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hoolay-boobs · 3 years

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The ShineStone Tundra

Summary: Queen Glimmer and Commander Catra are both trying to retrieve the ShineStone, a runestone hasn’t been used in centuries. However, the two enemies must wait out the blizzard before returning victoriously.

Content: Glitra, short fic, canon-divergence (still fits with the given timeline tho) Enemies-to-Lovers- kinda? Just enemies to less enemies.

Word count: 2.8k

Series: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

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Glimmer of Bright Moon gave a shriek of frustration as her latest teleportation sent her right back to the cold valleys of the ShineStone Tundra. She had been trying to find the Amethyst Cave for heaven knows how long, and all she has managed to accomplish is running circles in the repetitive, cold, grey landscape.

She was about to retreat to find a new plan- perhaps find some expert navigators or- gasp- tell Bow that she needed his help after all!!? But she couldn’t admit that, not after she had confidently told him that she was ready to take on this mission solo.

Her pink and purple hair tousling in her face due to the high winds, Glimmer turned towards a familiar voice carrying through the blizzard.

“Sparkles. I should’ve known you’d be foolish enough to show your face on the coldest regions of Etheria,” a little feline-cackle boomed from the distance.

“Horde Scum! Show your face, I’m not afraid of you! Here, kitty, kitty- ARGHHH!” Glimmer shouted quickly as she released a glitter bomb in the direction of the cat’s call.

Unfortunately, the wind blew it right back into Glimmer’s face, causing her to groan sadly at the pink ambush.

A loud laugh was heard in return. “Seriously? You can’t even control your powers in the wind? Pathetic!”

“You’re the pathetic one!” Glimmer called out, teleporting in the direction of Catra’s taunts.

The girls gave out a loud “oof” as Glimmer fell on top of the Horde Leader, the two of them collapsing in the snow.

“Get off me, you pint-sized explosive!” Catra crowed.

“Why did you follow me into the Tundra?” Glimmer asked furiously.

“Follow you?” Catra snorted. “As if I keep tabs on you. I didn’t follow you here! I came to scope out the location for a new weapon for Hordak, one that’ll change the tides of the war, Princess.” She wriggled from underneath Glimmer’s tight shoulder grip.

“That’s Queen to you, not Princess, and what weapon is this exactly?”

“What, you want me to spoon feed you information now? Dream on.” With a sharp tug, Catra pulled away from Glimmer, slid through the snow, and then jumped up and ran towards the defeating blizzard.

“Get back here!” Glimmer crowed.

She had just begun to chase the tabby cat when the two of them froze in place, listening to the powerful roar from beyond the mountains.

“The abominable snowman,” Catra shivered.

Glimmer laughed mockingly. “You actually believe in the abominable snowman? I’m sure it was just an avalanche in the distance.”

“Either way,” Catra said. “It’s a good reason to take cover.”

Glimmer opened her mouth to respond when the top of a mountainscape began to... move? Dislodge? Get up and walk away? Glimmer stared at the top of the mountain in awe, the steep slope of it now having vanished, leaving the mountaintop flattened.

“What in the...?”

Glimmer and Catra both turned to the now missing ledge, seeing that this slope wasn’t part of the mountain at all, but was a larger than life grey claw. The claw moved once again and stepped closer, causing snow to rumble down the mountain. If that was just one fraction of the creature’s hand... then the whole being must be ginormous.

“Yes, I actually believe in the abominable snowman!” Catra spat. “And I’m starting to believe that we’ll be it’s lunch.”

She gave the pink queen a nasty look and darted off into the distance, where a small ice burrow lay.

Shivering, Glimmer activated her glitter teleportation powers, and zoomed into the ice burrow right behind Catra.

As soon as Catra noticed her presence, she whizzed around quickly, her hair flipping in a very alluring manner. “Get out, Sparkles!” She growled. “This is my hiding spot.”

Glimmer crossed her arms. “If you let me stay in here til that giant passes, I’ll teleport you out to the mainland of the Tundra. We’ll both live that way.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Because,” Glimmer smirked. “I know cat’s hate small spaces. You would not want me to leave you in here, and I do not want you to keep me outside with that mountain monster.”

