#karl horstmayer

[f1yogurt]

Joyeux Noël Fic Exchange

I'm excited to announce the release of our first ever Joyeux Noël fic exchange! Congrats to everyone from the discord who participated. All of you make this fandom great.

@norabrice1701 @sunangelflowers @calimera62 @sam7sparks7 and more who are not on tumblr!!

[supercalifragipopculturevomit]

Here's to one of the best actors of his generation, the versatile and multilingual king who's been pulling heartstrings for three decades with a variety of roles, faces, and languages... Happy 46th birthday, Daniel Brühl!

p.s. who's your favorite Danny character? Sound off in the comments or the tags—or don't. I'm not your mother. 😋

[norabrice1701]

Consequence

 A Ghost!Horstmayer x Fem!Reader AU

Summary: “Seriously?” You say, sighing in vague annoyance. “A ghost?” You don’t consider yourself to be a superstitious person, and you certainly don’t believe in haunted things lurking around dark corners.

Of course, it doesn’t make sense. Of course, ghosts aren’t real. You just need your overactive imagination to calm down.

But then comes the night that changes everything...

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut; explicit language; references to 1918 pandemic and lost love; Horstmayer needs a hug

A/N: Last year, it started with a pirate!Horstmayer fic and now we have ghost!Horstmayer on this Christmas Eve. Curl up somewhere warm with something warm & cozy, and I hope you enjoy! And to those who celebrate the holiday - I wish you all a Happy & Merry Christmas 🎄😊❤️

You inherit the apartment from your Great-Aunt Alphonsine. Heartless as it sounds, you didn't even know that you had a Great-Aunt Alphonsine until the lawyer calls you. 

“The care and maintenance of the apartment is part of your Great-Aunt’s estate. Should you choose to retain the dwelling, you will only be financially responsible for the consumables.” 

“The consumables?” You echo in confusion. “What does that mean? Consumables as in… water and electricity?” 

“No, miss. Consumables as in food, paper products, toiletries, and so forth. Your Great-Aunt’s estate has allocations for utilities, cleaning services, repair services, tax fees, and insurance costs. She was adamant that you shoulder no additional financial burden with the inheritance of her beloved home.” 

On and off over the years, your mother has spoken of the estranged family that lives in France, but surely, this has to be too much. You’d never met Great-Aunt Alphonsine, and doesn’t she have any immediate family of her own? Or is this her way of trying to reunite the family? 

Regardless, you still can’t believe it. Even now as you stand - still dumbfounded by the simple fact that you’re actually here in Paris - staring at the building’s elegant stone and wrought-iron facade, you want to pinch yourself. 

Nearly overnight, you’ve gone from a cramped, nearly-windowless apartment to this sweeping, third-story, top-floor apartment with commanding views of the Luxembourg Gardens. Nearly overnight, you no longer have to choose between paying rent or paying down student loans. Nearly overnight, you find yourself faced with the decision of what to do with such a classy place, but you figure that you should at least see the interior before deciding. 

And the interior doesn’t disappoint. Cozily appointed and elegantly furnished, the whole apartment proves an expert study in Edwardian class and comfort. Each room hosts gleaming wood fireplaces, lush rugs, and plushy armchairs and settees. The living room with a piano in one corner and a simple writing desk tucked in another corner looks like the perfect place to continue work on your novel. The dining room is warm and intimate, and blessedly, the kitchen has been updated with modern appliances. 

The hallway hosts three inviting bedrooms and one sophisticated bathroom. Each progressive room makes you feel sloppy in your jeans and sweater, yet also puts you completely at ease. The old-world charm and elegance of the whole place should probably be intimidating, but there is something undeniably homey and inviting about it.  

You make your decision and settle in right away. The living room becomes your favorite haunt and think-tank, while the master bedroom serves as your private lair. You’ve never known such stylish comfort or pleasant environs. In fact, it’s a marvel that your Great-Aunt has managed to outfit her home in a way that doesn’t feel old and stuffy but still retains the splendor of a bygone age. 

As time passes, you meet the cleaning lady by name of Marie-Rose who tiptoes around on silent footsteps, and the all-around handyman, Georges, who is never without a jovial smile beneath his bushy mustache. 

“This is an easy fix, mademoiselle.” Georges says, extending the ladder legs. “I’m glad that you called.”  

“I appreciate that you came so quickly, but really, there was no rush.” And you mean it. Replacing a burned out lightbulb in the living room chandelier isn’t an urgent matter, but Georges wouldn’t hear of it. 

“Well, Mademoiselle Alphonsine was just the kindest lady, and I wouldn’t want to do her an insult by way of you, now.” 

Your mouth pulls to an awkward, closed-mouth smile. “I wish that I had known her better.” Or at all, really. 

Georges unboxes the new lightbulb, nodding up at you with a reassuring smile. “I’ll have this replaced in no time. Don’t you worry, mademoiselle.” Despite your insistence otherwise, he refuses to call you anything else. “But keep an eye out for that ghost, would you please?” 

He starts to climb the ladder, and you arch a dubious brow. “Seriously?” You say, sighing in vague annoyance. “A ghost?” You don’t consider yourself to be a superstitious person, and you certainly don’t believe in haunted things lurking around dark corners. 

“Oh, you can be sure of it. Mademoiselle Alphonsine had many stories about her resident ghost - even said that she glimpsed him in the foyer mirror once. Eyes like golden chocolate, she said.” 

“Golden chocolate?” You hum skeptically. “And I’m sure that every time this old building creaked, that was the ghost, too?” 

Georges nods as he works. “Mademoiselle Alphonsine swore that he was always here - as a chill when she entered a room, as a phantom whisper against her cheek, as a fallen and broken object.” 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” You scoff, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense why a single, elderly lady living alone would conjure tales about a ghost when things went bump in the night. It’s the most basic trope in all of horror-dom! And once she believed it, I’m sure it just became easier each time something ‘supposedly-mysterious but easily-explainable’ happened for her to just chalk it up to her resident ghost.” 

Georges laughs softly but nothing about it is comforting. “Then, don’t believe in the ghost at your own peril, mademoiselle. But far be it for me to speak ill of the dead - either Mademoiselle Alphonsine or her resident ghost.” 

Of all the ridiculous nonsense. There are no such things as ghosts, regardless of what your Great-Aunt or her handyman think. 

And yet… you can’t fully banish the lingering thought. Especially in the dark hours of night when the city grows still, when the building grows silent, when shadows dance on the walls. You start to notice the ambient creaks and groans of the centuries’ old building. You start to notice the reflections in polished surfaces, unable to stop the creeping moments of suspicion and the urge to do a double-take over your shoulder. 

Eyes like golden chocolate, indeed. 

Of course, it doesn’t make sense. Of course, ghosts aren’t fucking real. You just need your overactive imagination to calm down. 

But then comes the night that changes everything. 

The day has been absolute hell in a handbasket, and you need to lose yourself. So, you do: retiring to your bed with a half-full bottle of wine and your favorite vibrator. It has been a while since your last boyfriend, and you treat yourself far better than he ever did. Still trembling from your first orgasm, you writhe against the bedsheets, slowly teasing towards your second. Your slick, sensitized skin sings as you drive the toy harder, chasing the pleasurable swell inside you. The wood and plaster walls echo with your soft cries and whimpers - and in the moments your eyes wink open, you see yourself in the mirror mounted above the bedroom fireplace. 

The debauched sight that you paint should probably be shameful, but you’re too far gone to care. Your hair fans across the pillowcase, sleep shorts and underwear discarded with your sleep shirt rucked up. With one hand twisting and pinching against your breast, the other works the toy inside you. The desperate heat builds to a crescendo as you drag against your white hot spot of pleasure, tearing a long cry from your lips as you start to boil over. 

Glass cracks and shatters across the room, slicing through your fog of arousal. You scream at the sudden burst of sound, and the toy slips from your grip. Your body fights a new surge of adrenaline-fueled energy as you stare at the fractured mirror over the bedroom fireplace. Cracked lines radiate across the reflective surface originating from a point in the middle. Several glass shards have broken loose, now smashed against the polished wood floor. 

Your heart races as you sit up to get a better look, overcome with the impending rush of your denied orgasm and the fear that bolted down your spine at the sight. Especially as you stare at the distorted reflection in the mirror’s broken remains. It looks… you gulp. Another shiver runs through you as you squint harder in the low light. The shape coalesces into a distinct, shadowed outline of a head and shoulder - and eyes. 

Eyes that glint with golden chocolate. 

You blink, and the image disappears. Or… has it even been there in the first place?

The thought keeps you awake longer than you care to admit. And ever since, you haven't been able to shake the unnerving feeling that you’re being watched. 

Sure, it sounds cliche. Fuck that, it’s definitely cliche. You’re starting to be no better than your Great-Aunt, really: living alone in an old house with an antique mirror that had finally just cracked from age. You don’t need to let the power of suggestion get to you. Of course, there hasn’t been a ghost with golden chocolate eyes watching you in your bedroom. The implications of that are just too fucked up. 

But none of that stops a shiver from crawling down your spine when living room floorboards squeak while you sit unmoving on the couch. It doesn’t stop you from giving the foyer mirror a suspicious side-eye every time you walk past or glimpse shadowy movement on its reflective surface. 

All of it stirs traitorous, lingering questions to life. Has Great-Aunt Alphonsine been right? Does her home indeed have a resident specter of some sort? Could there really be such a thing as ghosts? 

The nagging questions torment you for the better part of two weeks, not helped each night when you crawl into bed and stare at the bare patch of wall above the fireplace where the mirror used to hang. But finally, emboldened by another bottle of wine, you open an incognito browser window and let your search history spiral down a rabbit hole. 

Are ghosts real 

Why do ghosts haunt

Can you banish ghosts

Can you contact ghosts

Madame Lastra incantation 

Dr. Vladimir Zugravs’s Collection of Spells and Other Curios book

The next day finds you at the National Library of France. Of course, the section you seek resides in a quiet, dusty corner of the archives that surely crawls with ghosts of its own. Fluorescent light bulbs buzz overhead as you scan the spine titles and catalog numbers. Eventually, you find Dr. Zugrav’s book and pull it from the shelf as your heart leaps. Thumbing through the pages, you glimpse all sorts of sketches - diagrams of plants, people, symbols - and page after page of obscure, occultist lore. 

When you find the page entitled ‘Madame Lastra’s Incantation for Contact Beyond the Living World’, a forbidden thrill runs through you. Fuck, you can’t believe this actually exists, and worse… would it actually work? 

Back in the warmth of your living room, you pour over the pages with rapt interest. It… honestly, it sounds so easy. Does it really only take sandalwood scented air and a red beeswax barrier coupled with the right words to contact the dead? You read the pages again and again, looking for the obvious catch. If it is supposedly just that simple, then why doesn’t everyone know about this? 

But once you have the sandalwood incense and red beeswax candle, you wait until Saturday night. The fact that it’s Christmas Eve just happens to be a coincidence. You already told your parents that you aren’t able to come home for Christmas, and if you really have the chance to make a new friend, then… well, who wants to be alone on Christmas Eve? 

So, you sit in the foyer and light the incense. As the woodsy smell permeates the air, you light the candle and let it burn for several minutes to form a blood-red puddle of molten wax. With careful movements, you dribble the wax in a line just behind the front door, spanning wall to wall as the book instructured. Admittedly, you do cringe at the sight of the vibrant red wax cooling against the finely polished wood floor - and god, maybe you should go to a therapist after this - but for now, you’re too committed to stop. 

When the line looks thick enough - honestly, the book wasn’t too specific - you set the candle next to the incense and sit cross-legged, staring at the front door and the fresh line of wax. You turn the page and your breathing quickens. Adrenaline surges through you, taking a deep breath to listen to the gentle piano Christmas carols that play in the background as a low fire burns in the living room fireplace accompanied by the soft glow of a table lamp. 

In a clear, purposeful voice - the book is incessant on that part - you recite the words. It sounds even stupider and laughingly implausible as your voice echoes off the woodwork, as if waiting for the punchline of some elaborate joke. But then… the fire flares in the living room from the corner of your eye and a wave of intense heat rolls over you. Lightning strikes outside the windows and roaring thunder threatens to burst your eardrums. Strobing lightning continues to blind you as shapes and shadows melt and shift around you. With wide eyes, you glance around as fear otherwise paralyzes you. 

