chiron’s assistant, she had to at least look like she was keeping it together.

She looked back at the board. One thing she hated was feelings clouding judgement. It made plans and conclusions unsound and unreliable. She always tried to approach problems with an unbiased eye. Hadn’t she done that here?

She had not suspected the attack was a demigod until she had looked into it. After that, every new piece of information seemed to fit into place. Nothing else made sense.

Because she had tried other explanations. Whatever Thalia thought, the last thing Annabeth wanted was a demigod attacking gods. She did not want to have t deal with that, much less try to save whoever it was.

If there was one thing Annabeth was confident in, it was her ability to research and come to logical conclusions. She knew she was right.

She just had to convince someone of it.

As the sun started to set, Annabeth made her way across the strawberry fields. At the far end, nestled between some trees, was a small cottage.

She knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” a voice called from inside.

“Grover, it’s me, Annabeth!”

Annabeth heard the various locks click open before the door opened. Grover looked tired, as he always did these days. “Hey, Annabeth.”

She smiled as she stepped inside. “How’ve you been, Grover?”

“I’ve been alright,” he said. “It’s nice to hear all the campers around again. It gets so quiet during the school year.”

The cabin was small, just one room, with a bed in one corner and a couple of lazy chairs in the other. A cabinet of cans stood at the far wall.

Annabeth sank into a chair. “I saw Thalia earlier. Has she been by yet?”

Grover nodded. “Briefly.”

“I’m sure we can all catch up at the campfire tonight,” Annabeth said hopefully.

“Oh, I don’t – I wasn’t planning on going,” Grover said.

Even though she wanted to, Annabeth knew better than to pressure him. “Grover, I need your expertise on something.”

“My expertise?” Grover asked incredulously.

“Yes, as a Searcher.”

“And a great Searcher I was,” Grover muttered.

“Come on, what do we keep saying about the negative self-talk.” Annabeth sighed. “I think I may have found a demigod, but I’m not sure. You have the instincts for this.”

Grover sighed. “Okay, how can I help?”

Annabeth pulled out her laptop and showed him the digitalized version of the bulletin board. It would be more efficient to have it digitalized and not physically, but Annabeth liked to think with her hands.

“These are the monster attacks,” Grover said cautiously.

“Yeah, but not just on gods and nature spirits. I found attacks on monsters that fit into the timeline.”

As Grover surveyed the connecting headlines, Annabeth saw the realization cross his face. He immediately stepped back. “No.”

“What?”

“I am not getting involved in this.”

“Come on, Grover, I just need your help to convince Chiron, so he doesn’t send a quest to kill the person doing this.”

“Annabeth,” Grover said. “This is a demigod attacking minor gods. If the gods got wind of this…? It’s the last thing we need; repairing our reputation is hard enough as it is without there being a demigod fighting gods.” His voice rose to a bleat at the end.

Annabeth put a hand on Grover’s arm. “I know this brings up a lot for you, it does for me too, but maybe we can help this person – it’s just one person.”

“Luke was just one person too, and he led hundreds of demigods against Olympus.”

They were both quiet for a good moment. Annabeth closed her laptop and stood up slowly. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” Grover said, grabbing a can and nibbling it nervously. “Later.”

As Annabeth closed the door behind her, she sighed. She had known that Grover would not be happy to hear it, but at least he did believe her. Maybe with more time, he would back her up to Chiron.

But she didn´t have time. She suspected that Chiron would call for volunteers at the campfire tonight.

Annabeth made her way down to the campfire early that evening, hoping to talk to Chiron before too many campers got there.

Chiron stood talking to a few satyrs who had recently brought in new campers / probably asking if their changes seemed particularly promising. He saw her coming down the earthen steps that doubled as seats around the fire pit and quickly finished his conversation.

“Annabeth,” he said. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the attacks.”

“Don’t worry, I ‘m sending out a quest, they’ll be on their way by morning.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m worried about.” Annabeth took a breath. “I don’t think it’s a monster. I think it’s a demigod.”

“What?”

“I did research – in my free time – that I can show you.” She could see that Chiron was wholly unconvinced. “Grover thinks so too.”

“Grover is hardly a reliable source.” There was an exasperated edge to his voice.

Annabeth huffed. “Grover was one of our best Searchers.”

“Exactly: was. He has not left the camp in over a year and a half! I care about Grover, but I couldn’t be surprised if his instincts have dulled a bit.”

“Come on, Chiron. Surely you see there’s something weird going on.” Annabeth looked at him imploringly, but he did not budge.

“I’m sending out a quest. That’s final.” Chiron turned and made his way to his regular spot on the far end of the fire pit.

Annabeth sighed. This was really not going how she had planned. She had hoped that this summer would be the one everything would go back to normal. The camp had been her home since she was seven and she hated how it had changed.

There were still traces of the battle that had taken place two years ago. Burn marks on buildings that Annabeth had been working to slowly get fixed. New scars on basically every camper. And so many empty bunks. The missing kids were not all reflected on the Wall either.

The Wall of Valor was in the Big House and was engraved with all the names of the demigods who died in battle. But only those fighting for the gods – rebels did not count, so they were left off and did not receive pyre burnings.

Annabeth had tried to argue for their names being included, of course, but had not been successful. She had argued unsuccessfully for a lot of things in the aftermath.

She remembered standing in the throne room of Olympus, the gods and goddesses towering above her. Trying to stand tall, she spoke as loudly and confidently as she could muster. “We request that the gods and goddesses claim their children within a reasonable time – at thirteen or fourteen, for example. Many of the rebels –”

“Traitors,” Hera spat.