Catra sighed dramatically. “Fine. But as soon as the abominable snowman passes, we part ways.”

“Deal.” And with that, the two walked into the glistening ice tunnel.

***

Their footsteps made a “clop clop” noise with every step, and Catra regularly lost her balance and skidded on the icy floor, giving Glimmer a death glare any time the queen of Bright Moon giggled at the angry feline.

“So, this weapon you speak of. Hordak wants to use the ShineStone? I didn’t think the Horde was into Etherian relics. Mostly just ugly Fright Zone tech.”

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” Catra hissed.

“I’m in the middle of a deadly blizzard and an evil snowman attack. What makes you think I’m bored?”

“Why else would you be taking to me?”

Glimmer shrugged in begrudging agreement, and they began to walk in silence.

After the mouth of the burrow began to fade away from view, the two found themselves in a large opening; an ice bubble that was crystallized in the snow. It has enough room for them; enough room to stay and set up camp. The walls surrounding Glimmer and Catra were streaked with weathered lines, and the roar of the snowstorm could be heard muffled from above.

“It’s beautiful,” Glimmer exhaled.

“Just like you to find a subzero hideaway beautiful,” Catra snapped.

“More beautiful than a mountain monster,” Glimmer shot back. “Or the inside of a mountain monster.”

Catra bristled.

Glimmer undid her emergency pack and laid out a blanket, then got out a cluster of contained firewood and a match. She quickly laid it down and set a flame in the centre of the ice bubble, warming her hands over it.

Scampering away, Catra put her back to the frost wall and rubbed her arms, trying to get some warmth.

“Do you want to share the fire?” Glimmer asked.

“I don’t need your-”

“Good! Because you’re not getting near my warm little flame.”

“Grrrrr.”

“Well ‘gurh’ to you too.”

Silence again. The wind howled in the distance, making the only noise between the two girls.

“What does Bright Moon think they can do with the ShineStone?” Catra gloated. “You have no princess from the Tundra to wield it. Your rebellion is all sparkly, no substance.” She was relieved to cut the silence.

“Now you’re the bored one,” Glimmer teased. “Starting conversation again-”

“What do you mean ‘again’?”

Glimmer sighed, changing the topic from their little banter. “The ShineStone can easily turn the tides of the war.” She was dying to tell someone about it, but she knew it couldn’t end up in the enemies hands.

“We’ve all- Bright Moon and the Fright Zone alike- built up the expectations to be this glorifying force. What if... what if it’s not everything we’ve imagined?” Glimmer continued reluctantly.

Catra walked closer to her. “Do you think... that it might not work? I mean, it’s an ancient relic. Hasn’t been used for centuries. Who’s to say it’ll have any magic left?”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”

“Whatever. I’m going to take a nap. Don’t kill me in my sleep,” Catra muttered as she curled up on the icy floor, her tail wrapping around her torso.

“I make no promises,” Glimmer joked. She put her hands above the small fire again as Catra drifted off.

***

A loud, scraping noise was heard as the mountain monster made its way across the land. Catra awoke with a hiss, and Glimmer looked up at the rocking ice ceiling, her glittery eyes wide.

Then Catra gave a toothy grin. “It’s passing, Sparkles. We can finally leave.”

Glimmer looked over at the Horde Cadet, enticement growing. “We can, can’t we?”

They heard the booming footsteps echo, bits of frost clattering down on them as the abominable snowman walked away... away... away until they couldn’t hear the stomps anymore.

Catra quickly bounded up, her hands rubbing together with relish. “Teleport me out.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was the real, right? We wait out the storm monster together, then its us to the mainland. To both try to find the ShineStone.”

Glimmer grunted. “All right, all right.” She put a hand on Catra’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and they teleported out into the blistering, grey grounds of the main land.

“Thanks for the lift, Sparkles!” Catra cackled as she sped off. But she didn’t get very far past the mainland before she scampered into a little, grey cave of the mountainline.

