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blurredcolour · 10 months

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Lavender's Blue, Lavender's Green

[One-shot]

Lewis Nixon x Enlisted!Female Reader

After you wind up injured in a freak accident, your relationship with Captain Nixon is forever altered.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Alcohol Consumption, Weapons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Oblique References to Nixon's Alcoholism and Infidelity, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral sex - m/f receiving, unprotected vaginal sex] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Some liberties were taken in describing reader's family life/personal history for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 8358

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The floorboards creaked beneath your jump boots as you followed O’Keefe into the backroom of the half-destroyed café in Thalem. You could hear the strains of a string quartet rising from the square below, and the conversation between Luz and Nixon a few rooms over. O’Keefe had shown up as a replacement during Easy’s second stay in Mourmelon-le-Grand, wide-eyed and eager to get his hands dirty. The rest of you had just been glad to make it out of Haguenau alive.

But there was something about the naïve boy that reminded you of your little brother back home, the youngest of four siblings born after you, last to join the party, the most eager to experience life when the rest of you were all jaded by the loss of your mother during his birth. Add in the fact that you too had been a replacement once, joined Easy in Aldbourne for Operation Market Garden – one of twenty-seven women selected as the first female paratroopers to join the 506th – and you had felt a certain protectiveness over the kid. Which was why you found yourself watching over him now, even in this relatively harmless town.

Another groan of wood had your eyes flicking to the floor, something about the pitch of the slats not sitting right with you, but before you could open your mouth to warn him, there was an ominous ‘crack’ beneath O’Keefe. He let out a horrific shriek as the boards beneath him began to give way and you lunged forward, snapping out your left hand to grab onto any part of him you could. Seizing him by the back of the collar of his ODs, you landed flat on your stomach with a grunt with O’Keefe dangling through the newly created hole in the floor. Your helmet tumbled from your head, bouncing off his and crashing onto the tiles below.

Your arm was aching under the strain of his body weight but as you tried to spread some of the load onto your second hand, you realized the butt of your rifle was jammed between the floor and your body, pinning your right arm against you by the strap over your shoulder. The sound of multiple sets of boots running into the room was quickly followed by several pairs of hands pressing against your calves, bracing you to keep you from following O’Keefe through the hole.

“I gotta let you go, Patty.” You grit out. “It’s not far, ok?” You assured him, able to see through the ragged gap in the wood that he was dangling only a few feet from the floor below.

His response was not what you were hoping for. “Don’t let me fall!” He cried out, looking up to you with wide, calf-like eyes. “Please don’t let me go!” He began to clutch at your arm, flailing his legs as though he wanted to climb back up.

His body swung like a pendulum, bouncing and jerking before ultimately wrenching your strained shoulder from its socket and careless words born of pain from your lips.

“Augh! Jesus Christ, you fucking meatball! It’s only two feet! Let go!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut against the blinding pain, your grip failing as your arm started to go numb.

He continued to whimper nonsensically and thrash about as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs followed by a set of lighter ones.

“Let go of her you fucking meatball!” You heard Perconte snap at O’Keefe from below and cracked your stinging eyes open to see that Bull had seized the boy around the waist, the thrashing finally stilling before the weight of him was released from your limb as, at last, he let go of your arm.

Relief tingled through you, though did nothing to lessen the raw ache in your shoulder. Afraid to move, afraid to inhale more than tiny sips of air lest you fan the flames of pain, you laid perfectly still with your arm outstretched toward the ground below.

“What a fucking meatball.” You heard Luz giggle from behind you as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you up.” His voice grew closer as he leaned forward.

Mortifying as it was, laying there in denial was not going to make the agony end. Taking a shaky breath, you asked quietly. “George, can you go find Doc, please?” You were hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Webster, Liebgott, and Nixon who were somewhere in the room still. At least one pair of hands was still firmly gripping your calves.

“Uh, the meatball is fine, I mean Bull might tear him a new one but…” He trailed off as you turned your head slowly to look up at him, brow furrowing as lances of pain pierced your neck and shoulder. It felt as though someone were pouring boiling water down the sleeve of your uniform.

“For me, please.” You clarified, perspiration dotting your skin under the strain of masking your discomfort.

The room fell silent, whatever Liebgott and Webster had been bickering about forgotten as Luz shoved his way past them and shot out of the room. You felt the pressure against your calves ease up before Nixon was kneeling on the floor next to you, features etched with concern. “Where are you hurt?”

“Left shoulder.” You exhaled, swallowing at the way his eyes ricocheted over your prone form.

“Think you can get up for me?” He asked, his voice enticingly soft, making your heart skip a few beats as you felt suddenly willing to try anything he might ask of you so long as he kept speaking like that.

“Maybe?”

The smile he awarded you with filled your stomach with bubbling effervescence. “Good, let’s get this out of the way first.” He carefully extracted your M1 from beneath your hip before sliding it off your good shoulder, handing it off to one of the other men in the room.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he started to lift your torso from the floor, punching the air from your lungs painfully. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek viciously you did everything you could not cry out in pain. You were not the first woman in Easy to get hurt – Esther had been hit by shrapnel from a tree in Bastogne and Pearl had been shot during Dike’s disastrous assault on Foy. Both had been awarded a purple heart. You were just a girl who’d tried to hold too much weight – there would be no medal for you, so it would be best not to make a scene.

“Shit you must be in so much pain, I’m sorry.” Nixon grumbled, seemingly at a loss as to how to get your arm out of that hole and you into a more comfortable position.

Roe’s voice downstairs broke through the haze of pain, and you clenched your teeth, willing yourself to hold on a little longer as you heard him hurry up the stairs.

“You two, out.” He said firmly to Liebgott and Webster who left without comment before his hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you backwards. “Bend ya knees for me, that’s it, good job.” He spoke calmly as he worked with Nixon to lift you up into a kneeling position well away from the hole in the floor.

As your left arm drooped, your right hand quickly moved to support it in more or less the position it had been when O’Keefe’s movements had pulled it out of place. A millimetre of movement in any direction had you whimpering pathetically in the back of your throat despite your best efforts to keep the sound sealed behind your lips.

“What’s going on?” Roe asked as he knelt in front of you, taking in the way you were supporting your arm before he started to undo your ODs and then your wool shirt beneath.

“It’s my shoulder, Doc.”

He nodded as he carefully pulled open the collar to take a look, his fingers skimming along the skin of your shoulder and the strap of your undershirt. As they honed in on the hollow where your joint ought to be, you let out a yelp and nearly keeled over backward at the searing pain, grateful as Nixon pressed a hand to your lower back to keep you upright.

“Yeah it is. It’s out of joint.” Roe confirmed the sneaking suspicion you’d had.

There had been something agonizingly familiar about the whole thing, taking you back to a hot summer day when you were ten years old, riding your father’s new horse despite his explicit instructions to wait for him to be done in the field before you tried to mount it. The horse’s black coat had shone almost purple in the sunlight of the afternoon, warm to the touch as the barely broken-in animal had suffered no more than one lap around the paddock before bucking you from its back.

The force with which you had struck the ground had dislocated your left shoulder that day, and the drive into town to see the doctor had been a torturous thirty minutes during which every jolt and bump had sent pain shooting through your body. But as soon as the doctor had put it back in place, the relief had been almost immediate.

“You can put it back, right?” You asked hoping to avoid transport somewhere like this.

“Yeah, I can.” Doc smiled softly and started digging through his satchel. “Let’s get ya some morphine first, alrigh’?”

“Wait, don’t, I’ll be useless.” You said sharply. “It’s just going to hurt when you put it back in, right?”

Roe looked to you with wide eyes, hands stilling before his expression hardened a little. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I put it back in.” He clarified firmly and you felt Nixon’s hand twitch against your back.

“And then after that I’ll be fine.” You insisted bravely.

Nixon sighed your name, and you turned your head too fast, barely stifling a cry of pain behind trembling lips.

“Maybe you should just let Doc give you the morphine.” He said gently.

“No.” You replied stubbornly despite the fact that he was a ranking officer, turning your face back to Roe more carefully this time. “Just get it over with, please.”

Roe sighed heavily at you, muttering bitterly in French. You caught a word that sounded an awful lot like ‘mule’, but before you could question him about it, he set one hand on your bicep and the other on your forearm. A noise of pain snuck past your lips unbidden, and you clamped your free hand over your mouth as he shot you a knowing look.

“Yer gonna yowl like a goddamn alley cat, take tha morphine.”

You glared up at him stubbornly until he started to move again, bending your arm at the elbow before slowly pushing your bicep in to press along at your ribs. You let out a sob of agony against your palm, aware that the murmur of conversation downstairs had faded away, but helpless to quell your involuntary reactions to Roe’s manipulations of your limb.

You felt Nixon shift at your side, watched his knee slot between yours before he carefully cupped the back of your head to guide your face to press against his neck. Your hand fell to your lap as you burrowed into the collar of his ODs, cheek pressed against his skin, the fabric of his uniform doing a much better job of muffling the sounds of pain spilling from you. His hand sought yours between your bodies, clasping your forearm, and you gripped his tightly in return as Roe turned your left arm out from your body at a ninety-degree angle before pulling downward on your bicep.

A tremendous wail wrenched from your throat with enough force that you anticipated the taste of blood before an audible ‘clunk’ sounded from your left shoulder, resonating through your torso as your joint slid home. The tension melted from your body in an instant as the pain left you, replaced by nothing more than a dull discomfort, slumping against Nixon to take a few deep breaths. Long enough to note the hint of cedar in his aftershave before you remembered yourself.

You had found Captain Nixon handsome from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him, but as he was a married officer with an English mistress you’d also gone above and beyond to steer clear of that mess. Unfortunately, it had done little to dull your body’s natural response to his presence.

Straightening quickly, you frowned to see you’d left wet patches of tear drops on his collar, releasing his hand as though it burned you to try and brush them off.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He assured you warmly and you swallowed thickly, shuffling back a little to turn to Roe.

“Thanks Doc.” You frowned to see him pulling out a sling.

“Jus’ for a few days, can’t have it slippin’ back out.” Roe muttered and unceremoniously wrapped it under your left elbow before tying it behind your neck. “I’ll let Cap’n Speirs know yer on ligh’ duties, he’ll probably send ya up ta Major Winters as a runnah.”

You let out a sigh of relief as hopefully that meant no aid station, no getting separated from the company and lost in some replacement depot. Looking down you frowned at how open the collars of your shirt and OD jacket were and began trying to reassemble yourself one-handed.

“Here.” Nixon offered softly and carefully buttoned you back up to where you usually wore your uniform before he pushed himself to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you up as well. “Ok?” He asked and you nodded, trying not to notice the way the warmth of his body seeped through your clothes.

“Thank you, sir.” You said quietly and he nodded warmly in reply.

Grabbing his things, he gestured for you to lead the way out of the room, following close behind. As you reached the main floor, Luz held out your helmet which you took with a nod of thanks, putting it on your head before retrieving your rifle from Liebgott. You could hear Perconte continuing to give O’Keefe shit outside and you frowned deeply, making a beeline for the sound of his voice.

“Hey! I’m fucking fine, knock it off.” You barked tersely before you were beckoned over by Captain Speirs.

The sound of an explosion further up the road had your eyes fluttering open, the ruined village of Thalem dissolving into the sun-drenched back of a transport truck parked on the autobahn in Bavaria just outside the SS resort town of Berchtesgaden that 2nd Battalion was supposed to be taking. You’d been sitting here for at least twenty minutes now, the road blocked by a no-doubt man made rockslide that so far had proven impervious to everything the mortar boys had thrown at it.

Just what had pulled your thoughts back to that afternoon several weeks past you couldn’t say, though it was not the first time you had found your mind wandering there during a lull in activity. In fact, it had become harder and harder to find a time when you were not thinking about Nixon, much to your chagrin. It was not good for your health, even though his impending divorce had become very public knowledge nearly two months ago.

A palpable tension had been born between the two of you that day in Thalem, something you were certain others could sense as you’d spent two weeks at Battalion HQ, running into him more often than ever before. Averted gazes, stiffened postures, cleared throats – neither of you quite knew how to behave around each other anymore when interaction had been so natural and inconsequential before. Something had been changed that day in the café and there was no going back to the way it had been previously.

Shifting higher on the wooden bench you noted a couple of the guys in your platoon were dozing in the truck with you but everyone else seemed to have emptied out to watch impatiently as though the pressure of the entire battalion’s eyes might send the rocks cascading the rest of the way down the mountainside. The scuff of jump boots on pavement pulled your attention to the rear of the vehicle and you smiled to see O’Keefe approaching.

“Hey Patty, got tired of watching the blast boys?” You smirked and offered him a hand to pull him up, swallowing at his hesitation. “Come on, I’m fine I told you.” You chided gently.

He took it carefully and allowed you to help him into the truck and that’s when you noticed his helmet tucked under his arm, filled with wildflowers of all sorts of colours. Your breath hitched in your throat as the sight smacked of summertime at home, a dart of nostalgia and longing piercing through the layers of armor you had carefully layered over your heart to make it through this war.

His eyes followed yours and he beamed as he plonked down on the bench beside you. “There’s tons of ‘em just growing alongside the road. I thought you might like some.”

Looking to him softly you took his proffered helmet, setting it in your lap as you looked them all over, picking up a particularly vibrant purple one. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” You murmured distantly, practically transported by something so simple as wildflowers.

“Do you think that one is lavender?”

A snort from the back of the truck announced Liebgott’s return and you glanced over to see him leaning against the grill of the transport parked behind yours.

“Lavender grows in France, not Bavaria.” Webster corrected O’Keefe, tucking his notebook into his pocket before hopping up to sit on the bench across from the pair of you.

“Isn’t there that song about lavender, though? Lavender’s purple, billy billy?” Perconte squeezed in beside O’Keefe, crowding his personal space.

Ignoring their usual antics, you smiled softly to yourself, hands began to move from muscle memory as plucking the longest stemmed flower you could find before carefully winding the purple flower around it, repeating the process over and over as you started to sing.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the song!” O’Keefe declared brightly.

“Shut the fuck up, meatball.” Perconte hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing him sharply so you would keep singing.

“When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so”

Unaware that your voice was carrying across the rockface of the mountainside, you were lost in the chain of flowers you were weaving from O’Keefe’s helmet, the verses coming back to you easily after years of singing them to your younger siblings.

“Call up your men, dilly dilly, put them to work Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm”

A hush fell over the valley, even the mortar team ceasing their attempts to break through. It was not the first time they’d heard you sing, you knew all the verses to ‘Blood on the Risers’ and happily shouted them along with the rest of the Company, but it was the first time you’d sung in such a feminine way before. You’d found the most expedient way to integrate into Easy was to be one of the boys, yet here you were, reminding each and every one of them that you were a woman.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way

I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing When I am queen, dilly dilly, you’ll be my king Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so”

As you finished the song, you curled the chain of blooms into a circle and wove it closed with several stems before turning to place it on O’Keefe’s head, blinking as it slipped down over his eyes. A chorus of harsh laughter at his expense broke out around you and you huffed in annoyance.

“Oh shoot, Patty, I put too many flowers in there, sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.” You gently pried it off his head, setting the large crown aside before setting to work on a smaller one as the sound of a jeep could be heard coming up the road.

You’d barely put the finishing touches on the smaller crown of flowers when Speirs was ordering everyone to form up into their platoons and O’Keefe had to vanish. Mortifyingly, you found yourself standing on the pavement with both circlets clasped carefully in your hand, somehow loathe to leave them in the transport truck to be trampled but also aware that you couldn’t just carry them with you.

“Captain Nixon can look after those for you, Corporal.” Major Winters voice cut through the din of soldiers tramping back and forth to collect their gear and get ready. You turned to see him grinning at you from where he stood leaning against his jeep.