God, shit, fuck… what have you done? 

Thunder shakes the building incessantly, but your blood freezes as audible, distinct footsteps creak down the hallway. Your heart sticks in your throat as blood pounds in your ears, turning around to see… an unknown man emerge from the shadows. 

His thick chestnut hair and beard hold a neat style as he frowns down at you. He wears dark, high-waisted trousers of an antiquated fashion with a white dress shirt, matching vest, and tie neatly knotted at his throat. Firelight and lightning gleam off a wristwatch set against a thick leather band wrapped around his right wrist. He looks for all the world like he just stepped out of a late Edwarian-era photograph, and a chill runs through you. 

He rests his hands in his trousers’ pockets as he comes to a stop at the living room threshold, his face hard with disapproval. “I understand that modern sensibilities have changed,” he says with crisp, Germanic syllables. “But have you completely dispensed with all sense of general propriety?” 

You stare back at him, agape and lost for words. Too many questions overload your brain as you meet his sharp, golden chocolate eyes. Eyes that are all too familiar from a hazy moment in your bedroom’s shattered mirror. 

He blinks those otherworldly eyes as irritation tightens the corners of his mouth, and he nods vaguely over your shoulder. “Referring, of course, to the mess that you have made on his floor. Terribly inconsiderate of you as a guest, considering how that red dye will no doubt leave a permanent stain.” 

Your eyebrows climb to your hairline. “A guest…? But I live here.” 

He shakes his head in slow reproach. “This is not your home anymore than it is your Great-Aunt’s or mine - we are all houseguests here.” He advances slowly, coming more into the flickering firelight and your pulse quickens as he continues. “But, perhaps you are not as worthy as she was - first, for damaging his floor, and second, in this unwelcome -.” His words stop short as his face pinches in open confusion and disbelief. 

You freeze in equal uncertainty, watching his keen gaze fix on the roaring fire. Lightning still flashes all around - or, perhaps strobe is a more accurate word - especially as you realize that thunder no longer accompanies each bright bolt of light. Without another word, he strides forward with his attention clearly diverted from you. 

With trembling movements, you push to your feet as you continue to stare at him. Just who in the hell is this man? He can’t just come into your house uninvited… or was he invited? You stand just inside the living room, staring at the broad line of his back as he pauses in front of the fireplace. He holds his left hand in front of the flames as if warming chilled skin, but the look of astonishment on his face makes your brow furrow. 

Chilling realization creeps through you as he continues to stare at his hand in a mix of disbelief and reverence. You wet your top lip, exhaling sharply. “You’re Great-Aunt Alphonsine’s resident ghost, aren’t you?” 

“I prefer that you call me Karl Horstmayer.” 

You gasp as realization slams through you, and holy shit… the incantation has worked. The truth before your eyes stuns you as lightning flares at random, disorienting intervals. You blink away from him in your stupor, still trying to process it all, and your mindless gaze sweeps around the room. At least, until you notice that the familiar table lamp has just… disappeared. In fact, the fireplace and lightning are the only light sources around you. 

Your mind reels at the implications, and you turn towards the windows that overlook the gardens across the street. It’s impossible to make out anything of the city beyond - no streetlights, no rustling trees - as if everything outside has been swallowed up by the soundless lightning storm. 

Everything about that thought sends your mind into overdrive as your heart races. “Does…  does that mean that I’m… dead?” 

He shrugs a disinterested shoulder, still studying his hand. “What is dead?” 

“Dead is how y-you’re a ghost.” Your words shake with mounting uncertainty. “And how I’m… I’m - where are we, anyway?” 

“Why do you assume that I have all the answers?” His words cut sharp. “Aren’t you the one with the occultist book?” 

“The book doesn’t say anything about this!” Honestly, if the incantation is going to transport you to some freakish vortex between life and death, the book should at least fucking mention it. 

If your outburst bothers Karl, he gives no visible indication. Instead, he simply lowers his hand back to his side as the corner of his mouth lifts with a sad, fond edge. “All I know is that I have not felt such warmth in well over a century.” 

Despite your unease, your brow knits as you process his words. “No? Not even when… well, assuming that you’ve walked this apartment as you are now,” you gesture at him, suddenly feeling woefully out of your depth. “Does that mean that you don’t feel physical sensation…?” 

“Not as such.” He answers softly. “But the eternal now has no physical concept, so your question is invalid.” 

“That makes no sense.” You shake your head, returning your gaze to him as you wait for him to respond. 

But neither of you speak for several long minutes. Brilliant purple-white light continues to burst out the windows, punctuated only by crackles from the fireplace and the eerie melody of distorted Christmas carols. You strain your ears to listen, just able to recognize ‘Silent Night’ despite how melancholy and dissonant the tune sounds. 

You force a swallow, continuing the conversation in his stead. “I mean - clearly, this is a physical place. I’m standing here, a-and you’re standing there. And there’s a fire, and music… and you called it his place.” You pause, blinking over at him as he stands unmoving, still just staring into the fire. “So, if I’m a guest and you’re a guest… then, whose place is this?” 

Heart-wrenching sadness eats at the lines of his handsome face despite his failing attempts to hold a stoic appearance. It ages him so young - younger than you’d initially estimated due to his deceptive facial hair. What has happened to this young man? By all accounts, he looks healthy - as if he could still be alive today. 

The muscles of his throat work around a hard swallow. “This is the home of the Audebert family. Camille Audebert, in particular.” He pinches his mouth shut as if needing a moment to collect himself. 

Concern stirs in your chest as you wrap your arms around yourself and step into the living room. “And who was... is Camille Audebert?” 

Karl’s eyes swim with firelight and distant memory. “Someone who I met on a Christmas Eve long ago. Someone who… who I had hoped to find again. But someone who died in this house before I could get here.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You take another careful step forward. “How did he die?” 

“The flu of 1918 swept through Paris, sparing neither the rich or the poor, and he succumbed much like countless other victims.” 

A chill runs down your spine as your heart lodges in your throat. “The flu of 1918… that sounds unreal….” Your voice trails off as the unnerving lightning reflects off your skin and clothes. “Is that also when you… died, too?” 

“No.” He offers a weak shake of his head. “I followed… in 1919, I think it was. You’ll forgive me on the exact year…” 

You ach an incredulous brow, unable to believe it. “And you’ve been here - in this place… this apartment since 1919, give or take.” 

His heavy eyes drop closed as he bows his head solemnly. 

Your tongue runs across your top lip. “Then, why don’t you just leave?”

“That’s not how it works.” His voice chills you to the bone. “Actions on the mortal plane ripple through eternity, and a deal with the devil is just that.” 

“But you’re…,” you start as you struggle to understand. “Surely, you’re not… like a demon or something.”

“No,” he gives a short shake of his head. “But one needn’t be a demon to find themselves in hell.” 

You regard him in a moment of contemplation. Is he really trapped here? What deal has he possibly made? You exhale an uncertain sigh, hesitating until you catch yourself. For fuck’s sake, this man is a ghost – what do you really have to worry about? “So, what -” your words stick in your throat despite yourself. “How long do you have to stay here?” 

He turns an almost pitying, closed-mouth smile towards you. “Time is a mortal construct. It doesn’t exist in the eternal now. As such, I shall simply reside as I am until… until the stars turn cold, I suppose.” 

Your heart goes out to him as your gaze softens. “That sounds incredibly lonely. With no one for company.” 

“Yet, you’ve proven that it’s possible.” His brow furrows as if he just realized something that hasn’t occurred to him before. He turns towards you with his haunting, perceptive gaze. “Tell me, why did you seek this meeting tonight?” 

The intensity of his firelit gaze leaves you fumbling for words. Why exactly have you contacted him? Is it merely to satisfy your own curiosity? Is it just to vindicate your Great-Aunt? 

“And tonight, of all nights,” he continues, not unkindly as he gestures vaguely with his left hand. “I am not unfamiliar with the carols in the air, though again… to hear them so vividly now is….” He trails off with a shake of his head. 

“Vividly?” You arch a dubious brow. “It sounds like they’re playing underwater on an untuned piano.” 

“And yet all I hear is clear, harmonized perfection.” He drops his eyes closed in clear indulgence of a treat that he’s been so long denied. 

A shiver races down your spine at the thought and you can’t help but wonder. Each time that you play music in the house and enjoy tonal melodies, does he hear the sort of tuneless, distorted musical notes that you hear now? Is your presence in whatever this place is somehow letting him experience the world of the living from beyond the grave? The implications of that only make your mind spin and a distant ache blooms in your skull. You take a deep breath, massaging your temples and feeling woefully out of your depth. 

Nothing about this makes any sense – but honestly, what did you expect by using some incantation to contact a dead ghost? And now… just where the fuck do you go from here? How long are you going to stay here? How long does the incantation last? And, really, just what do you have waiting for you back on the other side tonight? 

Your gaze falls to the blazing fire for another long minute. If Karl Horstmayer is indeed dead, then why shouldn’t you just be honest? You nibble your bottom lip before speaking. “I guess it’s just…” you trail off, sighing as anxious butterflies erupt in your stomach. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I just… I didn’t want to be alone.” 

He shifts almost uneasily on his feet. At first glance in the swirls of blinding light, perhaps a blush dances high on his cheeks above his beard, but you can’t tell for sure. It does nothing to detract from his handsomeness, and an appreciative smile edges your face. 

He catches your gaze, his own pensive and analytical as he regards you. “And straddling the veil between worlds is the best way to remedy that?”

Your mouth pinches with irritation. “I… well, yes – I mean, you’ve been watching me and because I… I saw you.” You don’t want to delve into the details since - fuck, this man has seen everything that happened in your bedroom. “I saw your brown eyes - eyes of golden chocolate - just like my Great-Aunt had said.”

His eyes darken with obvious memory as the shared knowledge of the night that your bedroom mirror shattered hangs between you. Heat flares along your skin despite the fire’s warmth, gathering low in your belly under his intense scrutiny. From his words so far, the extent of his physical sensation may still be a mystery, but clearly, he isn’t emotionally unaffected by the events that took place in this house. 

You wet your top lip as your breathing quickens. “You say that the eternal now has no physical concept, yet you were able to break the mirror that night. For that was you… watching me….” 

A startlingly ashamed look crosses his face as he drops your gaze. “As only the dead can. Not one of my finer moments, I regret to say.” 

His dizzying verbal circles make your head spin, but they’re far from off-putting. “But you only feel guilty now that I’ve confronted you about it, right? Never thought you’d get caught, right? And why would you if I’m your first-ever visitor...” And, shit, the implications for the future crash down around you. As long as you stay in this house, he will be here watching you – each time you shower, eat dinner, sleep, pleasure yourself or share your bed with anyone else. Honestly, the thought should probably repulse or terrify you, but there’s something oddly… comforting about it. In the knowledge that you’ll never truly be alone. 

But what about Karl? Is he forever condemned to just watch humanity pass him by from within the confines of this apartment? “So, what does that mean, then?" You ask softly. "‘As only the dead can’…?”

“Precisely that. A spectral existence has no physical concept in the eternal now.” 

“That’s such bullshit.” You shake your head pleadingly, stepping around the couch towards him before you think better of it. “As we’ve both agreed – we’re both standing here. And you’ve felt the fire’s warmth on your skin, heard clear music – so, don’t tell me there isn’t anything physical in this moment.” You reach your hand out to his white shirt sleeve covered arm to prove your point.  

Your fingers connect with the fine fabric and solid forearm beneath, gasping as sapphire sparks burst into view and wink out with wispy trails of smoke. The scent of cedar and citrus fills your nose – and in that moment, you see everything. 

A life shrouded by the shadow of an older brother. A steadfast dedication to military service befitting a dutiful second son. A horrific world war that shatters the globe and leaves permanent scars. A forbidden, blossoming love in a snowy trench on an unexpectedly peaceful night that tragically, abruptly ends in a global pandemic. A destructive desire driving him to reunite with his beloved. 