Glimmer huffed and, trying to safe her teleportation powers for when she’d need them more, ran off; this time towards the heart of the tundra.

The sparkly sorceress raised an arm to shield her face from the bleak wind, which she certainly hadn’t missed when her and Catra had sought shelter. She turned towards the horizons line, and with Bow’s tracker pad (that she had promised to take good care of) she began to follow a signal to any Etherian Runes.

Up ahead, a light yellow glow emitted, causing a buzz from the tracker pad. Eagerly, Glimmer rushed to follow the tracks.

Making her way through the unforgiving snow drifts, Glimmer saw the top of a burrow. Frowning, she searched around for an exit, then decided to use a teleportation to appear right in front of the sign. That would be a well use of her magic!

Giving a barred smile for the first time since the storm started, Glimmer sparkled into the location and found herself face to face with...

You guessed it. Her favourite ill-tempered feline frenemy.

“You again?!!” Catra growled. “How did you find me here?”

They were both in the cave that Catra had scooted into after they left their ice burrow. The cave was tall, with glistening icicles hanging from above, and stalagmites reaching upwards by the chilling cave floor.

The Amethyst Cave.

“I didn’t find you, Catra. I found that.”

Looking over to where Glimmer was pointing, her finger arched to the centre of the cave, there was a looming, golden crystal that was larger than both girls combined stood perched regally, emitting a warm light that seemed as of a different world than the coldness surrounding them.

“You found it too late, Glimmer,” Catra drawled. “I got here first.” She pulled out her communicator and spoke into it harshly.

“Scorpia! It’s about time you’ve answered. I’ve found the ShineStone- we’re going to need backup for a quick retrieval and delivery. And don’t keep me waiting this time.”

After packing her communicator away, Catra crossed her claws smugly.

What she didn’t realize, though, was that Glimmer had snuck to the other side of the huge ShineStone, hands braced to make one last powerful transportation.

“Hey!” Catra plucked an icicle and slapped Glimmer with it. “Hands off the treasure.”

Glimmer, however was unfazed by the strike. “Your little backup crew won’t arrive for hours, you can’t guard it forever, and you have no magic.” She beamed. “It’s over, Catra.”

Catra gritted her teeth. “Not. Yet.”

She lunged at Glimmer, who retorted with a sparkle blast that the angry catgirl quickly coughed out.

The two leaders began to fight in front of the glowing ShineStone, the wind whistling as they parried back and forth.

Catra had picked up another icicle and began to jab it at Glimmer, who was barely ducking in time to avoid each blow.

Leaping up to the ShineStone, Catra charged downwards at Glimmer, icicle still in hand. Glimmer slide out of the way just before Catra landed on the cold cave floor.

Except... Glimmer didn’t slide out of the way. She fell, and fell due to a loud movement from outside the cave.

Sprawled on the Amethyst cave floor, Glimmer glanced up to see a claw the size of a house moving past the entrance. Both her and Catra seized up at the sight.

“He’s back.” Catra whispered.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet as the abominable snowman strode past. With each ground-shattering step, the cave walls around them begin to shake.

Catra and Glimmer both dove behind the ShineStone for protection, huddled up to brace themselves from the mountain monster.

As the snowy scape around them shattered with every movement of abominable snowman, a huge chunk fell from the ceiling of the cave.

“Look out!” Catra pulled Glimmer out of the way.

Glimmer’s eyes widened in shock. “You... you saved-”

“Don’t flatter yourself; I need you alive to teleport me out of this chaos,” Catra said.

“Of course,” Glimmer stood up and, avoiding pieces of falling cave ceiling and snow, put a hand on Catra’s helm to physically join them for a teleportation. She scrunched up her forehead and summoned a vise of glitter.

Yet they were still standing in the cave.

“What??!” Glimmer tried again. And again. She and Catra had to dart around the room to miss the collapsing cave around them, while Glimmer urgently attempted to teleport.

“Did you run out of batteries or something?” Catra yapped. "Why isn't your magic working?"

“I don’t know!!!” Glimmer almost crumpled down in panic.