“Traitors,” Annabeth amended quickly. “Many of the traitors were unclaimed and felt forgotten and neglected. Claiming them could prevent this from happening again.”

“So, you’re blaming us for this?” Zeus asked.

“No, of course not, Lord Zeus,” Annabeth said. “I’m just saying, there were contributing factors that could be eliminated to lessen the chance of this happening again.”

“This is absurd,” Hera said. “Your camp rises up against us and now you are making demands?”

“Not our whole camp,” Annabeth said, trying to keep her voice calm. “We fought against them – for you.”

“You were a close friend of this Luke fellow, weren’t you?” Demeter asked.

Annabeth turned to her. “Yes, we were close.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

She blinked. “I – I didn’t know until it was too late.”

Annabeth pulled herself out of the memory and sat down shakily. It had been a lie. She had known – at least that something was going on.

Other campers had started to filter in, and Annabeth quickly turned Thalia and they sat together. She did not pay much attention as the Hephaestus kids started the fire and the Apollo kids started up the sing-along.

Food was served and Annabeth ate silently, staring into the fire. She could see no way to convince Chiron or anyone of authority. And she could not go to any god with her theory, they would strike the rogue half-blood dead first and ask questions later. Annabeth wanted to help them.

Maybe Thalia was right. Maybe this was just a second chance for her. But that did not mean that it was not true. Whatever her motivations were, she wanted to help.

An old plan from years ago began to reform in her mind. Back before she went on her quest two years ago, she had been very impatient to leave camp. At one point, she had gotten the idea in her head that Chiron would never let her go and that she would have to do it herself. The main tenets of that plan could still work.

Annabeth looked around. If she left tonight, she would have a head start. And besides, she knew about this person’s movements and habits. For one thing, they tended to travel up to New York every couple of months and were due for another visit soon.

Across the fire pit, Chiron rose. “Good evening everyone. I trust you have all had a good week back. A special welcome to all the newcomers. We hope you come to see this place as a home away from home, as many here do.” He smiled warmly. “Now, as I am sure many of you have heard, there have been a large number of monster attacks all over the country over the past year. We believe they are all the work of one creature. These attacks have escalated in recent months and therefore, I am sending out a quest.”

Whispers erupted among the campers and the enchanted flames jumped green and yellow, reflecting their excitement. There had not been any quests last year.

“We do not know what kind of creature this is, so this quest is not for the faint of heart. However, I believe there is a candidate for the job.” Chiron turned to a group of Aphrodite kids. “Olivia Marcelin, daughter of Aphrodite.” He inclined his head slightly to her. “Will you undertake this labour?”

Olivia, petite but muscular, had arrived at camp just before the rebellion. She was thrust into battle situations at fifteen and handled herself well. She was a good fighter, skilled in multiple weapons, and benefitted from being underestimated. Annabeth would have to be smart if she was going to beat her.

Olivia, although first taken off her guard, quickly straightened and smiled. “I would be honoured.”

“And who will you choose as your companions?” Chiron asked.

She looked around. “Adam Flavius.” Her brother, another son of Aphrodite. Unassuming, but had wickedly good aim with throwing knives. “and Sabine Stentz.” No surprise there. Sabine, daughter of Demeter, was Olivia’s girlfriend. Like all children of Demeter, she had power over plants, but she specialized in the art of offensive plants. Annabeth had seen her in action and would hate to have to tangle with her.

“Very well,” Chiron said. “Tonight you will go to the Oracle and prepare, for you leave at first light tomorrow morning.”

“But first,” said Michal – a child of Apollo. “More sing-along.”

As they strummed the opening chords of ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain,’ Annabeth turned to Thalia. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” she said quietly.

Thalia looked at her with a little suspicion but nodded. “Sleep well.”

Annabeth slipped away quietly. In her cabin, she quickly packed the essentials in her backpack: ambrosia, nectar, change of clothes, a few drachmae, and everything else needed for a last-minute quest. Before she hurried out, she stuffed a pillow and extra blanket under her sheets, so it looked like she was asleep. The longer head start she could get before people noticed she was missing, the better.

Even though it had been a solo plan, Annabeth found herself knocking on Grover’s door.

“What is it?” he asked when he opened the door, looking like he had been sleeping. Then he saw her backpack and the sword that joined her dagger that was normally on her hip. “Whatever you’re doing, I do not want to be involved.”

“Grover, I need your help.”

“I am not going on your redemption quest, especially not if it’s a non-sanctioned one.”

“I have a better chance if you come along, you know that. You can track demigods.”

“I also know that I haven’t left camp since… you know, and I’m out of practice.”

“If we don’t do this, there’s a pretty good chance the demigod will be killed.”

“So what? Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Better that way? Are you hearing yourself?” Annabeth tried not to lose her cool. “This is a demigod who needs our help. Finding and protecting demigods is supposed to be your job, as a Searcher.”

Grover just shook his head.

“Look, I know that you feel like you failed Luke, like what happened was your fault, but that was on all of us, okay? But maybe we can make it right, by helping this person.” She squared her shoulders. “But whether you decide to come or not, I’m going.”

Grover sighed and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Annabeth sighed a breath of relief. While she had been ready to go along, she hadn’t like the idea. She hadn’t had to survive along since before she met Luke and Thalia after running away from home.

“I thought you said this wasn’t to make up for what happened to Luke,” said a voice behind her.

Annabeth jumped and spun around to see Thalia standing behind her.

“Thalia, I – we –”

“I can’t let you two dumbasses go along, and you seem pretty hell-bent.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fuck it – we’re all going on this unsanctioned quest – which I still don’t entirely approve of.”