Nixon, for his part, was staring at you with an unreadable look on his face – Confusion? Bewilderment? Shock? Whatever it was it made you want to duck your head shyly, an impulse which you fought hard against as you hustled over to hold out your handmade treasures.

“Thank you very much, sir.” You murmured quietly, swallowing as he hesitated a moment before taking them gingerly, as if they were made of spun glass, while Major Winters watched on with a broad grin. “Sirs.” You saluted and hurried back to your platoon, not wanting to be the cause of any further delay, but still unable to put your finger on just what Nixon’s expression had been.

As it turned out you had quite a bit of time to puzzle it over. After securing the town without incident and cheering on the select few who made it up to the Eagle’s Nest, you ended up on a patrol under Major Winters where he discovered the ruins of Herman Goering’s hunting lodge. Left on guard duty overnight with Patty, you let him ramble on about all the things he wanted to see and do now that the war in Germany was practically over while you quietly tried to decipher the enigma that was Nixon.

Straightening from your lean against the stucco wall as you heard the sound of an engine approaching down the rather rough road, you swallowed painfully to see the man himself, posture quite relaxed as he cradled an open bottle of champagne.

“What is this place?” He asked as he climbed from the vehicle, dressed only in the wool shirt and pants of his uniform.

“Herman Goering’s house, we discovered it yesterday. Had it on double guard ever since.” Major Winters replied.

You nodded in greeting as they walked past you, though Nixon’s sunglasses made it even more impossible to interpret his mood than that last time you’d seen him.

“I can vouch for that, sir.” O’Keefe interjected quickly and you tried not to wince at his endearing awkwardness.

“Oh, anxious to get off duty, O’Keefe?” Winters taunted him.

“No, there’s just so much to see and do, sir.” The boy replied honestly, and you heard Nixon scoff under his breath as Winters unlocked the door.

“Heya meatball.” Nixon grinned in greeting as he followed Winters through the door and down the stairs and that time you really did wince.

O’Keefe looked at you hopefully and you motioned with your head for him follow them, knowing full well his curiosity must be eating him alive. Listening to the wind rustling in the trees, you sighed quietly, soaking in the peace of the moment before Winters made his way back up the stairs with O’Keefe, the boy yanking you into a hug.

“Victory in Europe! The Germans surrendered!” He crowed and you stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment before you hugged him back.

Major Winters chuckled behind him before nodding to you in confirmation, making you realize the bewildered expression that must have been on your face. You pulled back to slap O’Keefe on the shoulder with a grin.

“Gotta go get the others, there is so much booze down there!” He was vibrating with excitement.

Glancing over your shoulder towards the stairs you raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Go take a look, Corporal.” Winters nodded encouragingly before climbing into his jeep with O’Keefe and pulling out.

Hitching your rifle higher on your shoulder you carefully made your way down the stairs, mind still swirling with the news, fingertips buzzing with an odd energy you weren’t quite certain what to do with. As you stepped through the open gate into the expansive wine cellar, stocked from floor to ceiling, your eyes widened, trying to take it all in.

“What’s your favorite drink?” Nixon’s question interrupted your moment of shock, and you looked over to where he stood amid countless bottles of a richly colored red wine.

“Gin.” You replied walking further into the space, sliding your helmet from your head as he made a thoughtful noise in reply before beginning to hunt through row on row of bottles. You unshouldered your rifle to set the butt on the floor, leaning the barrel against a stack of crates before setting your helmet on top of them.

Gnawing on your lip you turned back to admire the intensity with which Nixon approached his task before a small cry of triumph escaped his lips and he pulled a green bottle from the corner, holding it out to you as he approached like the conquering hero. You could not stop the grin that tugged at your lips as you took it from him, looking over the unfamiliar label.

“Genever, from Holland. The precursor to gin. It should do.” He nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

“Thank you, Captain Nixon.” You replied warmly, doubting you’d need a whole bottle to yourself but still appreciating the gesture as you slid it into the jacket pocket of your ODs.

“Can you do me a favor?” He tilted his head.

“Sir?” You stood a little straighter.

“Call me Lewis.” He requested softly, his rich brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light of the cellar.

Swallowing roughly, your heart began to beat a little faster at the intimacy of his request as your mind flitted back to his earlier arrival.

“Only if you’ll do something in return?” You asked slowly.

“What’s that?” He leaned in, the sweetness of champagne still lingering on his breath.

“Can you stop calling O’Keefe ‘meatball’?” You tensed in anticipation of his reaction, your heart plummeting through the concrete floor when he recoiled as if you’d struck him. Guilt bloomed bitterly in your chest, a new crop to go alongside the one you had planted that day in Thalem. “Every time someone says it, I’m reminded of the worst thing I ever said to him.” You rushed to explain your request, cautiously optimistic as his gaze slowly returned to your face. “It…wasn’t his fault he panicked. I never should have spoken to him that way.”

Nixon’s brows furrowed a moment in consideration of your request. “You really care for the kid, don’t you.” He sounded resigned and you found yourself blinking at him stupidly as he made his way back over to continue perusing the shelves.

Slowly, your brain began to process the slump of his shoulders, the forced nonchalance as he examined various labels and added choice bottles to a wooden crate at his feet.

Could he possibly be… No, that seemed utterly improbable… and yet…

All that aside, it seemed as though it could not hurt to clarify your relationship with O’Keefe. “Reminds me of my kid brother, sir.”

Nixon raised his head slowly, turning back to look at you. “Like a brother…” He said thoughtfully and you bobbed your head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I can stop in that case then.” He smirked and you exhaled with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at you expectantly.

“Thank you very much, Lewis.” You amended, pressing your lips together as they hummed in pleasure at forming his name.

Lewis’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he eyed you warmly for a few moments before turning back to the task at hand, filling the crate and adding it to a growing stack by the entrance before grabbing another one to repeat the process. Shaking your head, you perched a hip onto one of the tables behind you, eyes scanning the room, reflecting on its previous owner, surprised at the sudden tightness in your throat as you remembered the fresh news of the German surrender. Clearly it was going to take some time to sink in, and frequent reminders, but the tears that were threatening to well in your eyes needed to be quashed until you could find a quiet place to unleash them as silently as possible.

Partly out of a desire to simply say his name again, and largely out of a need to distract yourself from the rising tide of your own emotions, you called out to him softly again. “Hey Lewis?”

“Hmmm?” He replied and you found yourself taking far too much pleasure in how quickly he turned back to you.

“I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dog.” You said meaningfully, that tightness in your throat returning with a vengeance when an unveiled look of fragility overtook his features.

For the first time in nearly a month you were utterly convinced of how Lewis was feeling and more than anything you thought the man was in dire need of a hug. Before your brain even registered you were moving, your feet propelled you across the floor to wrap around arms around him, pulling him close. Almost immediately his arms slid around you tightly in return, one hand clinging to your shoulder as the other pressed some unknown bottle into your lower back, his face burrowing into your neck.

Tightening your embrace, you held him warmly, almost a mirror image of how he had held you in Thalem. You were completely oblivious to the traitorous tears that had snuck down your cheeks until Lewis was pulling back, setting the bottle of liquor aside to cradle your jaw and swipe at them with his thumbs.

“It’s a hell of a dog, but not worth you crying over.” He teased gently and you rolled your eyes, mostly in frustration at yourself, shaking your head as you sniffed.

“Is this…really all over?” You whispered in disbelief, and he pressed his forehead to yours gently as he nodded.

“We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way.” He uttered and you let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying your face into his shoulder as he pulled you tightly against him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, unable to stop the flood of tears now that they had snuck past your defences, each shake of your frame somehow causing Lewis to hold you tighter as though he might prevent you from crumbling to pieces. The bottle of genever pressed between your bodies almost painfully, digging into your hip, giving you something tangible to focus on as you reined in your shuddering breaths, lifting your head slowly.

“God, I got your uniform all wet again.” You said, voice thick with the aftereffects of your breakdown and he shook his head as you wiped at his collar with your sleeve.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He repeated his assurance from the café with a smirk, and you gave him a watery laugh, wiping at your face roughly.

“Trooper, is that a bottle of Dutch-gin in your pocket or…” He grinned deviously and your jaw dropped before you smacked his shoulder playfully as a peal of laughter escaped your lips.

You shuffled back to put a proper amount of space between your bodies though you noted his one hand remained splayed upon your back. The one that had previously been at nape of your neck dropped to retrieve the bottle from your pocket. “If anyone is in need of a celebratory drink, it’s definitely you.” He murmured gently.

He tilted it towards you, and you reached forward to tug at the red ribbon as he held the bottle steady, breaking the wax seal over the cork. You let the debris fall to the ground before unsealing the cork with a promising ‘pop.’ You scoffed in playful protest as Lewis helped himself to first sip before setting the genever in your outstretched hand. Taking a swig, you blinked at the complexity of it compared to the dry gin you were accustomed to in England or back home. It burned its way down your throat into your empty stomach, igniting a warm glow from within.

A few rogue droplets had been left on your lips, but before you had the chance to swipe your tongue out to collect them, Lewis’s fingertips were tracing along the sensitive flesh. Your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes were focused on your mouth as he worked at gathering every bit of liquid whilst also tracing the fullness of your lips before lifting his fingertips to suck them clean. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Lewis’s proximity, and the way his eyes were now boring into yours, you swallowed tightly as his hand pressed tighter to your back, pulling you closer once more. His lips had barely brushed against yours when a host of voices sounded at the top of the staircase.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He swore against your mouth before you darted back out of his grip, chest heaving as you shoved the cork into the bottle of genever and returned it to your pocket forcefully. You quickly began to look for something to be doing with yourself.

“I’ll start loading these into the jeep, Captain?” You asked, voice tight as a bow string and all he managed in response was a dazed nod as you quickly scooped up one of the crates filled with his choice of bottles, nodding to the newest crop of arrivals on your way up the staircase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you set the crate into the back of the jeep Winters had left for you and O’Keefe during guard duty, trying to take deep breaths of fresh air to clear your head. Christ that had been close…close to being caught…close to kissing Lewis…You sunk your teeth into your lower lip trying to smother the broad grin that threatened to unfurl on your features. There were far too many people about now to be grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Fishing your canteen from your webbing, you took a deep sip of water before smoothing your hands over your uniform and, feeling somewhat collected, returned to the cellar to move more crates.

Lewis seemed to have regained control of his senses, not that you dared to look at him, but his directions rang out through the cellar to load most of the wine into the trucks that men has just arrived with for the enjoyment of the officers while you continued carting his personal stash up the stairs until the jeep was full to bursting. All in all, he claimed five truckloads for himself and the officers of 2nd battalion. You rode backwards in the jeep, doing your best to stabilize the crates over the rough track back into town, doing your utmost to ignore his proximity in the vehicle.

A very warm welcome awaited your return to the lavish hotel where the officers were billeted, and many hands made short work of unloading all those trucks so they might make another trip for the rest of the men. By the time you’d made your way to Lewis’s room with the last of his crates, there was barely space to move for all the alcohol stashed within. No more than a small walking path from the door to the bed, if you were being honest.

“This is the last of it, sir.” You said as you looked around for a spot to put it and he looked to you sharply.

“We talked about this…” He teased, shuffling forward to grab it from you, hoisting it over to another corner of the room but you barely heard him as your eyes fell onto the two flower crowns sitting on the window ledge beside the bed.

“You kept them?” You breathed in amazement.

He looked to you before following your gaze and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was told to look after them for you.”

Picking your way across the floor carefully, you knelt on the bed with your boots hanging off the edge behind you, smiling softly to see they were a little dried out but truly no worse for wear. “You did an excellent job of it, Lewis.” You barely whispered his name aware the door was still open.

Setting your rifle on the floor at the foot of the bed, you put your helmet on the ledge before picking up the larger crown, rolling onto your hip and then onto your butt on the mattress in time to see him closing the door. “I’d bet money this fits you.” You smiled softly.

“Save your money, I already know.” He grinned, ducking down beneath the circlet of flowers before straightening with it perched atop his dark hair.

Your eyes widened in delight. “It fits perfectly.” Your fingers gently straightened it, unable to ignore the softness of his chocolate strands at they brushed against your fingers.

Lewis’s gaze flicked to your lips briefly before looking back to your eyes and you took a slow breath before trailing your hands down to frame his face, enjoying the slight scratch of his stubble against your palms. “Lewis…” You exhaled, and he surged forward to seal his lips against yours firmly.

He settled onto his knees before you, hands gripping your waist as you parted your legs and dropped a hand to his back to urge him closer. Needing no further invitation, he scooted forward, pressing against you as his tongue licked its way into your mouth. You weren’t quite sure who started it, but your fingers were a flurry of activity, pulling at the buttons of each others’ uniforms. All he managed to reveal was the wool shirt you wore underneath, your webbing dangling limply from your shoulders, while you found his bare chest. Growing impatient, Lewis tugged your shirt and undershirt free of your pants and ODs until he was able to slide his hand against the soft skin of your abdomen, making your lips fall back from his with a whimper.

“Damn it why are you wearing so many clothes…” He growled and you pressed your face against his hair to smother your laugh, knocking the flower crown askew.

“Some of us were on duty today.” You muttered back, nipping at the shell of his ear before pushing his shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands skate along his back.

Leaning forward, he pushed you back into the mattress, nipping and sucking his way along your jaw before he methodically began to remove your layers of clothing and webbing, starting with a ruthless tugging on your boot laces, until you were left in your army issue brassiere and underwear. To say that they left a lot to be desired in terms of style was an understatement, but the reverence in his gaze as his eyes raked over his hard-won reward soothed your ego somewhat. Plucking the crown from his head, you tossed it gently onto the windowsill before hugging his hips with your knees and rolling him onto his back intent on returning the favour, your dog tags jangling against his in a metallic collision.

As you tried to slide down to reach the laces of his boots, however, he grunted in denial, hauling you in for a hungry kiss as he pulled your pelvis snug against his, making you inhale sharply through your nose at the feel of his hard length against you. “Gotta get your pants off, Lew.” You tried to speak but he kept interrupting you with brushes of his lips or darts of his tongue into your mouth. Huffing slightly, you rocked forward against him firmly, making yourself shudder, but you managed to get his attention as his head fell back, eyes staring up at you half-lidded, jaw slack in a silent moan. “Gonna start with your boots and then I’m gonna get your pants off.”

“And then you’ll do that again…” He breathed and you nodded licking your lips as he released your hips.

You were admittedly not nearly as efficient as him, fingers made clumsy with want, but through persistence you prevailed in removing his boots, pants, and boxers, adding them to the scattered heap of clothing on the small patch of floor. Skimming your hands up his bare legs you revelled in the way he trembled slightly, sitting up to watch you impatiently as you made your way up from the floor. Halting your progress a moment, you ducked your head to lick a warm, wet stripe along the needy length of his cock where it stood proud against his lower abdomen, drawing a shaky cry of your name from his lips that convinced you to linger between his thighs a little longer.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you swirled your tongue around the tip before slowly sliding his length into your mouth, watching his cheeks flush and eyes flutter close as he wrenched at the bedding violently.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He panted, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically.

Smile curling around him, you dragged your lips up his length only to sink your mouth back down onto him, covering the last bit you couldn’t manage with your fist, allowing your saliva to run freely.

“Christ you’re good at that.” There was the edge of a whine to his voice and suddenly he was pulling your mouth from him, chest heaving. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins…” He muttered and sat up, gripping your hips to guide you onto the bed properly.