From outside the cave mouth, the abominable snowman’s footsteps continued, except this time it was apparent that a blue stream of light was emitting off of their form, extending off to Glimmer and draining her of her magic.

“He’s... he’s taking your power,” Catra froze with despair.

Glimmer raced over to the ShineStone and put her hands on it.

“Please!” she cried out. “Please, O Ancient Runestone, grant me your strength!”

Catra followed her lead and placed a claw on the shiny surface. “Please! Lend us your power!”

But the ShineStone was useless to them; sitting blankly and dull before them, not preforming any mystical acts.

Teeth gritted, Catra grabbed Glimmer’s arm and leaped from stalagmite to stalagmite, hoisting the two of them over the widening holes of the cave surface.

Now freed, they both collapsed on the snowy top of the cave, the abominable snowman slowly stepping his overwhelming form away.

There need no introduction. The two girls made like a banana and split.

Sprinting away from the freezing land, they leapt off the tall Amethyst Cave and back into the whiteout blizzard.

As they made distance from the mountain monster, Glimmer noticed the blue light dissolve; the very same blue light that was attached to her from the abominable snowman. Testing her abilities, she gave a quick sparkle blast in the air, which blew away in the wind.

“Yes! Ahaha!” Glimmer cheered. “My powers are back!”

“Timing’s off,” Catra mused. But before Glimmer had a chance to respond, Catra yelped and her foot/paw slipped down a ice crevice. She grunted and tried fruitless to pull herself out.

And the abominable snowman turned, and began to walk in their direction.

Catra hissed and tried frantically to free herself. As she struggled, Glimmer readied a last teleportation to send herself home.

But right before... she glanced over at the kitty cat. The one who had tried to kill her, the one who was Hordak’s second-in-command, the one who had betrayed Adora...

Glimmer tried; she earnestly tried to leave her foe behind to the icy fate. But something tugged her back, something she didn’t want to think about.

Grimacing, Glimmer put a hand on Catra’s ears, activated her magic, and teleported them both out of the Tundra, and to safety.

***

“Oof!”

Catra and Glimmer fell to the ground in The Whispering Woods. The air was finally warm with a light breeze, and Glimmer could see the Bright Moon castle over the distance.

“Finally!” Glimmer said breathlessly. She stood up and checked her satchel to make sure that Bow’s tracker pad was okay, tugging it gently with relief that she hadn’t broken it.

Catra looked up at the sky, bewilderment in her eyes.

“So I guess that ShineStone was a hoax after all. I’m going to have to tell the Rebellion it wasn’t a successful mission.” Glimmer chuckled. “And you’re going to have to tell Hordak you failed.”

Catra stood up, wrapping her arms around herself at some invisible chill. “You didn’t need to take me with you. You could’ve left me,” she said slowly.

Glimmer shrugged. She wasn’t about to justify herself to the Commander of the Fright Zone. “There’s a method to my madness.”

“Alright,” Catra nodded slowly. “Well... I should be leaving now. I’m going to find a new weapon; one that’s not a useless old rock,” she snickered.

“Good luck with that,” Glimmer said mockingly.

“Thanks.” Glimmer could tell Catra wasn’t just thanking her about the ‘good luck’ comment.

Catra turned to scamper away, when Glimmer raised her hand.

“Hey, wait,” the glittery queen said. “Before you go...”

Raising an eyebrow, Catra curiously turned to face her.

“If you tell anyone about how I helped you,” Glimmer promised. “I will kill you, Catra.”

“I’ll have eight lives left, Sparkles.”

________________________________________

So that’s it, friends! My first She-Ra fic on this site. I hope you enjoyed it! I have plenty more planned, but with work and uni we’ll see how much I can give you y’all.