And in that moment, when his eyes meet yours, his face blanches with the discovery of profound knowledge. As if he, too, sees everything in your life that led you to this moment as you stand with your hand on his arm somewhere between life and death. 

The breath punches from your chest as the images run through your mind and emotions boil within you. Your heart constricts yet threatens to burst, your stomach tightens with anxious knots yet lightens with hopeful anticipation. Your eyes see only him, blind to the rest of the world as you want to cling to him, to lose yourself in him, to have him lose himself inside you. 

Blood pulses through you, pooling low and needy as damp heat soaks your core. All at once, you realize how hard you’re breathing, stunned and reeling. 

You force a swallow as dizziness consumes you. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening.” 

He gives a slow, bewildered shake of his head, obviously just as speechless as he gasps for breath alongside you. With your mind awash in a sea of unfamiliar memories and new sensations, your hand trails up his forearm, almost disappointed that more sparks don’t appear. You raise your other hand to his chest, both exhaling long moans when you press your palm flat over the woolen waistcoat. A shower of deep blue sparks rain down around your hand as more of that intoxicating scent suffuses the air. 

You struggle for breath as a fresh wave of heat surges through you, touching the essence of your being. It extends beyond physical or emotional, as if… as if his spirit touches yours, speaking in a language that you don’t understand yet comprehend implicitly. And god, just listen to yourself, but your brain - and body - are truly too far gone to care. His warm, heavy hand falls against the small of your back, and you arch against the touch with a soft cry on your lips. 

Electricity jolts through you, driving you closer in his embrace, overwhelmed at the onslaught of sensation erupting from his touch. Everything about the moment compels you closer to him, each touch igniting more sparks and reaching some deep-rooted part of your soul that belongs only to him. 

Your lips fuse together in an intoxicating haze as that delicious scent wraps around you and sapphire light gleams beyond your closed eyelids. He can’t be close enough to you as tongues tangle and you cling to the solid, sturdy build of shoulders. His broad hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him - body to body, soul to soul. 

He needs to be closer - so much closer - and your hands tear at his tie, his vest, his shirt buttons. The heat of the fire is a distant memory compared to the scorching touch of his skin as your own clothing falls away with wisps of smoke and showers of sapphire starbursts. Everywhere he touches draws you helplessly towards him as he dissolves into you and pulls you down to the plush, thick rug in front of the fire. 

Your legs wrap around his waist with mindless instinct, driven only to connect with him in the most intimate way as your soul demands. Breath leaves you and sanity abandons you as he slides deep into your core, piercing your heart and soul as he buries himself in your heat. His groans drown against your lips as smoke and sparks shroud the frenzied rocking of his hips and he drives himself to fill you completely. 

Unrecognizable cries leave your lips, echoing in the void as you take everything he gives you and surrender yourself completely. The crescendo builds with unstoppable intensity as you claw at his back, tasting the salt on his neck and relishing the burn of his beard on your skin. A moan tears from you as you convulse around him, and a heavy force claws at the very essence of your being, shearing something inside you as euphoric ecstasy pulls you under. 

The deafening roar of his own release mixes with your deafening cry as blood pounds in your ears. Your vision swims in hazy light as your body drifts away from you, and you struggle to breathe under the gnawing sensation. His solid weight against you fades as darkness eats at the corners of your mind, and you feebly cling to him with all that you possess. 

His lips ghost against yours as your hands fall slack and thought abandons you completely. 

You blink awake, foggy headed and bleary eyed. Desperate to ignore the throbbing pain in your skull, you squint against the bright, invasive morning sunlight – Christmas morning sunlight – and don’t know what to think. Especially as you become aware of three things in quick succession.

One – the thick living room rug scratches and itches against your bare skin. A dark blue blanket covers you, surprisingly soft by contrast to the rug but completely unfamiliar to you. You grip it close, aware that it’s the only thing shielding your naked body from the clear windows. 

Two – you feel absolutely drained. As if you haven’t slept or eaten in days, or maybe both. Your minimal movements against the rug are sluggish and uncoordinated as you continue to wake up and come back to yourself. Quite obviously, whatever you experienced last night has taken a heavy toll. 

Three – you aren’t alone. A larger, broader, obviously nude and obviously male body presses against your backside as you lay against the uncomfortable carpet. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to wipe away the cobwebs and not disturb your slumbering bedmate. 

Good god, what had actually happened last night? With fleeting clarity, you remember the lightning-drenched living room, the uncanny golden chocolate eyes, and the scorching pleasure – but now faced with the cold light of dawn, has any of that actually been real? Or did you really just knock back one too many cocktails, pick up a guy, and lose yourself in delusional fantasy?

You groan, stretching against the carpet and catching a glimpse at your smartwatch. Fuck, it’s already so late. With another groan, dreading the inevitable awkwardness of saying goodbye to a one-nightstand that you don’t even clearly remember, you roll over and prepare to face your fate. 

You jump in surprise against the blanket, shocked to see two golden chocolate eyes blinking blearily back at you. Your heart pounds as you stare at Karl’s familiar features and bearded face as he lays beside you with dark swirls of his chest hair just visible above the blanket’s edge. 

You gape, unable to believe it. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Here?” He groans, looking back at you in equally growing confusion. “What is… why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” You parrot back, gripping the blanket close, hyper-aware of both your naked bodies beneath the navy fabric. “This is my house, and you’re the dead ghost, and…” Your words trail off as your mouth fails to keep up with your raging thoughts. Does this mean that you have died, too? Are you now condemned to stay in this house with him for eternity? 

A car horn blares outside the window, drawing your startled gaze. How does that make any sense? If you are dead, then why are you able to hear a car plain as day? You force a hard swallow as you try to think through the sluggish fog in your head. Maybe you aren’t dead, after all, but instead, maybe he is… does it make sense for him to be… alive? 

But, seriously… have you somehow fucked him back to life? However crass and ridiculous that sounds. Is that why those strange, sapphire sparks had ignited between you? Has your life force somehow rejuvenated his own...? 

Your head hurts too much for such mind-bending thoughts. Slowly, you turn back to him, catching his gaze as he studies you with equal bewilderment. His mouth pinches to a tight, hesitant line as he obviously considers a thought. 

Tentatively, he reaches a hand forward, brushing the back of his knuckles along your forearm. No blue sparks or blue glow emanate from his gentle caress, but a low, thrumming rhythm grows in your blood. You gasp as the beating pulse aligns with the cadence of your own heartbeat, reverberating in tandem harmony. “Is that…,” you ask in a breathless whisper, “your heartbeat?” 

His own breathing stutters as the contact lingers, and he twists his wrist to wrap his fingers around your forearm. “It’s your heartbeat, it has to be…” he whispers reverentially. “Mine stopped beating so long ago….” 

“Then, why are you here?” Heat sings in your veins as your body recognizes its missing half - the answer to make you whole, body and soul. 

He pulls his hand back, and the cloying sensations instantly dull. You’re still drained beyond comprehension and in serious need of sustenance, but whatever his touch has just ignited begins to fade without the sustained physical contact. 

Just what the fuck have you done? Are you somehow forever bound to him? And him to you? How would you ever know? And is that what you really want? What about the rest of your life? What about the rest of his life? At least, now that he seems to have one again…. 

He shakes his head, sighing heavily. “We may never know the answer. But before we start trying to figure it out,” his face softens as the corner of his mouth lifts. “I guess there’s only one thing to be said.” 

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

He fixes his golden chocolate eyes to yours, and… okay, maybe seeing those eyes every morning wouldn’t be so bad. A smile tugs at your mouth as you stare at him, hearing his accented words wrap around you and echo with the fading thrum of his twin heartbeat. “It’s not my holiday… but Merry Christmas, Liebling.”

[sam7sparks7]

I finally Finally FINALLY got a fanfic to jump from my thoughts to my keyboard..!

It's my first work ever and I'm so full of emotions... This is definitely a feeling...!!!

A EXTRA LARGE thank you to all the people who supported me and for their faith in me... This wouldn't had been possible without it.. 💝

[leftenantmackgordon]

Wings Over My Heart

Series Main List

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Summary: World War rages from 1914 to 1940. The old States of the World-That-Was - Germany, France, United Kingdom - are now just pages of history. In the crumbling remains of societal ruin, a new order takes to the skies to rebuild humanity’s last hope. It’s what brings Mackenzie and Camille together under a banner of newfound peace and freedom. It’s what turns Karl’s life of brigandage and war upside down when Camille arrives without invitation. But at the end of it all, will each man find their way? 

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), non-con sexual threats, non-con touching, explicit language, violence and graphic torture (including descriptions of thumb screws and flogging), dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, generous re-use of dialogue from the film, no need to have seen the film

Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

Pt. IV

Pt. V

Word Count: 24k+

A/N: This one's been brewing for a while... I blame work. As always, @khorstmayer has been a dear with her kind feedback and beta'ing support on this fic! Again, no need to have seen the film, but if you have seen it, you'll recognize a fair bit here.

Cheers 'till next time, friends! 😊

[khorstmayer]

It just occured to me, hehe:

Karl Horstmayer is lawful good.

Camille Audebert is neutral good.

Gordon Mackenzie is chaotic good.

[darthcannizard]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lt Audebert/Lt Horstmayer (Joyeux Noël) Characters: Horstmayer, Audebert, Ponchel, Father Palmer Summary:

Karl Daniel Horstmayer is relatively sure that it all began the moment the french officer, light-footed and elegant, in his beautiful dark blue uniform, stepped out of the trench and joined him and Mackenzie in the middle of no man’s land.

[f1yogurt]

You're My Lifeline - Chapter 1

Minors DNI 18+

Series Masterlist

Ch. 1 Summary: It's 1917, and Oberleutnant Karl Horstmayer is an omega. Unfortunately, the German soldier is captured by French enemy forces and realizes all to soon that his heat is approaching. Karl suffers mistreatment and torture at the hands of his French captors, who are more than willing to take advantage of his impending heat. Will he be rescued in time?

AO3 Link – YOU'RE MY LIFELINE – Link to my Fic Request Guide

Fandom: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005)

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI 18+

Relationships: Karl Horstmayer / Camille Audebert / Mackenzie Gordon (Joyeux Noël)

Ch. 1 Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whump, World War I, Hurt/Comfort (comfort comes in later chapters), Angst, poor karl, I promise he gets better

Word Count: 1716

Ch. 1 Warnings: Minor Injuries/Violence, Brief Threat of Non-Con, Whump, Cursing

Lieutenant Karl Horstmayer winced and stumbled into the holding cell, nearly falling to the floor as one of the French guards shoved him roughly between the shoulders. He quickly caught himself on the cold wall of the cell, his palms smacking loudly against the surface.

“In you go, boche,” the guard spat in French. “We’ll be back to check on you in half an hour. Don’t do anything you might regret.” The man chuckled darkly, and Karl listened to the sound of the metal cell door being slammed shut behind him.

The German forced himself to watch as the guards disappeared down the long hallway, their footsteps slowly echoing into silence. The moment that he was certain that he was alone, Karl let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His exhale sounded more like a whine, and he groaned as he let himself slump against the cell wall.

Everything hurt, and he sank to the ground as his knees gave way. He was exhausted, and now he was also nursing quite a few new injuries thanks to his two French… interrogators. The guards had already tortured him for answers, multiple times, and had attempted to wring every bit of knowledge from his lips. By any means necessary.

He was sure that he was sporting a nasty looking black eye, and his ribs ached every time he touched his sides. His nose was sore from being punched in the face one too many times, and the blood that had run into his throat from the injury made him let out a hacking cough every so often.

As much as he was in pain, though, Karl was really only focused on one thing. He felt the familiar ache in his bones that usually preceded a heat, and he shivered involuntarily. A defeated chuckle escaped his lips. Oh, the irony of it all.

His heat suppressant pills had run out last month, and supply shortages in the trenches meant that he hadn’t been able to refill his dwindling stock. Only a few days ago, he had been taken prisoner by the French army, and this was the worst place to expose himself by asking for any kind of medication that might reveal his identity as an omega.

He had always projected himself as an alpha, because there was no room for any perceived “weakness” in his position as a German Oberleutnant. His commanding officers would have never allowed an omega to rise within the ranks as he did, simply because of their prejudices against the “weaker” classification.