His lips latched onto nipple through the thin cotton of your bra before you could open your mouth to apologize, making your hips buck up against his stomach greedily as your fingers delved into his hair. Pulling the cup down he laved his tongue along the sensitive peak, before shifting his attentions to its partner, your soft sighs of pleasure filling the room. Sliding his hands to your back, he guided you up to sit before making quick work of the hook and eye closure between your shoulder blades, tossing your bra aside onto a crate of liquor before pressing you back down into the mattress with a kiss to your sternum, just above where your dog tags rested against your bare skin.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them over your hips and down your legs before they too were unceremoniously tossed aside. “Goddamn sweetheart you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your knee before he hooked it over his shoulder as he came to rest on his stomach between your legs.

“Lew I…” You started to protest, embarrassed about the fact that you hadn’t seen a shower in a few days, but the words died on your lips as his fingers ran through your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, did I make you this wet?” He murmured in awe, and you nodded slowly, his answering grin almost blinding in its intensity. “Well, best not let it go to waste.” Lewis winked before sealing his mouth over your core, sucking the very breath from your lungs as his tongue delved hungrily to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Throwing your arm over your mouth, you smothered a harsh curse of delight into the crook of your elbow as he slung his forearm across your hips to pin them down so he might better intensify the level of pleasure he was dealing you as his tongue plunged into your heat. His nose took over the stimulation of your clit, while the stubble on his cheeks and jaw made your inner thighs tremble. The sounds he was making between your legs were positively lewd and only heightened the swirling headiness that wrapped around you. You clung to his hair as he began to suck on your clit, making you see stars behind your clenched eyelids, every exhale an eager moan or keen smothered against your skin.

Lewis’s hand slid up along your side to cup your breast, his fingers shifting to pinch and roll at your nipple, vaulting you over the edge as you rambled his name over and over. The tension of ecstasy slowly ebbed from your body, and he lifted his head with a broad grin, swiping at his upper lip with his thumb before sucking it clean. “Someday I’m gonna do that somewhere so remote you can scream at the top of your lungs.” He nuzzled your hair, pressing his lips to your ear as you laughed breathlessly.

“You sound so certain…” You teased, but he merely raised an eyebrow in response, his palm cupping your still-sensitive core, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“I am, yes. Certain that I can make you cum with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Certain that I’d like the opportunity to do so again and again…” You forced your eyes open to look over his features slowly.

“Yeah?” You exhaled, not quite sure what you had been expecting when you fell into bed with him, just knowing it was what you had wanted above all else in that moment.

“Yeah, sweetheart, until you’re sick of me.” He kissed you gently, the salty tang of your release still on his lips.

Gripping the back of his head, you returned the kiss hungrily, shifting your hips to rock up against his length, swallowing his ragged moan as you finally fulfilled your promise to repeat that motion. “Show me.” You whispered, aching to feel him inside you.

Lewis exhaled hotly against your lips before shifting his hips back, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before he rocked forward to slowly sink into you. He sealed his mouth over yours almost painfully as you whimpered hungrily, his own rumble of pleasure reverberating through your chest. His head fell to rest against your collarbone, his breath caressing your skin once he was fully seated inside you, unmoving.

“Lew…” You whimpered softly, digging your fingers into his shoulders, writhing against him slightly.

“I know, sweetheart just…fuck you’ll be my undoing…” He whispered before he kissed you fiercely, pulling his hips back only to thrust forward once more, earning a moan of delight from you.

Your bodies began the push and pull of carnal pleasure, moving in tandem as though this were your hundredth coupling rather than your first. Grasping your knee, Lewis hiked it higher on his hip, angling his thrusts deeper into your willing body, making you toss your head to the side as you clenched your jaw against the desire to wail in delight.

“Wish I could…hear you so fucking badly…” He grit out before grasping your chin and turning your face back so he could press his mouth to yours as he rut against you firmly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit deliciously.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the vicious undertow nearly obliterating your ability to think as Lewis quickly pulled out from your convulsing warmth to release across your abdomen with an agonized groan that was admittedly less than concealed before he collapsed onto the bed at your side. The pair of you lay there, speechless, covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with frantic breaths before he shifted to feather soft kisses along the side of your face, reaching for a weathered scrap of green cloth that served as an army handkerchief to wipe your skin clean.

The ferocious growl your stomach emitted in the relative silence of the room had you tense as Lewis cracked up. “Sweetheart when was the last time you ate?”

“Oh, Christ I don’t know…” You muttered, covering your face with both hands in mortification.

Laughing richly, he kissed your knuckles before forcing himself up. “Alright, ok. Food. I’m going to find you some food. And then I’m going to spend the rest of this night right here in this bed with you, so don’t you go anywhere.” He looked down at you with playful seriousness as he stepped into the pants of your ODs, ruining the effect. “Shit.” He muttered.

Giggling into your palm, you shook your head before sighing as you pulled the blankets over your bare skin, feeling the chill of the mountain air now that he’d taken his body heat away from you. “Hey Lew?”

He looked to you quickly, nearly dressed – in his own clothes this time. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ll be here.” You smiled warmly, the stretch of your lips only widened by the grin of glee he directed at you before climbing back into bed to kiss you warmly. Your poor, empty digestive system growled insistently, and he huffed against your lips.

“Alright, fine…I’ll be back with food.” Lewis kissed your cheek before sliding into his jump boots and stepping out with his laces untied in search of sustenance for you both, fully intent on not making another public appearance until the next morning.

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

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @fuckoffthanos

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

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augh sorry in advance for this ask, i’m just Capital F Frustrated and idk where else to say this that won’t get me crucified

recently ran across a post that mentioned people who think it’s fine to read “dark” content as long as you don’t enjoy it sexually, and it made me want to throw things at the wall, because what do you fucking care!!! how is it your business!!

here’s the thing. i’m asexual. like profoundly asexual- not sex-repulsed, but i’ve never experienced sexual attraction or desire and i never will. for anyone or anything. i’m literally not capable to being attracted to anything. i’m also autistic, but that’s relevant only in that i struggle to empathize with emotions i haven’t personally experienced before. not in that i can’t express compassion for people feeling those emotions, just that i can’t really imagine what it would feel like to be in their place.

since sexual desire is one of those emotions i can’t empathize with, reading porn doesn’t really…do much, for me. largely because there’s a certain assumption on the part of most authors that the reader understands what attraction feels like, so they can jump straight to the “good stuff.” which is a bummer for someone who, like me, enjoys orgasms but isn’t really capable of imagining my own fantasies, so i need someone to come up with them for me.

you know who does a great job describing in detail what attraction and desire and arousal feel like? darkfic writers! because there’s no assumption that the reader will be able to empathize with wanting to fuck a dog, or a kid, or their dad, or whatever fucked up thing the (fictional!!!!!!!!) story is about, so they have to spell it out in explicit terms why the character feels that way and what it’s like and how they struggle with it.

now obviously i have no desire to fuck anyone or anything, much less things or people who can’t consent. irl that’s a deeply fucked up thing to do! but when literally no one else is writing porn that describes the emotional experience of arousal with enough detail to get me off, i’m gonna read that dogfucker fic and i’m gonna leave kudos and i’m gonna be grateful that writer is out there risking their online hide for my sake.

my irl behavior and desires are completely irrelevant to the porn i read, and getting off to shit that would be fucked up if it happened to real actual alive people has no bearing at all on my moral character, because it’s not happening to real actual alive people. and sometimes people just want to fucking jerk off in peace.

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lovebvni · 5 months

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hello:)

my name is malak (it's an arabic name 🤍🤭) and i would like to participate in your reading ... ik it's not the first time someone needs from u a read for the void state but im sooo soo curious to know (and im sorry if the void state ask bothers u) ... am i gonna make it to the void state and manifest my dream life? and how i will enter the void? i hope my questions aren't too much.

have a good day 💞

hope u see my ask ♥

HII MALAK!!

omg ur my last reading and i took like a month to get to u i’m sooo sorry!! augh!!

but ofc you will manifest all ur desires!! but i heard “redirection” so maybe taking a different route that isn’t specifically the void state?

i’m not getting much clarity on this, so shufflemancy will help

i feel like spirit is saying you know you are lost and you don’t know what to do. you’re overthinking everything and you have to have a grip on anything and everything that happens.

spirit is telling you to let go and take a breather. you need a break, a rest, because you’re obsessing.

leave the past in the past and allow the future to come to you whole. allow things to be served on a silver platter, and try something new.

don’t risk letting the past control you. don’t allow it to manipulate your choices and ideas.

make your own; be your own person; find yourself again.

that’s all i have for u malak!!! i hope all goes well and you can manifest all your desires and more :p

leave a review

#abyss .answers #manifesting #law of manifestation #manifest #manifestation #void state #void #the void state

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butchhamlet · 2 years

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Hello so I am not the trans Ophelia anon but I also have trans Ophelia thoughts to share with the class!!

I’m picturing transfemme!Ophelia, in which Laertes and Polonius are… well meaning but very concerned with making sure Ophelia is taken by the court as a Proper Woman ™ who does Proper Woman Things ™, keeps her purity, etc etc. Like, they’re so concerned with making sure that she performs femininity on their terms, because they’re convinced they know better than her what she needs to do to be happy as a woman, and to be taken seriously as a woman. But to Ophelia it’s so stifling because she never gets to like… figure out who she wants to be, from the moment she came out to them it’s been all about how they think a woman should act. And then in her head there’s this whole undercurrent of… well, if she doesn’t act as a women the way they think she should, will they believe she’s a women at all? Will anyone else? Should she even try to figure things out herself if that risks her not being taken seriously?

Act I Scene III especially — Polonius saying “You do not understand yourself so clearly as it behoves my daughter and your honour”, and Ophelia almost right after saying “I do not know, my lord, what I should think”… ow ow ow, maybe she would know what to think if you let her figure it out rather than dictating her femininity for her!!

So her acting rather submissively throughout a lot of the play is her trying her best to be a woman the way her father and brother taught her, because that’s just how a woman should be, isn’t it? If she breaks up with Hamlet then that’s just what a good woman should do, isn’t it? Then when she goes mad she’s finally like — fuck it, that’s clearly not working, she’s going to act like however she wants, it’s not like Polonius can exactly tell her off for it now.

I think this also meshes very well with any version of trans Hamlet! Hamlet and Ophelia as each other’s confidants as they start on their respective Gender Things, before Ophelia starts falling under pressure from her family and not listening to Hamlet so much anymore.

So “God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another” is like… peak trans vibes obviously, but in the context Shakespeare probably meant of it being part of Hamlet’s critique of femininity that passage reads like… Hamlet is seeing Ophelia force herself into this really narrow, restrictive box of What Womanhood Should be that’s clearly making her suffer and he’s pushing back, he’s telling her that it won’t make her more of a woman and it isn’t going to save her. “Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calamity”… yeah. Especially in the context of transmasc!Hamlet who’s been there, done that with trying to conform to that version of femininity in his own way pre-transition and was absolutely miserable, or transfemme!Hamlet who is very much not interested in the version of womanhood Ophelia is trying to conform to and is… maybe a little wary of Ophelia trying to hold her to those standards as well.

Also transmasc!Laertes is an interesting combination with this take! Just the very complicated way that would add to their sibling dynamic. Both of them coming together for solidarity from their father and helping each other work things out, but also Laertes getting freedom in his transition in a way Ophelia just… doesn’t, whether that’s because of the respective directions they’re transitioning or because of something else about Polonius’ relationship with each of them. Laertes getting to leave home and discover himself and be told “above all, to thine own self be true” in the same conversation as Ophelia is told she doesn’t know herself… ow. We should totally just stab Polonius!

OH GOD AUGH ACK YEAH... like ophelia already has so many constraints on her behavior as a woman in the court but if she's a trans woman then there are just so many more places where she has to tread carefully to keep being seen as a Proper Woman... and ophelia trying to submit to this ideal of the Proper Woman in order to prove that she IS a woman, that she CAN perform womanhood "right," but of course trying to perform gender Right is a trap... AND IF HAMLET IS ALSO TRANS!!! IF HAMLET IS ALSO TRANS!!! IF HAMLET IS TRANS AND HAS A DIFFERENT AND PERHAPS MORE CONTENTIOUS RELATIONSHIP TO GENDERED EXPECTATIONS!!! SCREAMING PULLING MY HAIR OUT ETC. THE LAST PARAGRAPH EHRE TOO. HOOGH. ANON YOUR BRAIN ISFUCKING MASSIVE

#max.txt #asks #bottom bless thee thou art trans #hamlet #ophelia #laertes

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aprillikesthings · 6 months

Text

OKAY last one tonight

and it's a doozy

s5 ep5 Save the Cat

I always wonder if people get the joke in the episode title? There's a famous book about writing scripts called Save the Cat. I kind of assume at least one person in the writer's room for She-Ra has actually read it.

Also Daci got me Strawberry Oatly (vegan ice cream) hell yes

LET'S DO THIS

eek

she tells them she's alone??? hm

oh the others were clinging to the outside of the ship in space suits lol

roll intro

okay Entrapta and Bow are gonna fuck with the computers and Glimmer is gonna find Catra

god it must be weird for Glimmer to be on the ship again???

WHOOPS

okay so Adora tells Horde Prime: hey you're gonna let me leave with Catra okay?

"The Heart of Etheria. And if you don't do what I say, then I'll use it...and destroy you and your empire for good."

"You would never risk the safety of your Catra."

(Ever noticed he always says this? Your Adora. Your Catra.)

Adora: "You don't know me. And you don't know what I'm capable of." Horde Prime: "Oh...but I do." Horde Prime: "I am old, far older than you can imagine. My brothers lend me their life force, and when one vessel fails me, I simply elect another."

(Like a Time Lord but WAY creepier)

"There is something so...familiar about you, Adora."

"Not since I faced your ancestors, and crushed their once-mighty empire beneath my heel. You call them the First Ones. And you are one of them, are you not, Adora?"

AUGH

Meanwhile Entrapta thinks she's spotted her boyfriend

She's got the little chip she gave him ;_;

(maybe?)

not good!!!

ARROWED

BAHAHAH oh right that's how this guy starts. Anyway this poor clone is panicking because the jolt removed him from the hive mind

he starts SOBBING. "how will Horde Prime see my thoughts?? how will he know I am faithful???"

but then:

Entrapta: "Can you open this door?" He does Entrapta makes a happy little squeaky noise

Entrapta: "But we broke him! We're responsible for him now. Pluuuus, he can open doors!"

He says he'll take them to the server room, and Bow gives him his nickname of "Wrong Hordak" lolol

Glimmer went back to her old cell, and Catra's not there

And that's when Glimmer realizes their little earbud comms aren't working

Horde Prime: "I thought the First Ones were all gone, but clearly...some faction remains. That race of tyrants...abandoned you on a forgotten planet in a shadow dimension. They made you their weapon, their...She-Ra."

I mean, it sounds bad when you say it that way (because it is, actually)

Adora: "I don't fight for the First Ones. I fight for my home, for myself, and for my friends. Now for the last time, where is Catra?"

oh, god

augh

he's not...wrong

Horde Prime: "As she would've said, 'You are so very predictable.'"

eeughghg

AAAAAAAAAUGH

I knew this was coming, I knew it was this episode, and it still makes me want to crawl out of my own skin

SAME ADORA, SAME

NOOOOO

Horde Prime: "I have made her anew. I saw her mind...so ensnared in grief and rage and pain...and I brought her to the light."

(okay but if he saw into her mind did he see all the times Catra thought about kissing and/or having sex lol)

Adora's absolute horror here is so relatable

Adora: "Catra, you have to fight it!" Catra: "My place is with Horde Prime, Adora. I don't want to leave." Horde Prime: "Tell her what I've done for you." Catra: "Prime has given me peace. Something you could never do."

"But he has made it whole again."

"I'm happy here. You could be happy, too."