Tag list:

@humans-suck @xcaroldanversx @singerintheshower @lolitscaitlin @secretsalute @weirdoughnut

Stay tuned for more Glitra content! Signing off,

- Mari

#glitra #glimmer x catra #catra x glimmer #she ra #spop #fanfic #enemies to lovers #canon divergence #sapphic #wlw #she ra fanfic #my gifs #the girls are fighting #she ra spop #glimmer she ra #she ra glimmer #catra she ra #she ra catra #catra applesauce meowmeow

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Angel (one shot)

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Request helloooo can i ask for like a quick regulus x reader oneshot where the reader sings and regulus hears her voice and basically falls in love with it but he didnt see her face so he just comes back everyday to the same place in the hope of listening to her singing and seeing her face this time? this sounds specific i know but i feel like some soft reggie is all i need now 😭

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M- mention of self harm

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Suffocating… that was the best word that Regulus could use to describe his life. After joining up with the death eaters at the lovely age of 16, Regulus had quickly grown to regret his decision. Anytime that the dark mark began to burn in the slightest, Regulus found himself dying for an excuse not to go. There was, however, not one...at least nothing in Lord Voldemort’s eyes that would be “good enough.”

On the outside, Regulus had to keep his smooth and reserved demeanor. It didn’t matter on the inside how much he was screaming. No one cared. The people that did know what he was doing continued to go on and on about how he was doing “the right thing, the noble thing.”

It was 7:00pm and Regulus found himself running down a quiet hallway. He had to get out of the Slytherin common room. He had to get away from Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. They had been so gleeful over a muggle that had been murdered the night before. Neither seemed to care about this person nor the family that they left behind. Regulus, when the deed was taking place, didn’t care. He stood stony faced as the man begged for his life. The moment Voldemort uttered his “favorite” spell, Regulus had to swallow back the feeling of nausea as he watched the light leave the man’s eyes.

Regulus had done well not thinking about the “deed” all day. It wasn’t until he returned to the common room and overheard Evan’s conversation did Regulus find himself regretting the day that he was born.

No one asked a question when Regulus walked out of the common room. Why would they? People would be dumb to question Regulus on something. People knew not to question Regulus on his doing unless they wanted to be jumped.

Regulus stopped the moment that his hands hit the balcony. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes mentally begging for the memory to leave his mind.

Just stop...I fucking hate this!

Regulus thought miserably. He was half tempted to throw himself off of the balcony. It looked like a good distance and if he was lucky wouldn’t survive the fall. Death would be better than living the way that he was at the moment!

The brooding stopped the moment that a soft voice caught Regulus’ attention. He knew a lot of the “choir kids” would come up to this particular area of the castle to practice at points. Before today, however, Regulus had never paid any of them any attention. Today, it was different. This voice was soft, gentle...everything that Regulus needed.

Right away he recognized the French folk song that he had heard numerous times as a child. Leaning his head back against the stone wall, all of the anxiety and tension slowly left. Regulus took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. They were no longer shaking.

I should leave...but I don’t want to. She, whomever she is, has to have the most beautiful voice. She sounds like an angel.

Regulus thought with a tiny smile. Although he had no belief in heaven, hell, angels, or demons hearing this voice had to be what an angel would sound like if there were one. This soft voice was everything that Regulus needed to hear when he needed to be told “that everything would be alright.”

Over the following days, Regulus found himself in the same place at the same time. It didn’t matter what kind of hell that he had going on. The moment that soft voice would sing all of the bad would vanish. Even if it was just one song, Regulus was feeling a million times better when he had to return to the Slytherin common room.

The question plaguing Regulus’ mind now was who did the voice belong to? He had been trying to put an angelic voice with a face nonstop and was coming up with nothing. None of the girls in Slytherin house fit the idea that Regulus had in his mind.

I have to find out.

He muttered as the signing stopped. Standing up, he quickly walked into the room not having any idea what he was about to say. Regulus knew that whatever girl this was would probably think that he was a creep for spying on her night after night. What kind of girl would want that?

“I know you’re there.”

The singing had stopped and was replaced with a soft comment on Regulus’ appearance. Regulus turned around to see Y/n Lupin sitting by the window. You were the girl...the voice...it all fit! Regulus blinked a few times as he took everything in. Of course, it was you. It all made sense.

“Um...hi.”