“Omegas have no place at war,” Karl’s superiors had told their squad of young trainees. “Only alphas are worthy and capable of defending their country.” However, Horstmayer knew better, and he had signed up to serve his country despite the dangers. Now though, going into heat would provide the perfect opportunity for the enemy to take advantage of him. His omega nature would be his undoing.

As if sensing his worry, he heard the footsteps of the guards approaching again. He had no idea how much time had passed, but they seemed to be ready for another round of interrogation.

“Boche, we’re back,” one of the guards taunted, seeing Karl huddled pitifully in the corner of the cell. “I must commend you, you stayed right where we left you.” Karl winced at the sound of scraping metal as the guards pushed the cell door open. He glared up at the guard who loomed over him.

“You have told us many things tonight about your German comrades, boche,” the bigger of the two guards said darkly. “But I think there is still more in you.” The man, who was at least a head taller than Karl, reached down and fisted his hand in the front of Horstmayer’s uniform shirt.

Before Karl could react, he felt himself being lifted like a sack of potatoes, as if he weighed nothing in the guard’s hand. The German barely suppressed a grunt of pain as he was roughly shoved against the cell wall. Scheiße.

“I am going to get all of the answers from you, one way or another,” the man said, leaning all of his body weight against Karl to keep him pinned against the wall. Karl couldn’t prevent a quiet whimper from escaping his lips, and the heavy weight of an alpha against him triggered his natural omega desire to obey.

He felt himself begin to panic, because suddenly he was all too aware of the scent of alpha pheromones. The thick and heady waves of the odor from both of the guards were just another reminder of his oncoming heat which he was powerless to stop. To make matters worse, Karl knew that if he could smell the alphas so strongly, then they would likely be able to smell him.

The guard holding him against the wall took a small step backwards as he inhaled Karl’s omega scent, now enhanced out of Karl’s fear. The alpha's eyes widened in realization.

“Ah, an omega,” the guard said in surprise. “I would never have seen it in you, boche. An omega Oberleutnant? No doubt you have tried to hide that your whole life, hm?” Karl felt a flush of anger rise to his cheeks, but he refused to let himself take a violent swing at the alpha yet.

“This changes things, then,” the guard sneered. The big man still hadn’t released his hold on Karl, and Horstmayer tried to turn away, refusing to make eye contact with either of his captors.

“Pretty omega,” the taller man purred, pressing his body closer to Karl’s, “You’re going into heat soon. I can smell it on you.” His voice was sickly sweet, and Karl felt his stomach drop. “I know other ways of making you talk. More… pleasurable ways.” The man let his hand snake between Karl’s legs, groping his thigh over his uniform trousers. Slowly, the hand slid upwards towards Horstmayer’s crotch, his intent blindingly clear.

Karl snapped. He grabbed the alpha’s wrist in a firm hold, and with a furious growl, he twisted the guard’s arm until it was pinned behind the man’s back. Horstmayer managed to kick the alpha’s knees to force him onto the ground, keeping a firm hold on his arm and effectively putting the bigger man in a helpless position. The smaller alpha guard had barely blinked before realizing that his partner was on the ground.

“Do not touch me,” Horstmayer snarled, both terrified and enraged. “I am not some helpless omega you pulled off the streets. Keep your hands off me, du verdammter Hurensohn!” The pinned alpha snarled in anger and wrestled free from Karl’s hold, easily pushing himself to his knees and whipping around to face the omega. Thankfully, before the man could act on any furious desires, his partner stopped him.

“Leave him, Pierre! He is not worth it,” the first guard said, roughly pulling the other alpha back. “This boche would make for a terrible experience. He would fight too much.” There was a brief pause of silence, the sound of heavy breathing filling the damp walls of the cell.

“We will call the Lieutenant and ask him what should be done,” the first guard said, eyeing Karl warily. “He will know exactly what to do with this… omega filth.” Karl watched the man spit on the floor, as if to make an emphasis of the omega’s worth.

Pierre just glared darkly at Karl as he dusted himself off, the alpha barely containing his own rage.

“Yes, we will see,” he said dangerously, stalking towards Horstmayer slowly. “We will see what the Lieutenant has planned for this boy. No doubt something… similarly pleasurable.” At the word ‘pleasurable,’ the guard leaned forward to hiss in Karl’s ear. The omega suppressed a revolted shudder, but he stood his ground, refusing to cow to anything.

With that final remark, the guards seemed to think their work was finished, and Karl watched as they both left the cell. The door was locked securely behind them, and with one last glare in Karl’s direction, they turned to leave. Karl listened once more to the echo of footsteps that faded into the distance.

When they were gone, he finally let his knees buckle as he sank to the ground again. It took him a moment to realize that he was trembling. Horstmayer held up his hand in front of his face, watching as his fingers vibrated with nervous anxiety.

Scheiße, that had been close. He needed help, and he needed it fast. The longer he stayed here, the more he could feel the symptoms of his heat threatening to overwhelm him. Feverish chills, cold sweats, and a growing arousal that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Soon, he would be a willing omega to any alpha who came near him. Plying answers out of him would be as easy as slicing through butter with a hot knife. Karl dreaded such a humiliating experience, to be taken by an alpha who not only was a stranger, but who was an enemy. And yet, he knew it was inevitable if he was to ever get through his heat in a place like this.

A feeling of intense loneliness overwhelmed him at the thought. He had no alpha to protect him. No alpha to care for him, to ensure him that everything would be alright. No loving alpha to coax him through his first heat in what felt like ages.

Karl shivered again, and he couldn’t suppress a helpless whimper as he pressed his cheek to the cold wall of the cell, desperately trying to cool his fever-flushed skin. The Lieutenant. The Lieutenant, the guards had said, would know what to do.

Horstmayer had no idea what kind of man this Lieutenant was, but he prayed that he would be at least somewhat merciful. No doubt, the Lieutenant would be an alpha male, wanting to make an example of a weak omega enemy soldier in heat. Karl would have to bear it.

For now, though, all he could do was wait. Wait and prepare himself for whatever these French bastards had in store for him. As he relaxed, huddled in the corner of the cell, he slowly felt himself slip into a restless sleep.

[f1yogurt]

You're My Lifeline - Chapter 2

Minors DNI 18+

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Lieutenant Gordon is surprised to encounter an imprisoned omega soldier. What will he do when faced with this unexpected discovery?

AO3 Link – YOU’RE MY LIFELINE – Link to my Fic Req Guide

Fandom: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005)

Chapter Rating: Mature

Relationships: Karl Horstmayer / Camille Audebert / Mackenzie Gordon (Joyeux Noël)

Chapter Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Whump, WWI, Imprisonment

Chapter Warnings: Minor Injuries, Whump, Cursing

Word Count: 4.1k

Lieutenant Mackenzie Gordon was making his rounds in the trenches. The Lieutenant, known simply as Gordon to many, was a formidable figure among both the French and Scottish allied forces. Mackenzie had been ordered to oversee operations concerning prisoners of war, which naturally gave him an aura of authority. Gordon was a wonderful leader, strong and competent when he needed to be. However, he had a soft side that wasn’t often shown to his comrades.

As Mack made his way through the trenches, he smiled to himself, thinking about his farm back home in Scotland. The sprawling fields and the big, fluffy sheepdog that made the place feel like home… Oh, how he wished to be out of this war so that he could return to his beloved homeland to enjoy the simple pleasures of living again.

Gordon didn’t have much time for reminiscing, however, because he was suddenly broken out of his daydreaming. The sounds of shouting pierced the fog of his thoughts.

“Out of the way, out of the way, idiots! We must get through!” Gordon heard annoyed protests from soldiers down the line of the trench. The voices were speaking in French, and he immediately recognized the shouting men as his appointed POW guards. His suspicions were confirmed as the two guards came into view, their uniforms distinctly French and adorned with the small uniform patch that all alpha officers wore.

“Lieutenant, sir!” the men said in unison, giving a sharp salute to Gordon. Mackenzie nodded in acknowledgement, wondering why they had come all the way out here to fetch him.

“Well, men, how goes it in the Hole?” Gordon asked. The soldiers all called the small POW containment area the Hole for obvious reasons, as it was a dark and forbidding tunnel underground. The two guards glanced briefly at each other in worry before answering.

“It is the boche, sir,” Pierre, the larger guard, said. “He is being combative. Difficult. Not only this, but we… We discovered something else. Something we thought that we should tell you.” Gordon frowned, wondering what could have possibly happened. His guards had never come to him for help with a prisoner before.

“Well, lay it on me then, lads,” he encouraged when the guards didn’t speak. After a moment of trepidation, one of them finally answered.

“What we have in there is no ordinary German Oberleutnant,” Alden, the shorter guard, said. “This one is an omega.” Gordon’s eyes widened in shock. An omega soldier? A German omega soldier? What was he even doing here fighting in the war?

“An omega soldier? Hang on a second, boys,” Gordon said, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Right, an omega is a surprise to be discovered here, but what could possibly require you to come out all this way for my help?”

“He is going into heat,” Pierre said, his voice taking on a lecherous tone. “Soon.” Suddenly, Gordon saw everything clearly. His alpha guards had no doubt put the Oberleutnant through hell as soon as they had discovered his omega identity. Even unconsciously, their alpha instincts would drive them to be more aggressive and combative towards an enemy omega. Christ, Gordon hoped that they hadn’t done anything more than get a little aggressive with the man.

“We would have dealt with this situation accordingly, Lieutenant, although this omega is being particularly difficult. The two of us presumed that you would be able to handle him better than us,” Pierre said, nodding to his alpha comrade in agreement.

“Besides, we know you have a reputation for… getting things done,” he said in a lecherous tone. Of course, Gordon knew that he had a reputation. After all, he was one of the few betas who were officers dealing with POWs. This gave him a unique advantage when interrogating prisoners, because they trusted him more due to his beta nature.

Naturally, all of the alpha soldiers who had never witnessed Gordon’s actual interrogations only thought that Mack was able to get answers from prisoners through sexual coercion. In reality, Gordon was kind and logical, and he always offered some kind of bargain to the soldiers that resulted in a trade of information. Nevertheless, he did nothing to spoil his alleged “reputation,” lest the alpha soldiers start viewing him as weak.

“Yes, well,” Gordon said, nodding to the two men. “Right then, boys. Why don’t you introduce me to this German omega?”

—

Mack followed the guards all the way down to the Hole and squeezed himself through the foreboding tunnel that led to the prison cell. The underground space was an offshoot in the trenches, and candles had been placed sparingly along the tunnel to offer the only source of light.

As they finally approached the cell, Gordon found himself hoping not to be presented with evidence of a very malnourished and mistreated omega. Unfortunately, though, he was proved wrong. To make matters worse, the guards decided to start taunting again.

“Here he is, Lieutenant,” Pierre said, opening the door of the cell and gesturing for Mackenzie to step inside. Gordon wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it definitely had not been this. He had been picturing the German omega to be small and meek looking. However, this man was entirely the opposite.

The omega soldier had been huddled in the corner of the cell, although when the guards had approached, he had struggled to stand up. As the man stood, Gordon realized that there was a hidden strength beneath the layers of the German’s uniform and trench coat. The omega also had the most mesmerizing eyes, a pair of fiery brown orbs that gazed intensely at the guards. Obviously, this was not a man to be trifled with.

Despite all of this, Gordon saw the indicative signs of the omega’s heat. The German was now leaning unsteadily against the wall despite his attempt to project strength. The omega’s skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his cheeks were slightly flushed. He looked almost feverish, and Gordon knew he had to be in pain, if not from the wounds he had sustained then from the desperate ache for an alpha to stave off his heat.

“This is Karl Horstmayer, Lieutenant,” Pierre said, raising his eyebrows suggestively at Gordon. Mackenzie watched as the German, Horstmayer, glared darkly at the guard. The omega positioned himself in a defensive stance as Pierre crowded him against the wall.

“Pretty omega, I brought the renowned Lieutenant with me this time,” Pierre said, stepping towards Karl. “There is no telling what he will do with you now.” Gordon could practically smell the omega’s pheromones running wild with barely-disguised fear, and the two alphas in the room were responding to it. Gordon needed to intervene quickly if he was to prevent a fight.