(It's genuinely hard to rewind this to get decent screenshots because hearing/seeing Catra act all weird with the chip is just SO UNCOMFORTABLE)

And there we see it--the first hint that Catra is actually being actively tortured and forced to say/do this shit like some kind of sentient puppet, having to experience her own body doing/saying these things without her permission. Her eyes even keep twitching.

Horde Prime: "I will give her to you, if...you want her... But first, you must do something for me. You...will give me She-Ra." Adora: "Never." Horde Prime: "Very well."

He snaps his fingers and everyones in-ear comms shriek with static and electricity

(okay I gotta stop just copy/pasting the script)

He squeezes poor Catra's neck and for a second her eyes go back to normal, she looks at Adora, and then they start glowing again. Adora notices!!

aaagh look at poor Catra

but yeah Adora can't bring out She-Ra on command right now (and he knew that)

UGGGH

OH SHIT THAT'S RIGHT oh god oh fuck

okay so Glimmer's in the trophy room thing and she kicks the ass of a couple of clones, that's cool

but also

"I know you're still in there. I'm not leaving without you."

Catra gets a good slice into Adora's leg

Adora: "I don't want to hurt you!"

AND I'VE HIT THE IMAGE LIMIT okay hold on

#april rewatches spop #save the cat

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diodellet · 6 months

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∞

(and a bonus if you wanna: does it inspire any particular blorbo / fic thoughts?)

hi hi ner!! thanks for sending in an ask 💕💕(NOOOO NOOOO!!!! DON'T ENABLE ME LIKE THIS THE SONG I GOT WAS SADDD NOOOO!!!! /j)

I promise you I'll answer your plea I swear it's true Just trust in me -Iris from Professor Layton (fanlyrics by Adriana Figueroa)

sorry idk anyth about professor layton but AUGH i love lizz's covers...i love the soprano tenderness in that verse, its high but gentle and so hard to emulate but she does it so effortlessly

youtube

(send me ∞ and i'll give you my fave lyric from what shows on shuffle)

++(Also... fic/blorbo thoughts u said? oki so imma talk a lil bit about wcidfy under the cut, open at ur own risk)

from my initial read of his character, there's this feeling of distance woven into jamil. like in his dreams of traveling the world, the gap in hierarchy between him and kalim, the way he tries to distinguish himself post-OB from being "normal and mediocre," and even in how he embodies the scarabia dorm's value of mindfulness (which is being detached enough to plan for most if not all plausible outcomes)

like, i cant help but think of how that sense of uncrossable distance (?) persists in almost every part of him and how it will spill into his relationships, if that makes sense?

add to that the fact that wcidfy-reader/yuu has to eventually return home to their original world and well, that sounds like a car crash about to happen (i think it also has to do with how music box instrus are just good at evoking love and goodbyes but AGH!)

#a music box instrumental is a surefire way to get me tearing up #the orig version sung by salyu is also *power sobs into a hanky*#theres just something asymptote-like (asymptotic?????) abt jamiyuu that i love (and struggle to write nicely)#dellet-asks #viperwhispered

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pleuvoire · 1 year

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i've been meaning to ask for a while.. what are some of your favorite kamen rider fics? i've been looking for good recomendations and i trust your taste

unfortunately i don't have as many recs as you might expect because i'm highly picky and i don't read kamen rider fic all that much 😔 i kinda lost the habit because i feel like a lot of people in the tag have a different vision than i do. but let me dig a few up that i remember

first though to get this out of the way. i do in fact recommend my own fics. hi. here's all my kamen rider fics if you haven't checked them out already. at the risk of sounding conceited, i think they are really good. do let me know if you enjoy them as i love feedback

other general author recs! ihasa is prose/description goals to me, and i love their kuuga stuff in particular. bladebrave, parad, and realxeyez are all my friends who have written some great stuff and i will always hype up their excellent character takes. now for more specific fics. bolded are my favorites

impressions by estelraca - an interesting crossover take on how tsukasa lost his memories. ft lots of godai and ichijou which makes me happy because i love them :) a bit confusing in places but i liked it a lot

hanging tree by rainbowfootsteps - this is by my friend rain and was inspired by a wip snippet i posted which makes me very happy. a gloomy look at how a previous round of the rider battle might have ended

what do you call a male femme fatale? by chancellorxofxtrash - written for me for the toku holiday exchange and i was delighted to receive it. kirihiko/shoutarou fake dating

the other kind of yummy by laylah (explicit) - the most "yeah, that is exactly how it would go down" take on ankheiji having sex i've ever seen. foundational text to me

my madly-blooming feelings by shoceted - literally just now discovered this one going into the gouchase tag to retrieve another fic to add to this post (see below) AUGH IT'S SO GOOD. gouchase hanahaki disease. GOD THIS AUTHOR GETS IT. THEY GET IT

sick by oneatatime - makoala sickfic, pre-canon. pretty short but made me think "wow, this author really gets these characters" and more than that made me feel like i had a much deeper and better picture of their relationship, which is quite the feat

NOW HERE'S THE THING... a lot of the best kamen rider fics i've read are in chinese. i don't speak chinese past the beginner level but i've found deepl does the trick well enough to understand it. if you are also interested in reading chinese fics through deepl or another machine translator, here are a few more...

羚羊有一百条命 (antelopes have 100 lives) by ephedrine - satosano psychological horror and probably my favorite ryuki fic

run wolf run by liliamt - yuutaku high school au but takumi... is a werewolf o_O short but sweet

20th century boy by acetylcholine - overview of a year with ren and shinji. the prose in this is so, so gorgeous even with machine translate. some other equally beautiful works of theirs i like include special needs (yuutaku lesbians au), insomnia (heartbreaking faiz angst), it (kenhaji shape of water au), and like father like daughter (bittersweet kenhaji angst, and was a big part of the inspiration for my fic in the gaps of sunlight)

生活碎片 by fireworkinstar - post-canon gouchase that ends in them eloping. it's adorable

ok it's late and i'm getting sleepy. huh that is more recs than i expected to have. if i remember or discover any more i will add to this post, making this has inspired me to go digging for more fics and also actually read more of the many many chinese rider fics on ao3. goodnight

#✉️#anonymous #ALSO I'M GLAD YOU TRUST MY TASTE :)

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wuxiaphoenix · 2 years

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Worldbuilding: Ground Truths

Everyone has their own ideas of what they’d want to introduce to another world or time; everything from pizza, chocolate and shampoo to water filtration, basic sanitation, and vaccination. All of those are good things. But there are a few smaller things in particular I’d introduce to a place and time that didn’t have them, that most isekai or time travel books never notice. Specifically, steel-ground grain, information about vitamin C, and punctuation marks.

Yes, those are in specific order.

Steel-ground grain is a very big deal. Very. Big. For as long as we’ve had agriculture, likely longer based on archaeological evidence, people have ground various grains between stones. Which, unfortunately, also grinds the stones together. Producing grit. That gets into said ground grains, and then into your mouth, abrading your teeth.

This is bad.

Seriously, there’s a good reason in the 1632 series a modern dentist is more respected than a modern doctor. Teeth aren’t just important for chewing; teeth make a difference in whether you live a long, reasonably healthy life, or a short, brutal one. Grit in ground grains wears away your enamel, exposing the pulp to the point people were often losing teeth before their thirties. Exposed pulp means infections, risk of heart attacks, stroke, etc., etc., augh.

Nomad herders were often considered stronger and healthier than farmers. So long as said nomads were mostly not living on grain, thus avoiding grit damage - yes, they would have been healthier.

...They often would also have been healthier because a lot of nomads live on dairy products from their flocks, which means more vitamin C on a regular basis.

Which brings me to the second thing I’d want to introduce: what vitamin C is, why it’s important for your body, and where you can get it from, wherever you end up. Most people know about scurvy affecting people on board ships. What many don’t know is that it often affects people with a bad diet on land. One historian estimated that most people in Elizabethan England suffered from scurvy every year.

This is bad for multiple reasons; again, starting with teeth. Your teeth aren’t straight out locked into your jaws, they’re held in by ligaments and connective tissue. Without enough vitamin C connective tissue deteriorates and there go your teeth... and a lot of muscle strength, and other needful things like proper digestion. Some people have connected a shortage of vitamin C to all kinds of things including cancer. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but it’s well known that without enough your immune system is hampered, and that would make cancer more likely. Most other mammals can make their own vitamin C. Hominids can’t. Plan your characters’ diets accordingly!

The third thing, I’ve been using throughout this post, and you may not have even noticed. Punctuation marks.

Punctuation is important for two big, very big, reasons. First - it makes reading much, much easier. Chinese books through at least the Ming Dynasty had no punctuation, and part of reading was “dotting” - parsing through characters and trying to figure out where a sentence actually ended. We have examples of such dotted books today. Imagine trying to read a book of fiction, or worse a book of science, where you have to guess where an idea ends. Does that reaction specify mixing water with two grams of sodium, or two grams of sodium chloride? The difference is critical. And explosive.

Which illustrates the second reason: clarity in communicating an idea. If you want to build off someone else’s knowledge, especially in science and engineering, you want to know exactly what they were talking about. If you’re in a world that needs a scientific revolution, you’d better give them the tools to do good science!

So. Those are three little-mentioned things I thought of. What small but important things would you bring to an out of time scenario?

#worldbuilding #creative writing #isekai #time travel #alternate history

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luescris · 2 years

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OTHER SIDE.

WARNING: This fic will have depictions of horror (slight death but no major characters, injuries, eldritch entities), slight reality triggers (forget what it's called augh) and angst. Read at your own risk.

With that being said, have this slightly self indulgent TMNT 2012/Backrooms fanfiction you all asked for. :) If there is any form of critique you all can give me (on character interaction, pacing, or just comments in general), it'd be much appreciated if you could send it through asks!! And title names for the fic too bc the one I have now is a work in progress and I'm not sure if I like it very much fhfhfh Also, it starts with Leo, but I PROMISE it won't be Leo centric. He's just my favorite that's all HDHDHDHDH

This chapter starts off a little meh, but the next ones will get better, I promise. :D Enjoy the angsty suspense!!!!

aaaaa also @misteria247 and @endless-exhaustion tagging just in case since y'all wanna read it or something i hope y'all don't mind Zhfhdhdhdhh

LEVEL 0: ENTER.

Reality. Definition:

The state of things as they exist.

Or, the state of things people believe they think is existence. Ideals that are simplistic, that "make sense" in the collective eyes of many. Science, experiments, simple opinions; all attempts to prove that what they see, what they believe, is right. And the lengths humans go to prove their stories can be.. Exaggerated, at best.

But there are many "proofs" out there. Of gods. Of other alien beings. But none of it truly connects. None of it forms a singular path to the answer.

And maybe it never will.

So then the question now becomes: what truly is reality? If it has yet to be shown, then does any of these ideals really matter? And if this is not the reality that we seek…

Then what is??

—---•••••••••_______

A year had passed since the defeat of Kavaxas. There was silence from the streets, at least about as silent as you could get when it came to New York City. The only thing that had been "exciting" in that time was the Purple Dragon's feeble attempts at stealing and plundering unsuspecting stores.

Of course, the attempts never turned out to be successful. And there was one group of mutant turtles to thank for that.

It was also thanks to them that the streets were so quiet for so long in the first place. No one else had attempted–nor wanted–to take Shredder's place on the "throne" left vacant since his death, and the Turtles had made sure to keep it that way for as long as possible.

But alas, the peace could never truly last.

A new band of gangs calling themselves Black Rose had sprung up about a month ago, causing unexpected chaos. These newcomers were definitely more efficient than the Purple Dragon's, both in skill and further in numbers. The plans were more intricate, thought out, and though they posed a much bigger threat..

Their skills still had no match for the city's unknown heroes.

Even so, they were large in numbers, and their hiding spot had yet to be discovered, so every few days, sometimes weeks, there would be some form of robbery or explosion that the Turtles would rush to stop, and if it weren't for the fact they would most definitely tell the cops about mutant turtles living in the sewers, Leo would have thrown them all in jail by now.

This time, the Black Rose had attempted to hit a new store that was slowly gaining popularity, and it was lucky the turtles were there in the area to stop them. They had only been a few miles away when the echoes of alarms blaring reached their ears, and without a sound they had run to the area to check it out.

Now, a 22 year-old Leonardo leaned over the edge of a building slightly with his brothers waiting patiently and silently behind him for the orders to move. Surprisingly enough, it did not take much for them to get to this part of the training after Tiger Claw's last attempt to get rid of them; the part where they were completely silent and still, blended perfectly into the shadows. Even Mikey had gone full ninja mode, not a sound peeping from any of them.

Something told him Splinter would be proud of the achievement, and the thought absentmindedly pulled at his heartstrings.

His eyes flicked, watching for any signs of movement as the alarm blared on. Besides him, he felt Raph move just a bit closer, gripping his sai with anticipation.

Then, the alarm was silenced. Cut short, the final ringing note echoing through the alleyways like a toll bell.

"There." Donnie spoke up suddenly, pointing to the right. Leo followed the direction quickly and found four figures running from the side of the store, bags in hands.

The leader in blue stood, nodding. "Alright. You know what to do."

"Go time." Mikey grinned wolfishly.

Barely a whisper was heard at their departure.

It didn't take much time for them to catch up. If anything, the Turtles had seemingly chased them just for the thrill. But it didn't last for more than thirty seconds before the four split in opposite directions, jumping or flipping off of fire escapes and walls until they landed in front of the thieves, boxing them in,causing all four to freeze in their tracks. Leo landed last and in front, katanas already held in an attack position with a smile.

It had been easier to smile recently, so he took any chance he could to do so.

"Turtles." Hissed one of the four, and each one dropped their bags to reach for their own weapons.

Weapons that seemed far too fancy for them to be of unimportance, and it was then Leo realized with a start: These were not their normal enemy.

One carried a kuwa with a deep green, long handle, the steel for the flat blade strong and new. Another carried metal tonfas with blades running along the bottom, a bright blue ribbon wrapping around the handles. The third held an odachi with a black handle and gold hilt, and the last with a saihai. Each had intricate markings and details, and it was hard to tell if the studded yet few jewels on each weapon were real or not.

Each one seemed as if they were meant to counter the weapons each turtle carried, and the semblance did not slip past Leo, nor his brothers. Raph scoffed lightly at the sight, albeit weariness still edged into his voice.

"Pft. Nice weapons. Where'd you steal 'em from??"

"We did not steal them." Spat the furthest left with a kuwa in their hands. "We earned these weapons by training and discipline. Something you lack."

Leo narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Then that shows how little you know about us." He motioned his head towards the store they robbed from. "Why steal from a place that has little to no money in it?"

The gang member (although Leo was starting to think they were more than just that) with the odachi slipped into their own defensive position, eyes trained solely and dangerously on the blue cladded turtle. "That is none of your concern."

Perfect. Cryptic answers. Leo thought somewhat annoyedly, gripping his weapons tighter and watching for any sign of distractions or openings from their opponents. Just what we need.

"Well," Came Donnie from his right, almost sounding bored or discontent. "At least this fight will be more interesting than ones we've had recently."

No one moved for a few short, tense moments. Then the members of the Black Rose surged forward with a surprising amount of speed and strength.

The sound of weapons clashing echoed around them, and the battle commenced.

The metal of Leo's katanas met the wide arc of the odachi wielder, a ring vibrating down into his arms uncomfortably as he gritted his teeth, meeting his new opponent's black, angry gaze. One of their eyes was milky, a scar cracking over the skin of their face.

"Freak." Spat the gang member through a black fabric covering their mouth and nose. "You will rue the day you stepped foot in our path."