“Boys, that’s enough!” Mackenzie called, using his most authoritative voice. “Come on, lads. Leave him to me now. Go and resume your duties elsewhere. I have everything under control.” Mackenzie watched carefully as Pierre stepped away from Karl, leaving the German alone.

“As you command, Lieutenant,” the guard said, nodding in deference to Mackenzie. The two guards saluted, then began their march away down the corridor. Gordon turned back to look at the poor German they had left behind.

The omega, Karl, slumped further against the wall in relief after the guards left, although he remained alert and refused to let down his own defenses. He probably assumed that Gordon was an alpha. Mackenzie decided to approach this situation with care.

“Do not come any closer,” Horstmayer growled, his glare focused on Mackenzie as the Scotsman continued walking slowly forward. “If you think you can treat me like some poor helpless omega, then you are wrong.” Gordon slowly raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, taking one more small step towards Horstmayer. “Trust me, lad, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” Before Mackenzie could react, the omega had sprung off the wall and wrapped his arm around Gordon’s throat, pinning him in a headlock. Gordon found himself shoved against the wall, and he was surprised at the omega’s display of strength.

“Why should I believe you?” Karl spat, his voice shaking out of fear and anger. “I have no reason to trust you. You are just another one of them, here to hurt me and manipulate me. You…” Karl’s words trailed off as he realized that Mackenzie wasn’t struggling. Gordon waited as the omega was able to inhale his beta pheromones, marking his presence as definitely not an alpha.

Mackenzie felt Karl’s grip slacken in surprise, and he waited patiently (and painfully) as the omega nuzzled his neck to ensure that he wasn’t just imagining the scent. Mackenzie finally was able to breathe again as Karl released him from the headlock, and the Scotsman coughed, gingerly rubbing his sore neck as he recovered.

“Oh, you are a beta,” he heard the German say softly. It was such a simple statement, and yet it held an enormous amount of gravity.

“Yes, thank you very much, my good friend,” Mackenzie said sarcastically through his coughing fit. “Very good of you to tell me what I’ve only been trying to show you this whole time.” On the positive side, the omega’s strength was a reassuring sign that his heat hadn’t begun yet, and Gordon was thankful for small blessings.

“Yes, I am a beta,” the Scotsman said again,” straightening to gaze at Karl again. “I told you that I wasn’t going to hurt you. And what did that earn me? A stranglehold for my good efforts.” Karl scoffed at Gordon’s lighthearted tone, and the German gave Mackenzie a once over, his gaze hard and skeptical.

“Still, why should I trust you?” he asked accusingly. “You may be a beta, but you are still my enemy.” Now, it was Mackenzie’s turn to scoff.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you have many options right now, my German friend,” Gordon said, gesturing to Karl’s general state. The omega was still looking feverish and unwell, despite his attempts to project otherwise. It was obvious that his heat would overtake him soon, and Mackenzie couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that would be. Not to mention the black eye and multiple other wounds the omega was dealing with.

“I am fine,” Karl protested through clenched teeth, using the sleeve of his trench coat to wipe the accumulating sweat off of his brow. Gordon could see him trembling slightly where he was leaning against the wall, which wasn’t helping his image at all.

“Lad, you’re obviously not alright,” Mackenzie said gently, not wanting to provoke the omega. “It’s as clear as day that you’re in a bit of a predicament. Trust me, I know.” Gordon stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Karl’s shoulder. The omega stiffened, but he didn’t pull away.

“I am offering my help to you, dear stoic omega Karl Horstmayer,” Gordon said softly. “If you would like my help, then I would be glad to escort you out of this hellhole and to a safe place where someone I know will make your heat infinitely more bearable. However, if you would prefer to remain here and refuse my help, then I will allow my superiors to deal with you in their own way. I am sorry, there are not many options. But I do want to help you.”

It was as if the barriers that Karl had built up were suddenly torn down, and he finally allowed himself to relax against the Scotsman. Gordon felt a pang in his heart at seeing the pitifully exhausted expression on the omega’s face. Clearly, he was ready to get out of here.

“Yes, yes I trust you, beta,” Horstmayer said, his deep chocolate eyes gazing into Gordon’s bright blue ones. The omega hesitantly leaned in and nuzzled Mackenzie’s neck in an affectionate gesture, something that pleasantly surprised Gordon. For the first time, he felt a stirring of attraction towards the German.

“I… my heat will be here soon,” Karl said, his words spoken softly into Mackenzie’s neck. “I have not had one for many years. My suppressants ran out on the front, and, well, now there is no way to stop it.” Gordon hummed in acknowledgement.

“It’s alright, my friend,” Mackenzie soothed, wrapping his arms around the other man in a hugging gesture. Karl eagerly accepted this close contact, and Gordon felt the omega clutch at the fabric of his coat. It was such an intimate position, and Gordon inhaled the omega’s heady pheromones, feeling suddenly very protective over Horstmayer.

He gently pushed Karl back against the wall, forcing the omega to look him in the eye. Karl went willingly, and Gordon saw a flash of desire at the slight display of control. Mackenzie took a deep breath and tried to steel himself, forcing down this newfound attraction to the omega. He was determined to wait until he could ensure that the German was safe and healthy before he tried to figure out what his own feelings were.

“I need you to trust me, alright?” Mack said, quickly thinking about the possibilities of the next course of action. Ah, yes, to the house of the man who could help Karl. Gordon knew Cami would always accept an omega in need, but this… this was something else entirely. Would his alpha even want to converse with an enemy? It was worth the risk.

“Alright, omega, stay close to me, and don’t cause any trouble,” Gordon said, giving Karl a teasing wink. “You’ll be safe soon.” Without thinking, the Scotsman leaned forward and gave a little nip to Karl’s jaw, causing the omega to let out a soft moan. Horstmayer was already keyed up from his heat, and Gordon was hoping to trigger just a little bit more obedience and relaxation before they went into unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t have a jumpy omega attracting attention.

“Beta, I will obey, I promise,” Karl said earnestly, all of the fear gone from his eyes. “Bitte, just take me somewhere safe with you. I will do anything you ask.” Gordon felt himself shiver involuntarily at the submissive words. Oh, Camille was going to love this one.

“Good, omega,” he encouraged, glad that Horstmayer was beginning to open up. “I know a man in the city who is able to help. He is very kind, and you will just have to trust me. I promise, everything will be alright. We will tend to your injuries and get some food into you, but first you must follow me carefully.” Gordon tugged open the cell door once again and gestured for Karl to follow him.

“Come, my friend. I know a place we can go.”

[leftenantmackgordon]

Surrender - Ch. 3

A “Joyeux Noël” Mackenzie Gordon x Karl Horstmayer Fic

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit language, WWI trench violence & horrors of war, implied warfare violence against animals (carrier pigeons), trapped & desperate situation

Word Count: 1.0k

Day 3 – 22 December 1917

Dawn greets them with freezing fog, and his men continue to bear the brunt of the enemy offensive. German infantry make advances on both their front and rear positions, but Gordon’s snipers slow their progress. Grenades still fall like deadly rain, and it’s anyone’s guess where the next one will land. Starvation weakens each man and dehydration compounds the situation, but Gordon keeps his men mustered to heed the bloody call.

Hold your position. Hold the line.

Mortar rounds chew up the earth and batter their rudimentary defenses. They don’t have to stay in-tact, but they do have to hold – both the barriers and his men. At least, his battalion isn’t going down without a valiant fight as his men return fire and deploy grenades of their own. But Gordon isn’t a fool. It’s a race against time now, especially if none of his messages about their situation have reached his commanding officers.

A buzzing sound overhead distracts him. At first, it’s so faint that Gordon doubts his hearing after the near-constant artillery siege. But it continues to grow steadily louder with a distinct tinny whine, and his stomach drops to his feet as he recognizes it.

Inbound aircraft.

He reaches for his webbing and fishes out his binoculars. “Make way – make room!”

The men along the front wall of their pocket clear an opening as Gordon steps up. He’s careful to keep his body low, to only reveal as much of himself as he needs to search the grey, hazy sky. He spots the airplane on a low trajectory, approaching from the rear. Squinting, he tries to identify the markings and heaves a sigh of relief at the familiar roundel of the Royal Flying Corps.

A low, rousing cheer rises from further down the pocket, and the corner of his mouth lifts. Relief, at last – proof that at least one of his messages made it through. Hope blooms in his chest as he steps away from the wall, lowering his binoculars.

“About bloody time!” A soldier shouts.

“Finally, some fucking support!” Another cries as Gordon moves down the line towards the rear of their defensive pocket.

Lieutenant Campbell peers through his own binoculars as Gordon steps up to his side. The younger man sighs as he speaks. “That’s a sight for sore eyes, sir.”

“Aye, that it is.” Gordon confirms, again lifting his binoculars. Mercifully, the freezing fog has mostly dispersed, but the Germans have turned their machine gun fire on the approaching airplane. It’s a risky plight for the pilot, but surely high command would send a seasoned pilot to their aide.

Anticipation still clenches Gordon’s aching stomach as the plane banks with evasive maneuvers and returns no answering fire. Instead, he watches helplessly as crates fall from the airplane, small parachutes deploying to guide the contents safely to the ground. His heart stops altogether as the packages fall from the sky and drift countless meters away from his battalion’s current position.

The airplane completes its turn and starts to head off into the distance as machine gun fire fills the sky.

“No, ye bloody bastard!” Campbell hisses. “We’re over here – turn around!”

Gordon grips his binoculars tight as bitter, crushing disappointment constricts his chest. With a shuddering sigh, he turns from the horizon to regard the younger man next to him. “Campbell,” he says, unable to muster a reprimanding tone. “Much as I agree with you, that’s not what we need right now.” He releases another sigh, trying to dispel the tension inside him. “We need to tell the men that even though… even though this drop missed, this is still a positive development. High command knows that we’re here, and they have not abandoned us. Undoubtedly, there will be future drop attempts, and we need to be ready.”

Campbell begrudgingly lowers his binoculars, and his mouth curls with a hint of a smile as he nods at Gordon. “Right you are, sir. Apologies for my outburst.”

“No apology needed.” Gordon matches the small smile as he claps the younger man on the shoulder. “Go see to your men, and I’ll check in with the others.”

It’s not one hour later that the taunting starts. Heavily accented English that rises from the German occupied ravine and provides excruciating detail about the tinned meat, canned soup, and crunchy hardtack recovered from the dropped packages. It’s a new torment as Gordon’s mouth waters and his hunger burns for food so far out of reach.

It’s not two hours later that another prisoner bearing a white flag appears off their right flank. A Frenchman this time, and Gordon rips open the presumptuous letter.

To the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Batl. Of the Royal Scots Fusiliers

Sir,

The Bearer of this letter, Pvt. Guillaume Dupont, has been taken prisoner by us on the 19th of December 1917. He has received fair treatment from our ranks and demonstrated his steadfast loyalty to his Fatherland. Against his will, he is also dispatched to carry this present letter to the Officer in charge of the 2nd Batl. Of the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

By now, you understand that your supplies have fallen behind our lines. Though, I must confess that while the pungent, over-salted bully beef is hardly palate pleasing, it is quite filling. As Officer in charge, you are again urged to surrender with your forces, and the rest of your appropriated food rations will be provided to you.

Hunger tests all men’s loyalties, and your men needn’t suffer any longer.

A white flag shown by one of your men will still tell us that you agree with these terms.

German Commanding Officer, Oberstleutnant KFH

Gordon tears the letter in half. The last thing he needs is another appeal to his humanity from the man threatening his men’s lives and making his life a living hell. Instead, he readies his men for another barrage, he holds their line, and he follows his orders.

None of his 398 men hold up a white flag.

Series Main List

[leftenantmackgordon]

Crossing the Atlantic

Series Main List - Complete

A Titanic-set AU Audebert x Gordon x Horstmayer Series

Summary: For Titanic Third Officer Mackenzie Gordon, it’s a fulfilling job. For first class passenger Camille Audebert, it’s an unwanted journey with his father to close a business deal that will secure his family’s fortune for future generations. For third class passenger Karl Horstmayer, it’s an intimidating dream in a land of prosperity that his family gifted him with every last coin they could scrounge.