Leo couldn't help the smirk that split his lips apart–it wasn't even cocky, he just found the statement amusing at this point. "Yeah, no offense, but I've kinda heard that one like a million times already to the point where it's almost not funny anymore. I mean, you do know who we are right?"

His opponent narrowed their eyes. "We do. We know your defeat of the Kraang, and of the Shredder. My leader respects you because of your.. Victories. I however," Somehow, the malice in their eyes strengthened. "Do not."

Well. That's surprising. The leader in blue thought somewhat distractedly yet genuinely; just how did news like that get out in the first place? Those were things people weren't supposed to know about.

"Well, feeling's mutual I guess." He pushed away his thoughts and pushed harder on his blade, meeting the person's glare with his own. "After all, I can't fathom why you'd go through the trouble of robbing a store that doesn't even have money in the first place other than to be jerks."

Leo could tell the gang member was smiling with the way their cheeks crinkled, and their eyes glinted maliciously, immediately setting off red alerts in the turtle's mind. Their voice came dripping with malicious humor. "Who said we were here for the money?"

Before the mutant had a chance to ask what that had even meant, he was suddenly pushed back with a startled yelp at the unexpected surge of strength the odachi wielder had used. He only had a second to recover 'til the blade came whistling at his left and Leo parried quickly, twisting himself around. From the corner of his peripheral vision he could see his brothers finishing off their sides of the battle, and a surge of slight relief and confidence in their abilities spread through him before he allowed himself to focus back to his own ongoing battle. They seemed to be holding their own pretty well, no need to jump in yet.

But if he had turned just another inch more, he would have noticed a lone figure slipping into the shadows of the alleyway they had been fighting in, clutching an odd, square shape to their chest and pressing it to the corner of the wall where it was hidden from sight, and disappearing just as fast as they came.

Leo danced away from his current distraction on light feet, simply on the defensive, the smirk from earlier still present. It was a little more cocky now, sure, but it was at least a bit deserved. The Black Rose member charged with an aggravated shout and again Leo dodged, only to gasp with slight surprise as the person's foot followed the odachi's strike within a millisecond. If he had been a year younger, the leader in blue would have fallen for the trick. Instead, he sidestepped the attack, his katanas singing as he brought them to an arch, nicking the human's thick black clothes.

He hadn't been aiming to cut skin—he swore he never would again after having endless nightmares about what it felt like running his blade through Shredder's neck. But it was a clear, dangerous message, one that was understood as the human gripped where they were cut, dark eyes meeting dangerous, piercing blue eyes.

There was no winning this.

For a moment both sword wielders traded blows with their gazes. Then, the human gave a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head.

"You wanna know what else I heard??" Leo could tell by the tone of voice they were sneering. "You may have won against the Shredder, but you had also lost to him as well. All this bravado you are showing is fake."

The logical side of him knew he shouldn't engage. It screamed at him to leave it be, to turn away before things got worse.

But Leo's hands clenched against the hilts of his katanas as his glare grew colder. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

The human rose his chin. Almost as if he had gained a victory. "Your innocence, for one. I heard that those scars you carry now come from the Shredder, and at the young age of sixteen. In my opinion, he should have left you there to rot."

It felt as if he had been struck in the chest by a large truck. Like he was under cold, bone-chilling water and couldn't breathe. Yet the Black Rose member only continued on despite the silent warnings he was being given. A knowing, victorious glint in his eyes. The river continued to take the breath out of Leo's lungs.

"I also heard he had taken the life of what you called your father, who was just as disgusting and worthless as you. I'd say good riddance." The human's scarf dropped to reveal a large, vicious grin. "One less rat to kill in this vermin-infested city."

Never before had he let insults control his actions. But all he saw then was red.

Leo hadn't registered he had moved until he felt wind pelting his scaled skin, a slightly hoarse shout escaping his throat as he lunged. The attack that was meant to kill (and a part of him later would be relieved for this) never landed. Through his anger, he could not see his opponent move into a defensive position, and again–this time literally–he felt the wind rush out of his plastron as a knee struck him where his stomach would be. There wasn't even time to give a pained shout before he felt himself fly into the wall with an surprising amount of force, the shouts of his brothers calling his name barely registering through the ringing of his ears. Then the wall behind him turned invisible, and he gave a shout as he fell backwards, falling for just a second before landing on solid ground again on his plastron.

Something metal, which he registered as his katana, clattered to his side as he took a moment to ease the spinning of his head, bringing a hand to the top with a low groan. He lifted his head, squinting and blinking at the ground, only to stop, brows furrowing slightly with confusion.

Old, dead looking carpet replaced the ground underneath him. Before he could even attempt to look up to gather his bearings, however, three other yelling bodies crashed into his shell, sending him back down to the floor, voices mixing together chaotically with groans and grunts of pain.

"Guys." Leo wheezed, one arm awkwardly trapped underneath the weight of his brothers. "Get off."

"Sorry Leo.""Sorry.""Oops." Came his brother's murmured responses all at once, and each turtle worked to untangle himself from the rest, all except Mikey, who stayed sprawled over Leo's legs in a dramatic fashion that made the oldest roll his eyes somewhat fondly.

He turned his attention to Raph, who had sat cross legged and held a hand to his head still. "Are you all okay?"

His hot headed brother blinked incredulously for a second. "... Are we okay?? Leo, you were the one that fell through the wall. Plus, we landed on you. Are you okay?"

"To be fair," Donnie cut in with a finger raised in the air, sitting against the wall they had just been tumbled through. "We all kind of did. And we land on each other all the time anyway."

"True." Mikey murmured. It was then Leo's right knee twinged uncomfortably, so he carefully slipped his legs from under the youngest, who protested with a quiet, "Hey."

Again, the blue cladded turtle rolled his eyes at the antics before turning again to Raph. "Either way, my question still stands. Just want to make sure no one is badly hurt, that's all."

"... We're fine, Fearless." Raph responded after a beat of staring at Leo with an expression he couldn't quite read. "So long as you are."

Leo sighed softly, then reached for his katana and rose to his feet. He took a moment to look for the other pair, only to frown upon not seeing it there. Which meant it had been left on the other side of the wall. He tried not to let the sting of losing the heirloom of his clan hurt too much as he straightened up to gather their surroundings; there were other things to worry about. "I will be, once we figure out where we even are and how we're getting- Out..."

His voice died in his throat as his brain attempted to comprehend what exactly he was seeing in front of him.

His brothers had fallen suit, standing to their feet, and not a word was said between any of them for a suddenly tense, long moment.

Everything… Everything was yellow. A sickly, green yellow. The walls, the carpet under their feet, which felt more like sandpaper than actual soft fabric. The spaces winded in an undistinguishable pattern, looking as if they were meant to hold office spaces. Every which way looked as if the building stretched on forever, and the lights above buzzed loudly like the bugs in trees on the hottest days in New York, the heat already felt on his skin despite being at least two feet in the air.

It was.. Unnerving. And almost indescribable in its strangeness. The feeling of this place–as if they were being watched–did not help, and each mutant turtle felt it.

As if speaking any louder would awaken something unseen, Raph hissed a quiet, "What… In the hell…?" He brought his sai close to his person, shoulders tense and high. "Where the hell are we?"

Leo didn't turn to him. He felt if his gaze left the depths of his surroundings, something would come barreling forward and attack. "... I don't know."

"This place is giving some seriously bad vibes." Mikey's voice quivered just slightly. The oldest felt his baby blue eyes bore into his shell. "Leo, we need to get out of here. Now."

"I know. But like Raph said: where even is 'here'?"

"... Nowhere."

The hoarse sound of Donnie's voice was what made Leo's attention snap to the tallest of his brothers immediately. He found him staring at his T-phone with wide eyes, almost horrified.

"Come again??" Raph asked. The hothead of the group didn't bother to hide the high franticness in his voice.

"We're… We're nowhere." Donnie repeated, and finally looked up at his brothers, matching their wide gazes with his own. "There's nothing. No signal, no service. It's.. It's just.."

He turned the phone to them, showing them the completely black screen. Not even their reflections were showing on the face of the device.

"Blank."

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 2 years

Text

You’re Gonna Carry That Weight - Ch3 Execution

(CW: Dismemberment and gore, this one’s heavier so read at your own risk)

Eureka had to be taken by force. She always would have. She cherished her freedom too much to willingly die here and now. So as she was forced into the area of her death, she stood there, angrily, glaring into the space. The lights turn on. A loud bell rings like an alarm. She is standing on concrete, hard, and cold. The area is large, with yellow walls below plexiglass walls surrounding her. Below her is a striped yellow and black square of decent size. Behind her giant corkscrews made of sawblades. Across from her, a green and pink robot. Massive, with saws and flamethrowers all over it. The faces of An and Callie on it with their usual smiles. In the top there is a beeping. Four, three, two, one, BREEEEEEEH! The buzzer sounds.

Behind her the corkscrews begin to turn. There is the sound of cheering as the giant bot across the arena spins around excitedly blasting fire and spinning its weapons. Eureka says nothing. She just stands in front of the corkscrew on her side. Eventually after show boating around for a bit the boat faces her and charges. It is what she had prepared for. At the last minute she dodges out of the way, a flamethrower catching her as she does so and the bot slams into the corkscrews. Her leg burns as she pats the flame out. Looking up she smiles “Ha. Got yaAUGH FUCK!” She dodges out of the way again as the bot zooms past her, having mostly bounced off of the corkscrews. “Why do those almost never work? I swear!” It was her only hope right now. That or survive until the floor saws activities or the timer ran out.

She dodges again, caught by the flames a second time. Both legs burnt from the escapes. With no remorse the bot charges again and Eureka jumps to the side. Barely missing any damage as the sound of a bell goes off in the air. A checkpoint in the fight. The sound of whirring kicks in and a lancing pain shoots through Eureka’s arm as a floor saw rises up and cuts her left arm completely off. “AUGH FUCK!” She clutches the bleeding stumps, tears in her eyes, as she hears the engine. Looking up, the green pink monster barrels towards her, and tears fill her eyes. The saw in the middle of the bot hits her, and scatters half of Eureka around the cage before flinging a part of her body it clung to up into the air and down onto the ground with a splat. The buzzer rings. The match is over.

#chapter3 #trial3 #eureka

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links-destiny · 3 years

Text

Dumb ramblings while reading The Spider-Man 2 novelization:

Oh my, Dr. Connors having some actual pages of dialogue!? And adding the details that he lost his arm as an overseas medic, very interesting stuff that I didn't know beforehand, but I love this already!

Totally didn't choke on my drink on the first page describing how hot Otto Octavius is. That's absolutely ridiculous - HOLD UP, HE'S IN HIS MID-FORTIES? ZAMN!

Vibing with Peter's "Anyone close to him could be at risk, and maybe - just maybe - he didn't really deserve to be happy in the first place... Because Uncle Ben was dead, and he was responsible."

But it helped me think a lot more as this is how Peter is trying to cope and this image of Uncle Ben blames him for what had happened, twisting his lesson of carrying responsibility.

Honestly, I think the novel helps me understand more about the whole "Uncle Ben's spirit" that pops up every now and then due to Peter's guilt. At first, it pissed me off in the movies because of the whole "if you have the ability to do so, it's your responsibility to carry it out for the betterment of others"

That can lead to some real shitty guilt-tripping and not mentally taking care of yourself for others. I've had enough experience being the depressed therapist friend for others,,

Otto regretting that he and Rosie had never been able to have children of their own. Augh, it hurts! I would have loved to see them being such loving and supportive parents.

Otto also sharing his thoughts about his relationship sounds a lot like soulmates who knew each other their whole lives is so adorable. I love them so much!

The rubber band joke was funny, Otto 😡 don't feel self-conscious about your sense of humor. Hell, I laugh at a slice of bread falling.

Strange how a lot of Otto's thoughts come onto being "I need to be/I am in control of the situation" when after the incident,, he is in fact not.

Hold up, Henry Pym has a cameo in the fusion demonstration crowd? Motherfucking "Pym was, in fact, a giant in a field where everyone else was an ant" loving that line.

Otto really fucking hates Harry every time he interrupts him heh. Man had intrusive thoughts to smack him every now and then.

Actually knowing what the actuators are saying is freaky as hell when they see themselves as the sentient children of Otto.

Actuators: Father... Father, we crave violence

Going feral because I still dislike this "will they, won't they" relationship between Peter and MJ. It was shit in the movies, and it's not getting any better through printed text.

Tritium simply being labeled as simply T makes everything greater when Otto's demanding more of it. Like yes, continue those villainous deeds in order to go through with your transitioning. We're supporting our trans icon from the sidelines.

Harry making a silent prayer that Doc Ock's machine destroys the half of New York that he's in,, SIR! WHEN'S YOUR NEXT THERAPY SESSION!? You know what, I'm booking it for you.

"Doc Ock looked down from on high like a malevolent dark god, held suspended there by his tentacles. "Peter Parker," he fairly purred," Absolutely giggling at the thought of this line. Man's purring-

Actuators having a girlboss moment, gaslighting Otto just as he's being brought back to his senses. Geez, telling him to go to hell 💀 I love how he scolds them like troublesome little kids.

Well, my favorite middle-aged man got burnt crispy in the water. At least he will end up significantly better because of the events in NWH.

#This was legit a fun read ngl #Marvel #Spider-Man Novelization #Ramblings #Doc Ock #Spider-Man #Spider-Man 2 #Spider-Man 2 Novel

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joshuaalbert · 2 years

Note

sito OFC.

thank you for your reading comprehension king you rly listened to and followed directions on this one hfkdhd

favorite thing about them

I love that she’s not brave in the way of “not scared of anything,” she’s brave in the way of “actually pretty scared of a lot of stuff but fighting through it anyway.” like. she spends a significant amount of her screentime afraid! in the first duty she’s afraid of the consequences of telling the truth even though you can tell that she’s really uncomfortable with lying about their dead friend. in lower decks she’s afraid of making mistakes to the point where she’s overcautious and has a hard time taking risks. she’s afraid of never proving herself to be better than her worst mistakes. she’s afraid of picard’s assessment of her, and there’s no way she’s not terrified about that mission. like. that’s a lot of stuff that scares her but especially in the context of lower decks she’s trying so hard to be better than her fear of all of those things and she’s not always successful but she is Trying to the point of putting her life on the line to prove she can be more than those fears (and yes, okay, look what it got her, but that’s not the POINT)

also I’m counting that deleted first duty line where she makes the choice to back wesley up on the truth as canon and I am going to count that as a thing that she chose to do despite her fear and like. who’s gonna fuck with me on this tbh.

least favorite thing about them

okay like. I think I will never Not be of two minds about the fact that they didn’t bring her back for ds9. like thematically the lower decks ending is so good even if it fucks my shit up but I absolutely think it was a missed opportunity to not have a bajoran starfleet officer on ds9. there are a lot of episodes where it would be really interesting to see someone navigating either having split loyalty in a situation or being perceived by others as having split loyalty in a situation and I think she would’ve been great for that. also like. was I gonna Not want to see her again.

brOTP

ok this is all in my own personal universe but josh n jaxa best friendship is everything to me. best and worst influences on each other. jaxa and wesley also incredibly dear to me although they’re not Quite as close (like. pre first duty they were friends but I don’t think they were Besties just bc I can’t see their interests other than flying overlapping a ton, and also in my head she’s about an earth year older than josh who’s a little less than a year older than wesley so there’s a little distance there. not that you can’t be friends with someone a couple years younger than you obviously but I think he can seem young to her. between first duty and journey’s end they’re friends but kind of like. through josh? like if you’ve ever had that friend that you care about a lot but you don’t tend to hang out one on one with. I don’t think they really develop a solid independent friendship until after she gets rescued and the two of them hang out together but when they do it’s very good)

also I’ve posted about this before but like! her friendship/mentor-mentee relationship with worf!!like that’s obviously a very different thing than with her friends her own age but I rly do LOVE that dynamic like it’s so!! augh!!!!!!!

OTP

I actually don’t have one rly? I can’t necessarily see her Seriously dating anyone she spends time with in canon (although i will say even if I was eh about a lot of the echoes and refractions novella she was in I’m willing to buy their concept of “she and sam lavelle dated for a bit and it didn’t work out but they’re still friends” if she’d stayed on the enterprise). in the scope of when I’ve written her she’s really just trying to get her own shit sorted out in so many different ways and it’s kind of for the best if she’s not looking for romance at the moment yknow

nOTP

I don’t really have anything that I’m like “wow I hate that” just bc there’s like. nothing that is there for me to hate.

random headcanon

I think she took awful notes in school. like they worked for her they obviously got her through but anyone else who looked at them was like. girl what the fuck. also I’ve used this as a recurring thing in fics but I think she has an absolutely abysmal morbid sense of humor which I suspect is common among bajorans but I think it gets so much worse if she’s rescued but comes back hugely traumatized.

unpopular opinion

everyone needs to start having sito jaxa opinions so I can inevitably think so many of them are wrong

song i associate with them

ngl I still don’t have one and it’s Actively ruining my life!! but it’s fine.

favorite picture of them

I just found the first one on this. czech database of star trek characters? they have good pictures of her huge fan. also bonus worf jaxa friendship image bc I care them.

#funny how she’s everything to me actually #this took forever I had shit to say but also I was still maybe still sort of doing work let’s not worry about it #sito #tng #ask game

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

Text

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 14: After the Fire

Jon has some visitors.

Note: This chapter contains a few small instances of well-meaning people touching a blind person without warning in a way that startles them.

Read on Ao3

---

He knew that he was in a hospital before he was fully awake. The texture of the stiff sheets and gown, the antiseptic smell, some indistinctly medical quality to the air filled him with the memory of wandering through distant dreams, of emerging into a cold and brightly-lit room. He came to himself gradually, slowly growing aware of an uncomfortable heaviness, of something wrapped around his face and something else restricting movement on his right side. He shifted experimentally and felt a twinge. Quietly, he groaned.

"Hey," came a voice from nearby. "You actually awake, boss? Or is this another false alarm?"

I'm not your boss anymore, Tim, he thought. Then he thought, wait a minute.

"Tim . . . ?" his voice came out hoarse and thick with grogginess. "Where – augh . . . ."

Pain shot through Jon's body as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. He heard Tim get up and felt a careful hand on his left shoulder, guiding him back down.

"Oooh, don't do that. They've got you on the good stuff, but you're still a mess on that side. Don't be such an impatient patient."

"Where's Martin? Is he –"

"Relax, Martin's fine. Well, not fine, he's been shot, but he's doing a lot better than you. Bullet glanced off your shoulder before hitting him, tore up some muscle and fat but didn't get anything vital. He was awake before you were even out of surgery."

The hand stayed on Jon until it was clear he was going to remain still, then came away. There was an audible scrape as a chair was pulled closer, and Tim sat down again.

"We're all fine too, by the way," he added, as if offended he hadn't asked. "Just so you know."

"And . . . Jonah?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued.

"Didn't check if he was breathing when we left him, but he wasn't getting up," he said. "And I can't see anything coming out of that fire."

Jon lay still and tried to process it all. He wasn't sure what he should feel. What he did feel was a distant sort of unsteadiness, whether it was shock or whatever painkillers were coursing through his system, he didn't know.

"Have you been sitting up with me?" he asked.

"Don't get too big a head about it," Tim smirked. "I've only been here a bit. Sasha's come by to peek in as well, and we've visited Martin too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to see your grumpy little face when you woke up."

"Huh." Surprise and a strange melancholy rose in Jon at the thought. He smiled wryly, "and for my part, the first thing I hear on regaining consciousness is Tim Stoker's terrible puns."

"Excuse you, I am a delight to be around and my puns are charming."

Jon laughed softly, lapsing back into silence. The quiet stretched on for a while, solemnity beginning to creep in at the edges again. Then Tim spoke.

". . . You think he's actually dead?"

"Jonah? I think so. Avatars can be hard to kill, but he was very afraid of death." Jon tapped his less encumbered hand against the mattress, considering. "I think . . . if he had reached to the Eye in his last moments, it would have simply watched as his life faded away, doing what it does. Drinking in his fear."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Tim muttered, something unsettled in his tone. "What about the circus?"

". . . Depends what you mean, I suppose." Jon tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not the Archivist anymore, so I don't think they'd have any interest in me now. We're not protected from them, but I don't think they'd have reason to come after any of us. Unless, of course," he added pointedly. "Someone draws their interest by going after them."

"Even if we get away, they're still out there," Tim pushed, something limping in his voice, "Doing what they do to people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?"

Jon was quiet for a while.

"If you could destroy the circus," he said softly, "which is a big ‘if', but if you could, the Stranger would continue manifesting in other forms. Possibly even as a circus again. You can't keep fear from the world, you'd only be changing details. In the end I don't know if it would save anyone."

"It would hurt those things, though. Wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Jon said. "Maybe not. Certainly not as much as it would hurt anyone who cared about you."

It was Tim's turn to be quiet. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Not sure I like this new, future-memories version of you Jon," he said. "He's kind of a know-it-all."

"You should have seen me when I was literally all-knowing."

"Nightmare. Don't know how Martin put up with you."

"Neither do I." Jon smiled, warmth running through him at the thought. He took a long, slow breath. ". . . You died hating me, you know. In that other life."

"Yeah?" Tim didn't sound very surprised. "What'd you do?"

"Plenty," Jon laughed mirthlessly. "Though by the end I'm not even sure how much it had to do with me. We were lost, hurt, broken people, lashing out in fear and pain."

"Yeah. Starting to think that the Magnus Institute didn't exactly facilitate a healthy work environment."

"No . . . ."

He heard a soft, electronic tapping in the pause that followed. Maybe Tim was texting the others, letting them know Jon was awake? He couldn't tell. A gentle shove hit his uninjured shoulder, making him flinch.

"Well. Let's try not to fuck it up this time around, huh?" Tim said. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and tell them you're up, they'll probably want to check your vitals or rotate your tires or something."

"Right. Uh, right . . ." Jon stammered, "thank you."

The footsteps faded, and Jon let his head sink back onto the pillow. He felt . . . adrift. More so than he had in a while.

He'd been confused and frightened through all of this, half the time he hadn't even known what he was looking for, but at least he'd known he was looking. Even in the long, terrible walk across the nightmare domains, the constant pull of their destination had given him purpose. He'd known what he was hoping for.

And there had been Martin there. Of course.

For better or worse now, Jonah was dead and he was alive. He was severed from the Eye, the others were freed, and dark and terrible powers still lurked beyond the edge of human perception, waiting to Become.

Jon wasn't sure what he was hoping for now. He lay back and waited for the nurse to arrive.

* * *

Time passed in a haze. He had little sense of how much he slept, and the divide between sleep and waking blurred together.

Sometimes he had visitors. Georgie came in not long after Tim, having gotten a very incomplete version of events through Melanie. He hadn't exactly intended to tell her anything when she sat down, but somehow after a few confused inquiries, and a gentle "try me" or two, he found himself spilling everything. It was far more disjointed and emotional than his recounting in the tunnels, but the bulk of it seemed to get across.

When it was over, she just said, "sounds like you've had a hell of a time."

It was the calmness as much as the sympathy that affected Jon. As if he'd just told her about a bad relationship he'd gotten out of, rather than his place in the universe's nightmare cosmology and the end of the world.

He didn't know what to say to it, really, and frankly saying anything at all risked letting the tightness inside his chest come spilling out - the pressure bandage would hide any tears, but Georgie would be able to tell. She saved him by breaking the silence, asking if he had any stock tips or winning lottery numbers from the future to share.

Melanie's visits were less steadying, twice devolving into arguments. It seemed to be a constant between them, that no matter what happened or what forces were acting on either of them, their ability to rile each other was inevitable. She was also insistent that he explain every detail he remembered about what she'd begun calling the "dark timeline." When he complained that framing it as an alternate timeline was likely inaccurate and, frankly, horrifying in its implications, she threw a pen at him.

Still, she came back again afterwards. And still, he was glad that she did.

Sasha reported that her hand was healing, though when pressed admitted he'd been right about her range of motion not returning. She also helped him set the voice assistant up on his phone, which was a great relief. Though it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how little he knew about his own device's functions.

"Honestly Jon, you're only thirty-one," she said, going through some final setup that he'd already forgotten her explanation of. "You've got no excuse at all to be so tech-illiterate."

"Yes, yes. I've had other priorities lately."

"I don't mind you asking for help, understand. But what are you going to do if I get eaten by another evil table someday?"

He felt a stab of shock at the blazingly conversational reference to it. Something must have shown on his face because he heard her pause..

"Sorry. Too soon?"

"Ah. . . depends on your perspective of time, I suppose," Jon said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

"Right. You know, it's all a little distant for me. Unsettling, sure, but on my end it's really just a story. . . ." she trailed off. "Hey, what were you doing in Hainault?"

"Gertrude's storage locker was there -- are you going through my location history?"

"Just the more recent stuff," she made it sound as if he was the strange one for asking, and he grunted with annoyed resignation.

"You should be careful about that."

"About what?"

"Prying into other people. Invading their privacy," he lay his head back against the pillow. "Don't forget that you were part of a temple to the Eye until very recently. You're free of the Institute now, but the power behind it might not be through with you."

She was quiet for a while. Whether it meant she was contemplating what he said or ignoring him so that she could continue digging through his phone, he couldn't say.

"All I'm saying is that it can be addicting," he continued. "That urge to push past the boundaries that people raise against you. Trust me when I say that I know."

"I'd imagine you would." She paused. ". . . What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Being all knowing?"

". . . Hard to describe."

There was a pause, and when it became clear he wasn't going to continue, Sasha pushed out an annoyed breath and said "well you could give it more of a shot than that."

"I don't know. Overwhelming," Jon said. "In the most complete sense of the word. Sometimes I had answers, but so few of them were helpful in the end. And the things I saw, the nightmares, the pain of everyone trapped in them. Having to watch that sort of thing, all the time . . . either it destroys you, or you learn to distance yourself. At least a little. If only to keep from breaking down. Neither is very good, but one lets you survive."

Sasha made a thoughtful humming noise.

"It isn't anything you want. Believe me," he said softly. "Even if the world hadn't ended, if I'd just been another avatar . . . any rewards aren't worth the price that others have to pay."

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Sounds about right."

Jon relaxed, some tension he'd been carrying in him slowly unlocking. Sasha continued.

"Well. Talking about privacy, while I'm here let me at least show you how to stop broadcasting your location to anyone and everyone," she tsked and scooted her chair closer. "Honestly. No wonder you got kidnapped all the time."

"I don't really think supernatural manifestations of fears needed GPS to find me."

"Couldn't have helped though, could it?"

"Probably not," Jon smiled sadly. "Should've had you around."

"Yeah. Can't imagine how any of you managed."

* * *

Even with his visitors, there were long stretches of time Jon spent entirely alone. Laying in the dark and the quiet, his thoughts shifting like a tide. Sometimes he'd drift back to those first years at the Institute, or the time-beyond-time after the change. Other days he'd lay contemplating the past few months, all the things that he'd re-written and the worries he still had.

Mostly he thought of very little, the twin sophorics of boredom and pain medication fogging his mind into an uncomfortable stasis.

When the knock came, he'd been listening to the soft, white noise of the air conditioning and thinking of how much it resembled distant waves, putting him in mind of a cold and empty shore. Then he heard two soft taps against the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Knock, knock," Martin said.

It was the first time he'd heard his voice since the fire, since the two of them were falling to the ground together. Without really thinking he asked, "who's there?"

"Oh! Right –" he sounded embarrassed. "Sorry, it's Martin."

"Yes, I -- ah, yes." Jon sounded pitifully eager, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "C-come in. Please."

* * *

If Jon was asleep, Martin decided, then he'd come back later. He probably needed the rest -- had needed it a good long while before they'd both been shot. Really, Martin ought to be at home resting as well. But when he knocked softly on the half open door, Jon turned in his direction, wide awake.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh! Right –" stupid, he can't see you. Going to have to remember that. "Sorry, it's Martin."

Jon nodded, inviting him in and slowly shifting into a seated position as Martin pulled a chair up to his bedside.

He could see the edge of a dressing covering the bullet's exit wound, just peeking up from under Jon's collar. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and the area around them was still a little bruised and swollen. He looked wrung out, small and tired. But then, Martin supposed, everyone looks small and tired in a hospital bed.

"How are you doing?" Jon asked, "they told me you've been recovering as well . . . ."

"Yeah, just got released this morning." He stretched, rubbing over the bandage that was hidden below his shirt and jacket. "Went home, had a shower, then came right back to the hospital."

"Sounds like an exciting day."

"What about you?"

"Mmm, still looking forward to a few days here, at least. They don't think I'll be needing more surgery, fortunately, and they're weaning me onto less intense painkillers. It's a little exhausting, but apparently I'm recovering well."

"Considering you took a bullet for me," Martin muttered.

A startled-sounding laugh came from Jon. "I'm not really sure that's what happened. More like we both got shot at the same time?"

"Suppose so," Martin said. Didn't quite feel that way, though. "Honestly, I don't even know if he was trying to shoot us at the end, or if the gun just went off when they tackled him."

"Neither would surprise me."

"But then I didn't even think he had a gun, let alone murdered people with it."

"I suspect he was desperate. He probably only resorts -- resorted to things like that when some disaster crept up on him. Like us, or like Gertrude. He wasn't the hands-on type. Which came back to bite him with the ritual. In a way it's the reason I'm here -- or, the memories are, I suppose."

"Right . . . ."

Martin had plenty of time to think about it all, laid up in his own bed on another floor of the same building. About all that happened, about the things Jon told them in the tunnels. More than anything else, it just made him feel foolish. Like he'd been left out of a conversation that had been going on behind his back, and now everyone was looking at him and expecting him to catch up.

Which was pretty foolish itself, of course. Jon hadn't told anyone the whole story -- there'd been no conversation, no loop he was kept out of. It wasn't as if ‘post apocalyptic time-traveling memories' was a conclusion he could have somehow come to if he'd just paid closer attention. It was a ridiculous way to feel.

Sasha had told him, between games of dominoes, that she was glad he'd been there that night because she didn't think anyone else could have talked Jon out of his plan. Which was a lot to unpack, but didn't help with the sense of being out of the loop. Not if it was that obvious. Of course, she might have just been trying to make him feel useful. The way he saw it, he hadn't done much that evening except quietly panic, shout a bit and get held at gunpoint. And get shot. And get Jon shot with him, because he'd stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry . . . ." Martin said, softly.

". . . For what?"

"I saw what was happening, just before the gun went off. I could have pulled you away if I was faster, or thrown us to the ground, or done something. Instead I just froze."

"Martin . . ." Jon tilted his head in his direction. "Even assuming you could have been fast enough, most people freeze up when a gun is pointed at them. I did the same the first few times."

". . . First few times." Martin repeated flatly. "Jesus, Jon."

"I know. It's been a difficult few years."

"I didn't even know . . . ."

"I didn't want you to know," Jon said. "I couldn't tell any of you, Martin, not until everything was ready. You saw how close things came as it was, if he'd gotten wind of things sooner . . . ."

"Right . . . of course."

The two of them fell into an uncertain silence. Jon's hand worried at a thread on the edge of the bedsheet, twisting and twirling it between his fingers. Martin thought about that hand moving slowly and smoothly over his own, about the sorrow on Jon's face when he'd pulled away. Doubt anyone else could've talked him out of it, Sasha's voice repeated in his mind.