The crossing shouldn’t be anymore than that, but a chance meeting at the ship’s hospital unites all three and sets them on a life-changing collision course with each westward nautical mile.

Warnings: Explicit NSFW 18+ smut (m/m/m handjobs, blowjobs, reference to anal sex), explicit language, sinking ship & associated fear/panic/terror, character death, hypothermia & frost-bite, post-traumatic stress, nightmares, period typical & internalized homophobia, overbearing parent, Phantom of the Opera references

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

Word Count: 37k+

A/N: 2022 is the 110th anniversary of Titanic's maiden voyage and sinking. I've had an interest in the Titanic since I was 8-yrs old, and these three gents seemed a natural fit.

@khorstmayer continues to be amazing with her support and feedback as she betas yet another fic from my brain. And just to clarify, there are no kings of the world or draw me like your french girls here.

Cheers, friends! 😊

[leftenantmackgordon]

Enemy

Series Main List - Complete

A “Joyeux Noël” Mackenzie Gordon x Karl Horstmayer Fic

Summary: Two men from opposing sides fight for survival in the same trench during January 1915. They're barely acquaintances from a forbidden Christmas Eve truce, but they come to find the one thing that they never expected: each other.

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (handjobs, frottage, references to oral & anal sex), explicit language, WWI trench violence (artillery bombardment & poison gas attacks), descriptive wound care, hypothermia, horrors of war & trench life, post-traumatic stress, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, period-typical & internalized homophobia

Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

Pt. IV

Pt. V

Pt. VI

A/N: This one is born from conversations with some lovely fans of this film. Much love to @khorstmayer for beta'ing this tale!

[leftenantmackgordon]

Wings Over My Heart - Pt. I

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen film

Word Count: 1.5k

Pt. I -

“Permission to land on Runway 3-2-7. Maintain your present course.” 

Gordon held position, adjusting the stick as he sighted the runway. “Copy, 3-2-7.”

“Welcome back, Major Gordon.” 

Even ten years later, the surreal moments still strike him. How he had found hope just when the world seemed lost. How he’d been pulled from a muddy trench, cleaned up, and trained as an aviator. How a group of men had preserved with a peaceful vision for the future after decades of endless warfare and brutality. 

No one ever imagined that war would rage in the ceaseless destruction of humanity from 1914 to 1940, but here the world is. Gordon knows nothing but a world of constant war, and while he has vague memories of life in the World-That-Was back in his younger years, they pale in comparison to life as he now knows it. 

He angles the nose of his airplane as he makes his final approach and descent for landing. His wheels touch down on the pavement, and the brakes slow his forward momentum. Following the guiding lights, he pilots his craft to the waiting hangar and ground crew. Small fingers of sunlight rise in the eastern sky as he kills the engine and unstraps his harness. Stepping out of his black, streamlined aircraft, he pulls off his helmet. 

“Good morning, major.” The crew chief greets him. “Another good patrol?” 

“Quite encouraging.” Gordon confirms. “Our efforts on the Italian peninsula appear to be taking hold, and if the council agrees with the squadron’s report, then we’re ready to scout the regions northward.” 

“Very encouraging indeed, sir.” The chief nods at Gordon before looking up at the airplane. “Any issues with the machine?”

“None at all. Your men do a fine job.” 

“Well, it’s a fine design.” 

Gordon feels his mouth pull to a small smile. “Everything here is.” He nods in farewell before he turns to fall in line with the rest of his squadron mates. Fatigue tugs at the corners of his mind, but he needs to file his report. Progress of rebuilding the world doesn’t stop in the face of one’s exhaustion, and Gordon knows that while he sleeps, another squadron will take to the skies. 

Camille’s squadron, in fact. 

The thought of his beloved sustains him through the post-scouting-mission debrief. As he finally trudges down the brightly lit corridor towards their shared quarters, he can’t help but wonder if Camille’s squadron will use the intelligence gathered during his patrol to implement next steps. 

With a press of his hand to scan his fingerprints, the door opens and his eyes adjust to the darkened interior. Artificial light may keep the main interior of their complex lit to support the 24/7 efforts of societal restoration, but it’s 0534 in the morning, and Camille still sleeps.  

Gordon sheds his sharp, all-black flight uniform before stepping into the hydrosonic shower. At first, his arrival here had been such a shock. While the rest of the world devolved into violence and barbarism, here was a society with scientific purpose united by a determination to improve man’s fate instead of destroy it. The innovations at the Basra headquarters proved endlessly captivating - from the new fleets of airplanes to non-metallic construction materials to clean energy generation - even stretching so far as to break down previously-conceived cultural norms. It’s what allows him to live freely with Camille at his side for the rest of his days. 

The vibrating water cleans the sweat and petrol fumes from his skin before he reaches for a towel. After stepping into soft shorts and brushing his teeth, he’s careful to turn the light off before opening the door back to the bedroom. Despite the sweltering heat of Basra, the conditioned air keeps their quarters more than comfortable, and he never takes issue when curling up next to Camille. 

The Frenchman’s hair is soft and mussed from sleep as Gordon breathes him in. He presses gentle kisses along Camille’s nape as he drapes an arm around the younger man’s shirtless midsection. 

Camille sighs in drowsy contentment as his fingers interlace with Gordon’s beneath the covers. “Good scouting mission, mon amour?” 

Gordon hums sleepily as he relaxes against the soft mattress. “You should still be asleep, love.” 

Camille chuckles low in his throat. “I never sleep soundly when you’re away.”  

“Good thing my squadron is only on this rotation for another six days.” 

Camille groans in frustration as he rolls in Gordon’s arms, and Gordon lays back against the bed to welcome the taller man nuzzling kisses into his neck. A sleepy smile tugs at Gordon’s mouth. Despite all that they see and do, despite all the talk of forward progress, these quiet moments with Camille are his favorite time of day. Here, they don’t have to be Major Gordon and Commandant Audebert. Here, they’re just Mackenzie and Camille. 

He nuzzles Camille’s brow and basks in the comforting weight of his beloved. “You should sleep, love.” He says softly. “You only have an hour until you need to prepare for your rotation.” 

“I know,” Camille confirms. 

“Do you know where your squadron is headed?” 

“North, last I heard. Continuing to establish contact in regions of former Germany.” 

Gordon hums gently. “Slowly but surely, expanding the New Rule of the Airmen.” 

“And a New Life for Mankind.” Camille finishes the motto, drifting more kisses along the column of Gordon’s neck. “A new life that I found here with you. A new life that we share together.” 

Gordon ducks his head to meet Camille’s kiss. It’s everything he ever wants as they linger in the intimate contact, basking in the reassuring touch of each other’s lips. Gordon lets his jaw relax as Camille leans into the kiss, and their tongues meet. Heat licks down Gordon’s spine as his cock hardens, groaning when Camille’s hand finds him over the fabric of his shorts. 

He rolls his hips to chase Camille’s touch, stirring a delicious moan from the Frechman. Gordon smiles into the kiss as Camille shifts to lay atop him, grinding their burgeoning erections together. The perfect friction shoots sparks through Gordon’s veins as he arches up into the taller man. “God, Cami….” His hand settles to Camille’s hip to hold him so close. 

Camille rocks his hips again with a shuddering exhale against Gordon’s lips. “I know you’re tired, mon amour. But I’ve had more than enough rest.” 

Any other words are downed by the firm intensity of Gordon’s kiss as they lose themselves in rising pleasure. Shifting his weight to brace on a forearm, Camille lifts just enough to slide his shorts down and work at Gordon’s. The bare length of their cocks brush together, and Gordon hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip on Camille’s hip. It’s been too long since they last took a moment for themselves, and he already feels on the edge of combustion, not helped by his exhaustion. 

It certainly doesn’t help when Camille shifts his hips and takes Gordon in hand before surprisingly, easily welcoming him into his body. Gordon's mind spins, dizzy with rushing pleasure when he realizes the loose, slick stretch of Camille’s muscle meant that the younger man had already prepared for this moment. With a pleasured cry, Gordon’s head falls back against the pillow, and he loses himself in the enveloping heat of Camille’s body. 

Camille groans, low and debauched, as he lifts up before sinking back down. “I’ve got you, mon amour. Let go for me.”

Gordon groans as he meets Camille’s thrusts, delighting in his soft gasps. “Fuck, Cami….” 

Camille whimpers, chasing his pleasure as Gordon’s cock fills him over and over. They push and pull at all the skin they can reach as they move together, never wanting to let the other go.  Their burning connection feels like heaven as they crest the peak, Camille’s release splashing hot on Gordon’s belly while his own seed plants deep inside his lover.

Heedless of the mess, Camille slumps forward to meet Gordon in a sated, languid kiss. Neither of them wants to rise, content to stay in this breathless, euphoric moment as they drift on the edge of bliss. Gordon cradles Camille close, brushing kisses along his brow as he sighs with bone-deep satisfaction. “You’re going to be the death of me someday, you know.” He whispers. “Surprising me like that. Bloody hell, Cami.” He pauses to press a lingering kiss. “Just the thought of you in our bed, stretching yourself for me… makes me wish I were ten years younger.”   

Camille chuckles gently. “Neither of us are as young as we used to be. And ten years ago… none of this would have been here, and I wouldn’t have met you.” 

Gordon’s arms tighten around Camille’s back to hold him closer. “I like to think that - somehow, somewhere - we still would have found each other.” 

The younger man smiles against Gordon’s skin as he brushes a lazy kiss. “That is indeed a nice thought. And a perfect way to start the day.” 

“A perfect way to fall asleep, you mean.” Gordon draws him up for a kiss as his eyelids grow heavy. “I look forward to having more time in six days from now.” 

Camille’s eyes sparkle in the low light as his smile grows. “Me too, mon amour.” He lingers in one last gentle, affirming kiss. “Pleasant dreams, and I’ll be here when you wake.” 

[leftenantmackgordon]

Wings Over My Heart - Pt. V

A 1936 Things to Come film AU Gordon x Audebert (x Horstmayer)

Series Main List

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including m/m anal sex), references to healing after torture, dystopian re-imagining of WWI and aftermath, no need to have seen film

Word Count: 3.9k

Pt. V -

Even now, the memories curdle Gordon’s stomach. 

Finding Camille in that chamber of horrors. Seeing his hands compressed nearly to the breaking point. Freeing the naked, flogged man from the rack and supporting his weakened weight. 

Gordon braces a hand against the shower wall, wincing. 

“Major Gordon?” 

He turned from the wheeled stretchers, dreading what duty demands of him. “Yes?” 

“They’re starting to wake up, Major.” 

With a reluctant nod, he turned back around to give the two prone men a parting glance. 

Medical team members swarmed both Camille and Karl - or so Camille called him - tending their wounds and easing their pain. They both appeared to rest comfortably, and the anxious knot in Gordon’s stomach lessened somewhat. 

Camille was still alive. Gordon wasn’t too late. 

He forced a hard swallow, making his feet move against the stone floor. He had a job to do, after all. 

Harsh morning light showed the town’s ruins for what they were - a former shade of a bygone age, a ruin of humanity’s folly. The central square - or at least as central as Gordon could figure - must have been a popular social center judging by the number of unconscious people strewn about. Fellow black-clad aviators moved among the resting people and helped those who began to wake up after the sleeping gas wore off. 

Of course, Gordon remembered the terror that gas bombs brought to the war. Deadly clouds of smoke that seared and choked its victims to grotesque deaths. He also rememered his own trepidation when Wings Over the World first dropped their gas bombs on his regiment. How his men had fled for their very lives - how he had thought it was the end as the gas filled his nose and his eyelids grew heavy. But when he awoke with nothing more than a headache to find an outstretched helping hand, Gordon had never looked back. 

He stood on the stoop of the crumbled Town Hall, surveying the scene. Everything looked in order, and a sense of satisfaction suffused him. Another step taken, another new beginning of progress. Now, to start organizing, to start rebuilding -  

“Major Gordon!” 

He turned at the panicked call, stepping over to a fellow aviator - Ponchel - who crouched low over a slumped body. “What is it?” 