"About what you said. In the tunnels . . . ."

Jon visibly tensed, the edge of the sheet twisting in his fingers. "Er . . . which part?"

"The part about me," Martin said, praying that would be enough, that Jon wasn't going to make him actually repeat the words. "About us?"

"Ah. Right," he smiled weakly. "Funny how much easier it is to say these things when you think you're not going to be alive much longer."

"You were really going to tell me that and then go off to die a minute later, weren't you?" There was something quiet in Martin's voice as he spoke. Calm. Like the eye of a hurricane.

"I . . ." Jon hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Bit rude."

". . . Suppose it was."

Martin went quiet. What could he say to that, to any of it? It wasn't as if he didn't get it, insecurity only goes so far when there's a declaration that explicit. He knew what I love you meant, he just . . . felt like he'd only now joined the conversation.

Before the silence could grow too powerful, Jon spoke again.

"We were together. In that other life. By the end of it, at least. I --" he laughed softly. "It took me too damned long to even realize my own feelings, let alone imagine that -- but we were together."

I can't watch that happen again, he'd said. Martin had more or less guessed that was the situation, but it was still strange to hear it confirmed. Surreal to think that Jon had a history with him, or a version of him, that he wasn't a part of.

"Were we happy?"

Jon was quiet for a while before answering. "I -- I'd like to say we were. I don't know if happy is a word I can use. At first we were in hiding, and then after the Change it was . . . well, it was a nightmare. But we had each other, and that made all the difference. And --"

He took an unsteady breath. "I think I was happier in those desperate weeks we had before the world ended than I'd honestly been in years? And there were times I'd see you in that cabin, and you'd be complaining about something, or humming while we cleaned and laughing to yourself. And you'd look different somehow, and it felt like -- there was a part of you that had been tucked away in all the time I'd known you, that was letting itself breathe again, and I was so lucky to be allowed to see it," he laughed lowly. "Or maybe all that was me projecting. Maybe I was the fool who should have paid better attention before. I don't know."

Martin tried to picture himself tucked into some remote hideaway, hiding from sinister supernatural monsters but relaxed enough to be humming and laughing while they tidied up. Tried to imagine what Jon could be referring to, how he'd been different and whether that was a good or bad thing, even. He found that he couldn't do either.

"What was he like?" he asked. "That other me."

A soft smile spread through Jon. "He was like you, Martin. A little older . . . a great deal more tired. More short-tempered, or maybe just more vocal about it," he added with fondness. "He was brave, and frustrating, and . . . and wonderful. Just wonderful."

". . . Sounds like quite a guy." Martin managed.

Jon nodded. Then the smile slipped from him, and his hands came together in his lap,

"I know that you aren't him. That is -- you are, in a sense you're the same person, but you also aren't?" he gestured outward. "Our experiences, they shape who we are, they change us. I know that."

". . . Right."

A part of him had suspected something like this might be coming, and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It still hurt, and he felt guiltily relieved that Jon couldn't see his face just now.

"I just . . ." Jon continued, "I don't want you to think, ah, that I expect anything--"

"No, I get it." Martin tried to smile, tried to sound like every word wasn't twisting in him. "I probably remind you of him? And -- heat of the moment, you thought you were gonna die. I get it. I don't expect anything either."

Jon frowned, looking momentarily confused.

"I know I'm not him, like, it's not the same," Martin continued, clearing his throat. "It doesn't have to be a thing, you know, if you don't want--"

"Martin." Jon cut him off. "I meant every word I said down there. I still do."

The words dried up in Martin's throat as Jon continued.

“I love you. Just as much as I always have. I still want to have a life with you, and I’m still terrified of that life being torn from us. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know -- even if any, ah, feelings are returned, I--” He took a deep breath, “What I feel for you, it’s, well, it’s a lot? There are so many things I’ve been through with you that you haven’t been through with me, and that’s good, I’m glad you haven’t been through them because they were mostly horrible. But I can’t deny that many of them brought us closer --”

“Jon . . . .”

“And -- and I don’t want to scare you off with the -- the intensity of my feelings but I’d understand and I wouldn’t blame you --”

Martin reached out and put a hand on Jon’s arm. The flurry of movement and talk came to a sharp standstill.

“Jon,” he said again.

“Oh. Um,” Jon’s voice was small and quiet. “Oh.”

". . . I don’t know how I’m different from the Martin you remember. And I don’t know how he felt about you, or how what I feel is different,” he said slowly. “All I know is that when you said you were going to go off to find a quiet corner and kill yourself, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.”

Jon was still under his hand, barely breathing.

“Don’t do it again.”

Quietly, Jon nodded. Martin pulled his hand away, settling back into the chair. For a while neither of them said anything,

“I mean, listen . . .” Martin finally broke the silence, shrugging uncertainly. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?”

An unsteady sound came out of Jon, his hand flew up to cover his mouth and when he pulled it away he was smiling. "I -- I'd like that. Very much," he said.

"Okay." Martin smiled back, feeling airy, lightheaded. "Cool." He laughed. "Getting shot together'll make a hell of a first date."

"Wh-- that was not a first date!" Jon protested, his own laugh coming out sharp and startled, "that was a -- a terrifying escape from our sinister employer."

"Kind of romantic though, right?" Martin teased, "in a bad action movie sort of way."

"Everything else aside, I refuse to entertain the idea that our first date involved Jonah Magnus in any respect," he shuddered, shaking his head. "Though it -- it honestly may be a while before I'm up for anything much better. I'll still be in the hospital a bit, and afterwards . . . well, I know there's a lot I'm going to have to adjust to."

Martin felt a twinge at Jon's voice, at the anxiety creeping back into it. ". . . You won't have to do it alone," he said.

Smiling weakly, Jon reached a hand over the hard plastic rail meant to keep patients from falling out of bed. Martin took it and squeezed. Jon nodded and let go, settling back.

"There's still so much . . ." he said. "So much you don't even know . . . about us, and about other things."

"You could tell me now, you know. If you wanted."

Jon paused, looking uncertain. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I don't know what you're expecting but it's not going to be some sort of --- pleasant office romance. It's just a series of horrible, traumatic experiences, one after another."

It was a fair question, really, and Martin thought about it before answering.

"I want to hear it," he said. "If you're okay talking about it, that is. I want to know what you've been living with all these months. And . . . I want to know more about that other life. Even if it's all just awful."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "All right . . ." he said, "but it really is a very long story. It's going to take a while."

"I don't have anything on today," Martin smiled, standing up. "I'll go and get us some tea."

#tma fanfic #tma #sdayl #man it's almost done wild

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mittelfrank-divas · 4 years

Text

Dance of the Black Heron chapter 3

In which Dorothea attempts to sort out how to teach Hubert to dance and words are exchanged.

AO3 link here!

===

"No, no, no." Dorothea dropped the spoon that she'd been using to tap out a steady rhythm on the side of an overturned crate, letting it clatter onto the sun-bleached wood. "Are you dancing, or are you attempting to recite chapter five of our tactics textbook to Professor Byleth?"

Hubert dropped his stance to fold his arms together. Twenty-five minutes into their dance lesson, and he already felt sweaty and overly warm in his uniform. The afternoon sun beat down on them despite the mid-autumn season, making him regret his preference for black. His long hair was already starting to stick to his cheek on one side, and he was pretending not to notice this. "I do not understand the question."

Dorothea advanced on him across the small room. Well… "room" was a generous term for the location of their private lesson. Hubert had spent weeks sniffing out the more abandoned corners of Garreg Mach when they first arrived at school. The monastery grounds were a maze of ruins, both above ground and below, and many of the abandoned locations appeared to never be included on the guards' regular rounds. Of course, he had always imagined that when he utilized such hidden spaces, it would be for much more nefarious purposes than practicing for a dance competition.

The size and dimensions of this particular building were reminiscent of the knights' hall, but whatever use it had seen in centuries past was long since lost. The wood roof had long ago rotted and caved in, and no door remained in the doorframe. But the tile floor, once cleared of debris, made for a smooth enough surface to dance on without risk of tripping, despite weeds pushing up between a few of the cracks, and the brick walls offered some amount of privacy while they practiced. The open door faced away from the monastery, and the path here was overgrown enough to dissuade anyone from choosing to wander in this direction, so he could be confident that none would be nearby to witness his humiliation. In essence, they had their own private courtyard in which to stage their lessons.

Dorothea took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake, even though she had to reach up to do so. "You're too stiff! You look like a waiter in one of those fancy Enbarr restaurants where they fold the napkins to look like doves."

Strictly speaking, Hubert had hardly visited any restaurant, in Enbarr or anywhere else. Restaurants existed for those who were socializing or traveling, or who did not already dine in the actual Adrestian Palace, served by the royal family's own chefs. But he had a vague impression of what she was describing. "And I am to understand that that is a bad thing."

Dorothea's hands flew to her head in a dramatic fashion. "Yes! The point of dancing is movement! You cannot move and be rigid as stone at the same time. The scowling doesn't help, either."

Hubert felt himself flush. "I was merely concentrating."

Dorothea pursed her lips sympathetically, but her voice retained some of its impatient edge. "Concentration is important, but you'll need to learn not to let that show on your face. The judges want to see a smile. Can you do that, Hubie? Do you know how to smile?"

With some effort, Hubert conjured the most pleasant smile his face could allow.

Dorothea visibly recoiled, her hands leaving Hubert's shoulders so she could step back. "Never mind. You look like you intend to flay me alive. Don't smile like that at the judges, alright?"

Hubert tried to ignore the sting that her comment induced. "I was not intending to be sinister." Not at this exact moment, anyway.

"I've never met someone who could be threatening by accident, but somehow you manage it." Dorothea threw herself back onto her seat and took up her spoon again. "Fine! Let's start from the top!" With that, she began drumming out a beat for him. With a groan, he went back to it.

It surprised Hubert how quickly the dance came back to him. He had not even thought about waltzing for years, let alone put it into practice. His feet still remembered the steps, his shoulders still remembered how to set themselves as though preparing to cradle another in his arms. The basic mechanics of it were really quite straightforward.

And yet he could feel Dorothea's eyes on him, evaluating his every movement. The steady drumming of her spoon on the crate provided a simple enough beat for him to keep time to, but it was a grating sound, one that reminded him with every strike that he was not simply one dancer among a crowd. He was alone on an empty floor, foolishly dancing along to cutlery. Could the entire school hear the noise? Would a face appear in that open doorway any moment? He felt horribly foolish and woefully exposed.

"Augh, just stop!" Dorothea suddenly snapped, the spoon slamming down on the crate. "Honestly, could you look any more miserable? You act like you don't even want to be here."

Hubert bent over to catch his breath, hands on his thighs. There was a reason that he devoted most of his energy toward magic, something that allowed him to stand perfectly still while still fighting with deadly force. "This may come as some shock, but no part of this experience delights me. I am here for my duty, nothing else."

"Really? You think I love being here, pretending to be happy about you getting chosen over me?" Something in Dorothea's voice broke. Hubert tilted his head up to look at her through the sweaty bangs hanging in his face, and realized that she was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides.

He stood upright, hands still clutching at the stitch in his side. Hellfire, was he out of shape. "Is that what you think this situation is?"

Dorothea snorted. "At least have the decency to be honest with me. You and Edie just couldn't have your class represented by a commoner, could you?"

Hubert would have laughed, if he had the breath for it. Instead he merely stared at her in confusion. "Where in Cichol's cursed name did you get that idea?"

"Come on, Hubie. We both know I'm the best dancer in our class. And you come to me with the flimsiest of excuses for why I wasn't chosen? That you need me to concentrate on learning magic? Dancing is a magic class! There is no reason I couldn't do both." Furious tears were pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I'm not an idiot, Hubie. I know there are plenty of people who think I don't deserve to be here. And maybe that would be enough to sully our house's reputation, having someone like me represent us. I just thought you and Edie were above that sort of thing."

Hubert tried to work out where exactly this situation had gone horribly wrong and saw that he'd mishandled it from the start. He should have seen how this would look to her. He straightened his jacket and laced his hands behind his back, feeling that he owed her at least some proper manners. "On the contrary, the thought of watching you outmatch those pitiful nobles and inflict upon them the shame of failure that they have too rarely encountered in their wretched lives fills me with a joy that I rarely know. Yes, you are in every sense the ideal candidate for this competition, and the Black Eagles would be proud to have you represent us. Not despite your origins. Your unique experience is exactly what makes you so adept at what you do. You know what it is to hone your skill for professional use, not as some parlor trick. It was not I who argued against your candidacy, nor was it Lady Edelgard. It was the professor's preference."

Dorothea processed this quietly, her green eyes fixed on something behind him, her arms crossed defensively. "I really thought they believed in me more than that."

"They do," Hubert said flatly, not wishing to obscure the message with what might seem to be insincere reassurance. "Enough to ensure that you do not deviate from your aspirations. Dorothea, why exactly did you come to the officer's academy? Gaining admission while working full time as a Songstress could not have been an easy task."

Dorothea sniffled, giving a dismissive shrug. "Oh, you know. A school filled with Fodlan's wealthiest young noble bachelors? How could I pass up an opportunity like that?"

Hubert rested his chin on his palm, letting his gaze drift to the tall, sun-dappled grass outside the door. "If that is your goal, then it's certainly not the worst plan for going about it. In fact, I would call it downright shrewd. But of course, the fact that you would also be learning skills here that could be used in any number of positions in the future must have crossed your mind. A backup plan, as it were."

Dorothea snorted, though it came out more as a sniffle. "I mean, what gal wouldn't want to learn how to strike a guy with lightning whenever he gets a bit handsy?"

"Indeed, but you could have learned that in Enbarr. There are other schools, easier schools to access." Dorothea said nothing, impulsively reaching to fix her long hair, as if it were ever anything less than perfectly coiled about her shoulders. Hubert persisted. "I have read your application."

Her gaze snapped back to him, wide-eyed. "But that's--"

"Highly confidential, of course. I don't trust just anyone to have such free access to Lady Edelgard. I need to know just who is sitting behind her chair every day." It had not, in fact, been a remotely easy task to gain access to the academy's records. Hubert was still trying to puzzle out where the bishops hid their archives. Fortunately, Professor Byleth was not quite so paranoid about the files they were given, and so he had managed to leaf through the documentation on the Black Eagles. Would that the other two professors could give him such ready access to their own classes.

"It's also very rude," Dorothea muttered.

"I do not tend to concern myself with what is polite." Hubert felt a faint smirk tug at his lips. "Quite an impressive application, actually. Your test scores were average, but your essays were most engaging. You have a practicality that many others lack. You do not allow the big picture, as it were, to blind you to facts. You have valuable insights that our class needs."

Dorothea flushed, looking away from him. For someone who seemed to thrive on attention, she did not seem to know what to do with this sort of praise. She sighed impatiently. "Is there a point to all of this, or are you just heaping compliments on me so I'll drop it?"

"My point, Dorothea, is that you did not come to the officer's academy just to be a Songstress by a different name. The professor fears that making you a Dancer would send a signal that you are valued only for your appearance. That it would lead you to limit yourself. Frankly, I would be inclined to disagree, had I not seen you in action."

"They said that?" Her voice hitched a bit when she said it.

"That is what they told me. That they want to see you succeed as a gremory, a class that very few ever manage to achieve. Though I do not agree with our professor on every front, their instincts on our class composition have been largely accurate. Do not think I haven't noticed you studying the chapter on Meteor, a spell so complex that I doubt even Linhardt would be bothered to learn it."

She gave him a startled glance, but did not deny it.