“This one’s dead, sir.” Ponchel

pushed to his feet with a confused look. “But… he shouldn’t have died, sir. It was only sleeping gas.” 

Gordon stared down at the man in question. He was dressed with an unmistakable air of authority, a cloak or perhaps a greatcoat draped across his shoulders. The condition of his clothing belied his status as a leader despite his lifeless sprawl on a pile of rubble at the bottom of a crudely etched sign. Gordon’s gaze drifted up, taking in the rough, chalky scrawl. 

SOVEREIGN STATE BULLETIN JUNE 1940

OUR OPERATION AGAINST THE HILL STATE HAS BEEN SUCCESSFUL. 

FURTHER HOSTILITIES WILL BRING A VICTORIOUS PEACE. 

LONG LIVE THE COMMANDER!

Gordon glanced back down at the man, bile rising in his throat. Was this the man responsible for the torture chamber? Had this man’s command kept Camille away from him for the last three days? Gordon’s hand clenched at his side. He didn’t consider himself a man of violent delights, but a thrill of satisfaction ran through him nonetheless. 

Ponchel shook his head, looking between the rough sign and the dead man at their feet. “I don’t understand it, sir.” He glanced out at the large crowd of people waking up to the new world unfolding around them. “This one… this man shouldn’t be dead.” 

“But he is.” Gordon said gently, looking up with a sigh and squinting in the bright light. “Dead, and his world dead with him. And now?” Gordon looked over at Ponchel with a small smile. “And now for the New Rule of the Airmen.” 

Ponchel matched his smile as he nodded. “And a New Life for Mankind.” 

Gordon blinks back to himself in the confines of the shower. Hydrosonic swirls float around him, and he really should be more mindful of wasting the water… but his head spins far too much. 

For six weeks now, he’s had Camille back in his life. Six weeks after 72 hours of absolute hell in his absence. Objectively, he knew the mission parameters for search-and-rescue parties, but he never thought that he would have to actually experience the 72 hour wait period. Let alone find his love the victim of torture and hear that gut-wrenching, passionate plea in Camille’s voice to tend to the room’s other occupant.  

“I… I came by your room the other day.” Gordon started softly, shifting awkwardly against the stiff medical ward chair. Three weeks had passed and Gordon distantly wondered why they couldn’t have placed a more comfortable chair at Camille’s bedside. 

Camille turned his head against the pillow, lifting the corner of his mouth in a curious smile. “Yes?” 

Anxious butterflies sprung to life in Gordon’s chest. By some miracle, Camille’s hands hadn’t required surgery, nor were they damaged enough to jeopardize his position as an aviator - but still the medical team kept him sequestered in the ward. Gordon suspected it was largely to keep him from overexerting the nearly-ruined joints, but he could tell that Camille didn’t mind the captivity too much. He recognized the heartfelt gleam in his lover’s eyes all too well. 

Gordon swallowed hard. “I came by your room, and you weren’t… here. The attendant said you were with Karl.” 

Camille nodded slowly. “Yes, I was. He was hurt so much worse than I was. It hasn’t been an easy road to recovery for him.” 

Gordon nodded, hating the jealousy that roiled his stomach. “I just… I missed you, that's all.” 

“Oh, mon amour.” Camille reaches a gauzy bandaged hand over to rest lightly atop Gordon’s. “I’m here now. And you won’t lose me like that again.” 

Gordon’s heart clenches. Camille has no business making empty promises like that. As long as they both work in World Communications, scouting the globe is their duty and mission. Each mission brings risk, and Gordon recognizes how many times that Camille could have been lost to him forever. But fate brought them back together… and fate dumped Karl Horstmayer right in the middle. 

Gordon isn’t a fool. He’s watched Camille interact with the younger man, placing a bandaged hand on an uninjured area of Horstmayer’s shoulder as he lays face down with stitches, grafts, and bandages criss-crossing his back. He’s watched Camille engage in close conversation despite Horstmayer’s otherwise empty room, his face soft with an achingly familiar smile.  

A smile that he hoped Camille only reserved for him. A smile that speaks to tender affection and care. A smile that threatens to rip Gordon’s heart from his chest each time he sees it directed at the younger man. 

“Are you alright?” Camille’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “You seem unusually tense today.” 

With a tight smile, Gordon tried to relax his posture as he stood next to Camille’s medical bed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” 

Camille sighed with humored exasperation. “Once they release me from here, I look forward to not having to answer that question at every shift changeover.” His eyes roamed over Gordon in careful study. “But something is bothering you, mon amour.” 

Gordon took a measured breath, careful to keep his face from betraying too much. Mercifully, his commanding officers haven’t sent him away on many missions during Camille’s convalescence. Perhaps they recognized the healing power in a life partner’s presence, or perhaps they just took pity on his harrowed state. In either case, the idle time didn’t help distract Gordon from what was unfolding in the medical ward. Nor was the medical ward the appropriate place for this conversation. Instead, he summoned a small smile. “I’m just tired of seeing you here. I want you back… in our bed with me.” 

Camille’s face softened with a smile that broke Gordon’s heart. “I want that, too. So very much.” He raised his right hand, curling his fingers to ball in a loose fist. “The doctors are very pleased with that range of motion. According to them, after another week of intensive therapy, I should be cleared for release.” 

“And Karl?” The words left Gordon’s lips before he could stop them. 

If Camille suspected anything about them, nothing on his face changed. “I think it will be another week or two until he is released. The grafts have been more complicated than expected, according to him.” His face tightened with concern. “The Commander’s whip left indelible scars that will haunt Karl for the rest of this life.” 

The tender heartache on Camille’s words didn’t go unnoticed, and Gordon’s stomach rots with heartache of his own. Slowly, he nodded. “I… can’t imagine.” 

Camille shook his head with a gentle sigh. “He has no one, Mack. Sounds like he hasn’t in so long… and, of course, he knows no one here.” 

“No one aside from you.” 

Camille glanced up at him, brow furrowing. “That’s how it was when you found me…” the corner of his mouth lifted with fond, wistful remembrance. “I spent weeks in this ward and you were my only visitor.” 

Despite Camille’s injuries from the battlefield, Gordon remembered those days better than any other. Discovering the mutual interest, exploring the spark between them, letting their affection grow into love. 

Camille blinked away from Gordon to gaze down at his bed covers, his face distant and perhaps even… conflicted. “It’s the same for Karl, now,” Camille said softly. “I’m… I’m all that he has.” 

Gordon balls his hand against the shower wall, thumping it against the hard plastic as tears sting his eyes. He’s not foolish to miss the signs of blossoming love, but perhaps he was foolish to think that he could keep Camille all to himself. Camille is several years younger than him, so why shouldn’t he want someone closer to his own age? Why wouldn’t Camille grow to want the one man who was there for him when mission parameters dictated Gordon’s absence? Why should Gordon have deluded himself into thinking that any relationship stability could exist in such an unstable world? 

A tear mixes with the shower water, and Gordon pushes off the wall. Society doesn’t need to suffer a water shortage because of his despondent thoughts. He exhales a deep sigh to expel the tension in his chest and it brings marginal relief as he reaches for the shampoo. Closing his eyes, he massages the product into his hair and tilts his head back. Through the water sluicing over his head, he doesn’t hear the bathroom door slide open. But when he opens his eyes, he does see Camille’s familiar figure standing on the other side of the see-through, glass door. 

His hands are bandage free, and he wears a simple base uniform. It’s the first time that Gordon has seen Camille out of hospital-issued garments since his return, and even though the clothes hang oversized on his frame, Camille has never looked better. He stares back at Gordon as if he’s never seen anything more lovely, his chocolate eyes darkening with a desire that stirs answering heat in Gordon’s belly. 

With the conviction of a finalized decision, Camille reaches for the hem of his tunic and strips it overhead. His trousers follow with equally swift motions, and Gordon’s mouth goes dry when Camille reaches for the shower door. His heart pounds, love and heartbreak conflicting in his chest, as the shower spray dampens Camille’s skin and those brown eyes blow wide to hold him like a spell. Camille brings his hands up to cradle Gordon’s jaw, drawing a shudder from him as he leans into the comforting touch. 

When Camille leans in to press his mouth to Gordon’s, he forgets how to breathe. A missing piece of his life slots back into place as they re-learn the shape and taste of each other’s mouth. They share the same breath as their bodies press closer together under the shower spray, and Gordon wraps an arm around Camille’s waist as if to never let him go. 

Camille clings to Gordon’s shoulders with feverish desperation, soft whimpers pitching high in his throat. Gordon doesn’t know what this moment means, but he’s not strong enough to walk away. Camille’s back presses up against the shower wall as a lithe leg wraps around Gordon’s waist. Soap suds coat Gordon’s fingers as they work inside Camille to find his white-hot spot. He relishes each gasp and moan that falls from Camille’s lips as their bodies connect in the scorching, perfect moment. He bares his soul as he surrenders his heart and careens their bodies into oblivion. 

Few words are spoken as they each come down from their shared high, still unwilling to drift far apart. Too many words choke in Gordon’s throat, and even Camille is unusually quiet. He turns the water off once they’re both clean, and while the silence is easy, it’s not common for them. Maybe… well, maybe - despite their physical connection just now - Camille’s just as adrift as Gordon feels. 

Camille reaches for a towel and hands it to Gordon with a sheepish smile. “I don’t… we should talk.” He reaches for his own towel, scrubbing at the water drops on his skin. “You’re not… well, usually you have more to say.” 

Gordon feels his throat tighten, hating the words that crawl up his throat and the tears that burn. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He doesn’t want to hear Camille say the words. Taking a deep breath, he tries to slow the anxious rhythm of his heart. “I… guess I just don’t know what to say.” He knots the towel around his waist as he catches Camille’s gaze. “I just… I’m so relieved that you’re well - that you’re here. I love you, Camille… unlike I’ve ever loved anyone.” 

Camille’s eyes soften with warm adoration. “Oh, mon amour - I love you, too.” 

The vice around Gordon’s heart tightens, and he doesn’t stop himself. “Then, why -.” His words choke around a lump in his throat, but he can’t hold back. “I’ve seen you… these past weeks. I’ve watched you… talk, touch, smile… at him, and I…,” his heart cracks wide open as Camille holds his gaze. “Of course, you’re welcome to trade in for a younger model if you want, but I-” 

Gordon’s words cut off as Camille lunges forward to push him back against the wet shower wall. His feet slide against the slippery floor and water soaks through his towel, but it’s inconsequential compared to the resolute fire that blazes in Camille’s eyes as he crowds close. “Mackenzie Gordon, you stubborn, foolish man,” Camille’s voice is full of heart wrenching warmth and tender conviction. “You’ve had my love since we met, and you’ll have my love until my last breath. If I have given you cause to doubt it, then I will bear that regret and beg for your forgiveness if I must.” 

Gordon shakes his head, scrambling for words. “You don’t need to beg for anything, Camille.” He drowns under the weight of Camille’s words. “If anything it’s me that should beg - plead, even - for you to stay.” 

“No, mon amour, no.” Camille’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “You don’t need to beg or plead for anything - I’m yours.” He rests a hand over Gordon’s pounding heart. “Just as you’re mine.” 

Relief bursts in Gordon’s chest, and he wants to take Camille at his word. He wants to believe that life will return to the comfortable ease and reassurance they shared in their love before Camille spent those 72-hours imprisoned. But there’s still an unspoken weight that hangs between them. 

Camille’s thumb strokes the skin of his chest. “We… forever,” the corner of his mouth lifts as his gaze turns longing. “And maybe we… can one day include Karl.” 

Gordon’s eyes widen. “What… what are you saying?” His mind reels with the implications. Surely, Camille didn’t mean the three of them… together… in that fashion? Did he? 

“Would that be so wrong?” Camille searches Gordon’s gaze. “I share a close bond with both of you that doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive - nor, do I… think that I want it to be.” 

Gordon isn’t unfamiliar with throuple arrangements. There are several in the organization who choose to live as such, but it’s never something that Gordon saw himself a part of. He gives a weak shake of his head. “Doesn’t this… doesn’t this seem a little fast? You’ve just been released, and he’s just -”

“I’ve had six weeks - almost seven if you include the days of my captivity - to get to know him, and think about this, and he’s…,” a heartachingly tender smile comes to Camille’s face. “He’s bright, thoughtful, and passionate - though, he’s careful about showing that side of himself. He’ll bring great strengths to World Communications-”

“He’s joining our division?” 

Camille nods gently. “It’s his choice. They offered him several postings.” 

Gordon shakes his head. “No doubt you had some encouraging or persuasive words to that effect.” 

“Yes… Karl and I have talked a lot.” He sighs, still pressing against Gordon and leveling the shorter man with all the honesty he has. “And I hope… that you will talk with him, too. All things begin with first steps. As our mission here is first to explore, to communicate… then grow and develop. Maybe… maybe, we can find a way… together.” Camille’s cheeks turn a lovely pink color, and Gordon can’t say no to his warm, earnest eyes. “But for now - I want to lay in bed with you and hold you for the rest of the night. I love you, Gordon Mackenzie - and nothing that I share with Karl changes that.” 

Five days later, just as he told Camille he would, Gordon stands on the flight line and watches Karl. The younger man, his brown eyes bright in the late afternoon sun, inspects the long slope of a black wing. The aircraft’s wheels are secured with chocks and the propeller locked as it rests in the open hangar, and Gordon lets his footsteps echo in the otherwise empty space. His black uniform fits him with fine, precise ease, and he can easily admit that Karl cuts a fine figure in his own matching uniform. 

The distant roar of an airplane engine sounds in the distance as Karl glances up with a closed-mouth smile. Gordon’s face softens with his own smile. “Hello, Karl.” 

“Hello… Mackenzie.” 

“Mack is fine with me… assuming you’re comfortable with it.” 

Karl nods carefully. “I… I think with time, yes.” 

Gordon nods, hating the butterflies that erupt in his stomach. For God’s sake, he’s a grown man, a soldier, and a pilot. He can’t recall being so unnerved around another person since… well, not since the early days of his courtship with Camille. He tucks the thought away, nodding at the airplane. “I heard that you’re considering joining World Communications.” 

“Yes, it…,” he pauses to wet his top lip. “It seems like a fitting way to give back, considering everything that’s come into my life since… well, since Camille landed in that field.” 

Gordon huffs a gentle laugh through his nose. “I can understand…. The arrival of our presence usually brings about swift change. Not everyone adapts to it as easily as you have, though.” 

A pink dusting comes to Karl’s cheeks, and it de-ages him by at least a decade. It seems impossible to imagine him as a fighter in a muddy trench, but Gordon has read the man’s personal history for himself. “Despite everything that I’d known of my life during the war,” Karl says with a small shake of his head. “And during… The Commander’s reign, I… I knew that there had to be another way to survive. Another way to live.” He steps around the large wing, moving closer to Gordon. “Just because there could be another fight didn’t mean that there had to be.” 

“I suppose many men just lost sight of that.” 

“The wrong men,” Karl agreed. “The men who made our world what it is.” 

“What is was.” Gordon corrected. “The World-That-Was pre-war will yield to the world that it devolved into post-war which will yield to Wings Over the World and the beginning of a new world order.” 

Karl’s brow furrows. “It won’t be easy. And from what I’ve seen, no one here deludes themself to that fact.” 

“Putting the world in order will indeed be a long and complicated struggle. It… it already has been.” Gordon’s voice grows tight with the memory of Camille’s extended absence and the discovery of that hellish torture chamber. “But we have the unity of a common order and a common knowledge.”  

The corners of Karl’s mouth lift to a smile that wrinkles his eyes. “We… forever.” 

Gordon’s heart clenches in his chest and maybe… just maybe Camille is right. Perhaps they can find a way for the three of them to all share together. 

The blush in Karl’s cheeks deepens as he glances away from Gordon almost bashfully. Something sparks in Gordon’s chest and he closes the gap between them, holding out a hand. “We… forever.” 

Karl glances down at Gordon’s extended hand and slowly extends his own. The warmth of Karl’s skin takes him aback as they hold hands in the shadow of the aircraft. It feels… more right than Gordon would have ever guessed. Especially when Karl raises his eyes to Gordon’s, and the light catches in golden-amber flecks set against the deep brown pools. 

“It… still doesn’t seem real, sometimes.” Karl says softly with another shake of his head. “Even though I'm here - I’m surrounded by the progress that’s been accomplished under the banner of active and aggressive peace. And I see it continue to unfold around me… it’s all so new…” His words trail off in an uncertain sigh. “And this with… Camille… and you….” 

The corner of Gordon’s mouth lifts. “I’m glad he’s spoken with you about it. I… admittedly, I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

“Me, neither.” Karl confesses as Gordon gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “He’s so sure of himself. He has been ever since I met him, and I… I hardly feel worthy of it, despite how much I want it… and him.” 

“You’re not unworthy, Karl.” Again, Gordon squeezes his hand in reassurance. “Camille doesn’t give his heart away to just anyone.” 

Karl blinks up at him shrewdly. “But he gave it away to you first.” 

“Yes, he did, and I… I admit that I thought I would be the only one. But that doesn’t mean it has to be that way.” His heart starts to pound but he doesn’t dare let go of Karl’s hand. “I love him too much to make him choose, and like you said - it’s all so new, but just look what new has given us.” His gaze strays to the sleek, black aircraft and the hangar that surrounds them. If people never dared to dream of new explorations, then none of this would have come to be. 

And if he doesn’t dare to dream of the new possibilities that having Karl in his life could be, then he should be ashamed of his own hypocrisy. 

His gaze lands back on Karl, and really, the younger man is quite handsome. At length, Karl nods, a smile softening his face as he speaks. “New has given me Camille… and you, Mack.” 

Gordon gives his hand another gentle squeeze, tugging Karl forward by their conjoined hands. “And with any luck,” Gordon says as hope blooms in his chest. “It will keep bringing us more good things to come - together.” 

Karl returns his hand squeeze as they leave the aircraft’s shadow and walk into the sunlight. “Together.”  

[leftenantmackgordon]

Surrender

Series Main List - Complete

A “Joyeux Noël” Mackenzie Gordon x Karl Horstmayer Fic

Summary: Gordon and Horstmayer reunite on Christmas Eve 1917 under very different circumstances.

Warnings: Explicit language, WWI trench violence & horrors of war, weapons of psychological terror, implied warfare violence against animals (carrier pigeons), trapped & desperate situation, surrender to the enemy, internalized homophobia

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Word Count: 7.2k+

A/N: Events in this fic are inspired by and loosely based around historical accounts of the Lost Battalion in October 1918. All my love and thanks to @khorstmayer for her support with beta'ing this tale!

[leftenantmackgordon]

Surrender - Ch. 2

A “Joyeux Noël” Mackenzie Gordon x Karl Horstmayer Fic

Series Main List

Warnings: WWI trench violence & horrors of war, implied warfare violence against animals (carrier pigeons), trapped & desperate situation

Word Count: 1.1k

Day 2 - 21 December 1917

Gordon’s assumption proves out when the Germans rain down hell from all sides. Artillery fire from the front pairs with sniper fire from the rear. Grenade assaults bombard the left flank, and the right flank is besieged by relentless machine gun sprays.

None of his runners have ever returned, and Gordon isn’t sure if any of the carrier pigeons have made it through. If help is on the way, there’s no sign of it. Food supplies are already low, and the only source of fresh water requires leaving their defensive pocket under heavy German fire. Thankfully, they have ammunition to spare, but he doesn’t know how long his battalion will be pinned down.

With the disappearance of Lieutenant McKeogh, Gordon has to make a battlefield promotion, but his first one is short-lived. The foolhardy, new-minted Lieutenant Ross makes a poor decision to lead an assault out through the back of their pocket in an attempt to get word of their predicament to high command. The casualties - including the man himself - are unfortunately high, and Gordon’s blood boils.

Already, his 546 souls now number 481. He hopes that Lieutenant Campbell will execute his attacks more strategically.

During a lighter moment in the grenade bombardment, Gordon goes in search of the pigeon keeper. It’s the only means that he has for communicating with his high command. With just two birds left, though, he knows it’s a means that will swiftly come to an end - but he can’t stop yet. Eventually, he finds the man huddled with his cages and typewriter in the middle of their defensive pocket.

“Another message, major?” The pigeon keeper looks up with sad eyes despite the hopeful edge to his voice.

Gordon nods. “Yes. We have to keep trying.”

The man nods in return even though it’s painfully obvious that he hates sending these birds out to meet their almost certain death. He reaches for the typewriter and readies the paper, typing the standard ‘PIGEON MESSAGE’ header across the page.

Gordon wets his top lip despite his parched tongue. “Relay our current position and the known coordinates of the enemy. If this message gets through, then our artillery can provide suppressing fire.” He reaches for a ciggie as the typewriter clicks away. “Let them know that we’re beset on all sides and surrounded by enemy forces with minimal supplies. It’s only a matter of days that we can hold our present course before the hard decisions need to be made.”

The pigeon keeper's face turns pale as he types out the message, and Gordon lights his smoke. He casts the young man a supportive smile. “Keep the faith, lad. We’re taking plenty of them with us.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man doesn’t sound convinced, but he knows better than to question Gordon. He’s acquired a high enough rank now that he’s not free to enjoy the camaraderie of his early days as a Lieutenant, and he tries not to let that bother him.

He has enough worries weighing on his mind already. Smoking in silence as the distant sounds of gunfire echo around him, he watches the pigeon keeper affix the message to a bird’s leg. The grey bird takes flight soon after, rising up into the drifts of smoke. For a split second - Gordon wishes that he, too, could fly away.

But if his men can’t fly, then what good does it do him?

Two hours later, urgent shouting from the right flank draws his attention. He trudges through the icy sludge and does a double take at the sight through the trees. A young man - a doughboy, in fact - limps towards the Scottish line holding a crudely-constructed white flag. The soldier clutches the wood stick flag-pole close, his eyes wide with bewilderment and fear.

Lieutenant Stewart’s men coax him across the line and into the pocket. The wound on the doughboy’s shin looks surprisingly well-cared for and the bandage fresh. “I’m Private Lowell, sir. Of the American 307th.” The young man says with flat syllables as he sits against an earthen wall. “I need to speak with the ranking officer here.”

“That’s me, lad,” Gordon says soothingly as he crouches down. “Major Mackenzie Gordon, Royal Scots Fusiliers. How can I help?”

The doughboy draws forth a sealed letter. “This is for you, sir. From the German Oberstleutnant.”

Gordon’s brow furrows even as he nods his thanks and takes the letter. The seal looks far too official and the paper’s edges far too clean. He breaks it open, pouring over the words.

To the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Batl. Of the Royal Scots Fusiliers

Sir,

The Bearer of this letter, Pvt. Ronald Lowell, has been taken prisoner by us on the 19th of December 1917. His wounds have been tended, and he does his Fatherland honor in the strictest sense of the word by refusing to divulge details of your offensive. Against his will, he is dispatched to carry this present letter to the Officer in charge of the 2nd Batl. Of the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

As you are no doubt aware, we have your position sighted on all sides. There is no means of retreat and no road for resupply. As Officer in charge, you are urged to surrender with your forces as it would be quite useless to resist any more in view of the present conditions.

The suffering of your wounded men can be heard from our lines, and if you won’t consider surrender for yourself – consider it for them.

A white flag shown by one of your men will tell us that you agree with these terms.

German Commanding Officer, Oberstleutnant KFH

Gordon’s fingers clench against the page as he rereads the letter. No matter how much it incenses him, he can’t deny that there’s truth in the German commander’s words. Hard truth about their desperate, trapped position, and the tormented suffering of his wounded men. But does the German commander not see the hypocrisy of his own words? Or is he simply following his orders and hoping that Gordon’s humanity will win out?

He crumples the letter to the icy mud with his resolve renewed. The German commander has his orders, and Gordon has his. His gut rots as he rises to his full height and knows what he must do.

He issues two orders of his own. Nothing white is to be shown on the hillside where the Germans might interpret it as a sign of surrender. Each man also needs to be ready for the attack that will surely come once the German commander realizes that his letter has been ignored.

When the moon reaches its zenith that night, his men number 446.

Series Main List