Hubert nodded to her. "So I ask you again: why did you come to the officer's academy? If you are happy remaining as a Songstress, if you would be satisfied only to become a Dancer and nothing else, then I will gladly end this farce and accompany you to persuade Professor Byleth to change their mind. But if you came here to prove something, as I suspect you did, then I would be remiss to allow you to make such a sacrifice."

Her eyebrows arched disbelievingly. "Hubie, that almost sounded generous of you."

He chuckled. "Lest you mistake my actions for kindness, allow me to remind you that I seek only to ensure that Lady Edelgard's people are maximizing their potential."

"Right, of course. You could not possibly be trying to help your friends achieve their dreams the way you're always talking about helping Edie with hers." She was smiling now, even as she wiped at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "To answer your question, I... I don't know if I have just one answer for you. But I do know that I have been around simpering nobles my whole life. And I would give just about anything for the chance to wipe the smile off their faces. And beating them at their own game? Learning the spells that all their fancy tutors and expensive libraries couldn't teach them? I'd like that very much."

Hubert smirked in triumph, and offered her a low bow. A proper bow, the likes of which he normally reserved only for Edelgard. "Then, Miss Arnault, I suggest a trade. I will help you reach your goal if you help me reach mine. Teach me to survive this blasted competition and I promise that all I know of magic is at your disposal."

Dorothea laughed. "Okay, okay, no need to turn this into the opening of an epic drama. Though... hmm. I think I have an idea of how we're going to present you now. You are actually quite charming in your own way, Hubie. There's no reason to try to cover it up with a fake smile."

Now it was Hubert's turn for skepticism. "Somehow I doubt there is much charm for you to find."

Dorothea waved him off. "Oh hush, you'll see what I mean soon enough. Anyway, we're focusing on your stance right now. Here, take my hand." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder and held out the other for him to hold.

He surveyed her in confusion. "Does the contest not require each contestant to be performing alone?"

Dorothea huffed. "Yes, despite the waltz being a couple's dance. It's a silly requirement, really. But right now you're letting your nerves get in the way of your movement. You need to stop being so embarrassed about me watching you. So let's take out the audience factor entirely. There is nobody left to watch if we're both participating, right?"

Hubert sighed as his gloved hand took hers, the other resting lightly on her waist. "Perceptive, as ever."

She grinned up at him. "That's why I'm your teacher. Now, you lead. Teach me to waltz as though it's my first time. I'm a lowly commoner who's never been allowed to join in on such a high class dance before."

Hubert chuckled at her, pulling them into a slow, steady rhythm. Dorothea followed smoothly, exposing her lie for what it was. "Does that work on the brainless nobles you seduce? Pretending to be clueless?"

"Some of them." She smirked, unapologetic. It was harder to match each other's steps without music, but Dorothea was a professional. She adjusted to Hubert's pace, reading his body language well enough to anticipate his steps. "Good. Loosen your grip on my hand a bit. You're directing me, not pulling me like a dog on a leash."

"Quite the analogy."

Her head quirked in an approximation of a shrug. "You'd be surprised how necessary that comparison is. Far too many noblemen can't tell the difference."

"Not as surprised as you might think." He complied with her instruction, letting her hand simply rest in his rather than gripping it.

"Better, but you're still too rigid. You're worrying too much about what I'm doing. Dancing with someone is about trust. Which I know is in short supply with you."

"What gave you that impression?" Hubert tried not to stare down at her feet, certain that he was about to tread on her toes.

"I can't believe I have to tell you this, but my eyes are up here." She laughed at his startled look. "Trust, Hubie! You need to trust me that I know how to keep up with you. And you need to trust yourself. You know these steps, right?"

Hubert studiously kept his eyes on hers, realized his hand had tightened around hers again, and pointedly loosened it. "Knowing and doing are not the same."

Dorothea sighed. "Alright, stop. New plan. I'm cashing in that magic lesson right now."

Hubert let his hands fall away from hers as she stepped back, and tried very hard to keep pace with Dorothea's shifting moods. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to learn."

"I am now. The wall makes a good enough target, right?" She moved to stand beside him so that they both faced the same direction, with only a wall of bare brickwork ahead of them. "So? What's the most basic Dark magic you know? What's the spell you can cast in your sleep?"

Hubert regarded her. "You are aware that Dark magic and Black magic are quite different, I'm sure. Black magic utilizes the elements, while Dark magic draws on something more internal and primal."

Dorothea sighed impatiently. "I have read chapter one of the textbook, yes, thank you Hubert. Show me anyway."

Hubert puffed out a breath. At least this would be a respite from his stumbling around. "Alright. The simplest Dark attack is Miasma Δ. It goes like this." It was easy. So easy to gather the dark magic in his chest. To draw his hand across his body as he muttered the incantation, feeling the cold sting of power spreading its tendrils down the length of his arm. To flick his fingers outward just as the magic reached them, casually lobbing a sphere of crackling darkness at the bare wall. The impact resonated with the magic's hollow sound, leaving a blackened scorch mark on the bricks. How strange that trying to dance had felt like wading through waist-deep mud, but casting this spell felt like stepping back onto dry land, as light and easy as walking on a summer day.

"Hmm." Dorothea experimentally moved her hand across her chest. "Like this?"

"Palm inward. Arm parallel with the floor." He reached over and tilted her elbow up a few degrees. "You want to draw the magic in toward your hand before you expel it. If you allow your arm to droop, you risk casting at the floor rather than at your target."

Dorothea imitated his movements, right down to a small flourish in her wrist that, strictly speaking, was not a necessary addition to the spell, but that Hubert habitually added on principle. "And your feet? Do you step forward with your right or your left?"

"Always lead with your casting side."

"Right. Of course." She practiced the motions again. Hand across the chest, elbow out, step forward, flick of the wrist. Again and again she repeated the steps, imitating him perfectly without the actual orb of magical darkness firing from her hand. And then she tried it again using the other hand.

"Dorothea, what are you doing?"

Dorothea flicked one hand in front of herself and then another. "What's it look like?"

Hubert crossed his arms. "It looks like you are being very smug."

She grinned, but did not stop her impromptu dance routine, working in much more hip sway than the original spell called for. "Don't I have a right to be? I'm finding all your secrets, Hubie."

He could not help the amused smirk that crossed his face. "I very much doubt that."

"Well I've found one, anyway. You are a good dancer when you're not getting in the way of yourself. We just have to draw it out of you. What is spellcasting other than a very precise dance routine with a purpose?" She did a careless twirl, her hair fanning out around her. It looked so effortless.

"Ah yes, deadly magical force is naught but prancing about." Hubert watched as Dorothea spun the movements he had taught her into an intricate routine that grew with each new iteration. Here he was, betrayed by his own lesson.

She came to a standstill, grinning in triumph. Whereas Hubert felt bedraggled and exhausted by dance, she looked invigorated, her peach skin glistening radiantly. "From now on, we'll warm up our sessions with a magic lesson. It's something you're already confident in, so it'll get you into the mindset you need. Come on now, let's get back to it. We've got lots of time yet before the sun goes down."

Hubert groaned, casting his eyes up at the treacherously clear blue sky, still shining bright with the low evening sun. If only he believed in the Goddess, he might be tempted to beg her to nudge it towards the horizon just a bit faster.

#hubert von vestra #dorothea arnault #black eagles #fanfic #dance of the black heron #indigo's ferdibert got me hyped to finish this part!

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goodomensblog · 4 years

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Afterward - Part 13

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

(Another landslide winner! #2 was the clear favorite. Thank you for voting!)

Afterward - - - Part 13

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

“If you want to keep that hand, demon, you’ll release me. Now.”

Crowley, despite very much wanting to keep said hand, does not let go.

When Gabriel reaches over his shoulder, pulling his Heavenly sword from the aether, Crowley twists out of the way. “Woah, woah, woah - hey! Hold on. Just wait.”

“Just wait?” Gabriel snaps, voice dripping with incredulity. “Heaven is under attack, and you want me to just wait?”

“What about Beelzebub?”

“What about them? Maybe - just maybe it’s a bunch of demons who are fighting my angels right now!”

“That thing, whatever it was we felt - that was not demonic, you know it as well as I do.”

“Then what the fuck are my angels fighting?” Gabriel asks, his knuckles going white around the sword pulled halfway into existence.

From beyond the hall, the cries have grown louder, fiercer - more desperate. There is a static crackling in the air and the acrid, burnt smell of ozone.

Crowley, after risking a glance at the sword, releases Gabriel’s sleeve - and instead, grabs him by the wrist.

“Something,” Crowley hisses, “that was strong enough to bust into Heaven with one blow. Something that I’ve never encountered - and I once traveled all the universe hanging stars. Something that’s, by the sounds of it, carving through ranks of highly trained angelic warriors like butter.”

“That’s why,” Gabriel says, giving his arm a savage yank, “I need to-”

“That’s why you’re gonna want a bloody Lord of Hell in fighting shape!”

At that, Gabriel’s struggles momentarily cease. He blinks, scoffing, “You can’t seriously think-”

“I think that Beelzebub wants to live. And they - like Aziraphale and myself, are currently stuck in Heaven with you, a bunch of angels, and whatever the fuck that thing is. So be smart about this, you giant idiot. Save Beelzebub. Help us find out what they know. And maybe, just maybe we can all use Beelzebub, Lord of Hell, to help us get out of this god damned- er, blessed - augh - whatever! Predicament!” Crowley finishes, chest heaving.

It isn’t exactly a lie. While Crowley is certain Beelzebub, like a cornered cat, will indeed willingly fight whatever this thing is, he is not at all sure how battle ready old Beelzebub will be after just a handful of Hellfire.

But Gabriel doesn’t need to know that.

White knuckled fingers loosen their hold on the sword’s gleaming hilt. Gabriel sinks back. Running a hand up and over his face, he mutters to himself, and sharp, ugly curses fill the spaces between his breaths. When his eyes open, his razor-edge gaze zeroes in on Crowley’s hand. “Seriously. Stop touching me.”

Crowley’s hand snaps open.

“I won’t abandon my soldiers. Not now. Not when they need me,” Gabriel says, yanking his jacket straight. “So you’ll have to retrieve the Hellfire.”

Crowley, who had realistically expected this conversation to end with one of them flipping the middle finger and the other attempting to administer a beheading, takes a moment to process this development.

“I - wait - you want me to-?”

“Yes. Obviously. Shut up.”

“Right. Okay,” Crowley says, and shakes his head. “Wait, where-”

“Do you remember where the records are stored?”

Crowley pauses at that.

His memory of Heaven - it’s strange. In many ways, it blurs together, a mural of incandescent colors, textures, half-recalled musical notes, voices - that from up close, are nearly incomprehensible.

But there are moments of clarity. As if he has, for a second, stepped back a pace, and sees just a glimpse of the full thing; an expansive mural that his mosaic memories press together to create. He knows he hung the stars. And he knows, from some forgotten space in him mind, where in these white marble halls the records are kept.

“Yes,” Crowley says, because he can picture the room in his mind now: those twin pillars on either side of that tall, golden door.

“It’s stored on the highest level, in the silver chest,” Gabriel says, curt.

“Got it,” Crowley says, already retreating - because now that Gabriel has given him the information he needs, Crowley doesn’t want to go and give the archangel a chance to change his mind.

But Gabriel has already turned away. Black, polished shoes tapping smartly against white marble, the angel strolls down the hall and draws a gleaming sword out of the air.

Crowley is mentally mapping his route. He’ll need to take the first door on the right, then cross the atrium and -

Gabriel’s shout catches him before he can leave.

“By the way, I’m not an idiot, demon. I do know that a single jar of expired Hellfire’s not exactly going to do any demonic miracles.” Gabriel stands at the end of the hall, violet eyes bright in the half light. “And I know Beelzebub’s not going to help anyone anytime soon.”

Crowley stops, turning fully back.

Gabriel lifts the sword, jabbing the blade in Crowley’s direction. “After all this is done, I will be in touch. I expect Beelzebub to share the information they promised me.”

Crowley stares, baffled. “What are you-”

“No - nuh - shush!” Gabriel snaps, waving the sword. “In my room, there’s a passageway out of Heaven. It’s behind the tapestry. After you heal Beelzebub, take them and go.”

“Ohh-kay,” Crowley says, trying to wrap his mind around this second surprising development. “You - that’s - uh - huh. You know, that’s actually pretty nice of you, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, no - zip it,” Gabriel bites out, shifting with obvious discomfiture. “The last thing I need is anyone finding a couple of demons and a bad angel in my private rooms. Take Beelzebub and get out.” And with a final jab in Crowley’s direction, Gabriel spins the sword with a flourish and disappears into a beam of screaming light.

“What a nutcase,” Crowley says to the empty hallway.

He crosses the atrium at a sprint, keeping a careful eye out for angels - but the atrium and surrounding halls are empty. Heaven’s full forces have been mustered, then. It’s a sobering thought, and one that makes Crowley run just a little faster.

As he runs, he can’t help but think of Uriel and Gabriel’s conversation. God is….missing? Could it possibly be true? Crowley’s head tilts back, as if he might spy Her amongst the arched ceiling tiles stretching forlornly above.

She couldn’t be gone, right?

After all, where would She go?

The entrance to the Hall of Records is as abandoned as the rest of Heaven, and Crowley flings open it’s arched doors. The Records Room is - staggering. Crowley’s step slow as shelves and stairs rise up around him. His footsteps echo - from marble floors, between pillars, up winding stairs, and fading as they rise into the cavernous dome extending far, far above.

Crowley swears softly, and that echoes too.

As his shoe touches the first stair, he thinks of where he wants to be: the top floor; and when he reaches the second step, the domed ceiling is suddenly directly above him - and the top floor, bathed in gold, is before him, as though it had always been.

Crowley doesn’t have time for surprise or awe, so he focuses instead on the chest; which is sitting, unbothered, at the far side of the room.

He half expects some kind of booby trap, so when the silver lid slides unhesitatingly open, Crowley can’t help but flinch back.

Nothing happens.

Brows lifted, Crowley peers tentatively over the chest’s edge. There, at its center, sits a black jar. Sniffing the air, Crowley can just make out the slightest hints of sulfur.

Tensing, he reaches a hand in - and is relieved when his fingers close over the lid of the jar. He draws it out - and breathes a grateful sigh when no traps spring and no alarms blare.

Kneeling before the chest, he cracks the jar’s lid. When roaring heat surges forth, he snaps the lid back.

“Yep, that’s the stuff,” he says, and screws the lid tight.

Crowley takes the stairs at a run. On the first step, he thinks of the ground floor, and on the second step, he steps confidently into - a room stacked with scrolls.

“Huh,” he says, craning his head back to look at rich oak shelves and the layers of pale scrolls artfully piled upon them. “You’re not what I wanted.”

Deciding to try again, Crowley is turning back to the stairs when faded paint catches his eye.

He stops.

The mural is nearly entirely covered by shelves and scrolls. The visible section is a web of cracked paint and fading colors - a stark contrast to Heaven’s typically immaculate decor. But even faded as it is, Crowley can make out, clear as day, a Bentley - his Bentley, painted in peeling fresco.

Crowley blinks. Rubs his eyes. Squints, and blinks again.

“That’s....weird.”

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

Rushing back with the Hellfire, Crowley has stumbled upon an impossible oddity in the Hall of Records. When faced with this strange omen, Crowley will…

Investigate. He doesn’t have much time to spare, but he can’t leave without uncovering the other side of this mysterious mural.

Leave. The mural is strange, but time is of the essence. Crowley can’t risk the detour.

Please comment or reblog to vote! I can’t wait to see what you all choose :)

Part 14

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #choose your own adventure fic #good omens choose your own adventure #aziraphale #crowely #aziraphale x crowley #good omens gabriel #good omens beelzebub

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