Regulus muttered. He wasn’t for sure if he had ever spoken to you before. The two of you were in the same year but your paths didn’t cross much. You were in Hufflepuff and often kept to your little group of friends or with your older brother.

You, meanwhile, smiled noticing Regulus’ awkward silence.

“You’ve been up here the past few nights.”

You commented. Regulus’ face blushed as you patted the seat beside you. Regulus slowly sat down and kept his eyes straight ahead.

He had to be a blithering idiot. There would be no way in hell that anything between the two of you would ever work. You were Remus Lupin’s sister. Regulus didn’t foresee Remus being too onboard with his sister dating a Slytherin (even if Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made great matches).

“You were upset that first night. Are you better now?”

You asked. You knew the question was probably intrusive but it came out before you really thought better of it. That night, a few nights ago, you had been up doing what relaxed you the most...singing. When you heard the angry footsteps you considered stopping but thought about how your singing seemed to comfort your own brother when he was upset. Maybe this person needed a little comforting too (even if you didn’t know them).

When you realized that it was Regulus Black the feeling of overwhelming sympathy washed over you. You didn’t know much about Regulus other than the fact that he was Sirius’ younger brother. Over the years that you were in school, you couldn’t help but notice how sad Regulus looked most of the time. You could see those sad dark eyes from your seat at the Hufflepuff table and wanted nothing more than to give him something to smile about. He reminded you of a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. If he was anything like Sirius then you knew that was exactly how Regulus was.

It was no secret that Walburga Black was cruel to her children. You knew first hand of the abuse. You had heard about it from Sirius himself. If that was what was plaguing Regulus’ mind every night that he came to the balcony, maybe you could give him something to feel better about?

“There really isn’t getting any better.”

Regulus commented as you scooted closer. You had a feelin what that vague comment was leading toward.

“About being a death eater?”

Regulus’ face went pale as he turned to look at you with wide eyes.

“How do you know? Did my brother tell you?”

You shook your head at the raised tone of his voice.

“Ssh now. We don’t need god and everyone to hear. I saw your arm doing potions one day.”

Regulus sneered in your direction. He didn’t know how to react. Maybe just be cold like normal? What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Let me guess, you are going to tell me that I am a horrible person and that I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing...no matter if it's what my family expected of me.”

Your momentary silence was driving Regulus nutty. After a few moments, you finally spoke.

“No. I was actually going to say I can’t imagine what you are going through. Sometimes our families are our own worst enemies.”

Regulus sighed.

“You’ve got that right. Look, I wasn’t spying on you. I want to just throw that out there.”

You smiled.

“It's alright. Your aura doesn’t seem as tense after you’re here for a bit.”

It was Regulus’ turn to be silent. He was trying to decide if he wanted to give you a compliment. If he messed things up, there was a good chance that he would never hear your angelic voice again...and that wasn’t something that he wanted to risk losing.

“Your voice is nice….its soothing.”

“Thank you.”

You replied as Regulus turned back to face you. His face this time was different. He had gone from death eater to the sad puppy that needed love.

“That first night...I was actually considering pitching myself off of that balcony. Hearing you...that was the first time I heard the most beautiful voice. It was like gravity.”

You reached out and gently took your hand in his. Were you overstepping your boundaries with a boy that you knew nothing about and who in turn knew nothing about you? Possibly. Did you care? Not really.

“I’m glad that you didn’t do that. You know, believe it or not, I realize how hard things can be with family. My family isn't normal…”

“Your brother is a werewolf.”

Regulus commented and instantly regretted his choice of words when your face went pale.

“Not that it matters though. It's just who Remus is.”

Regulus quickly added, hoping to save what hope of a friendship that he had with you. You, to his relief, smiled.

“Yes, it is who he is. I feel no guilt in telling you this now. With his condition, I tend to be second in the family. My parents don’t mean to put me on the back burner but it happens. It's hard...so I know now you must feel. How did you figure it out, if you don’t mind me asking. He literally tells no one.”

Regulus shrugged.

“Just put the puzzle pieces together.”

You continued to rub slow circles over Regulus’ palm hoping to relax him further. This was the first time (other than James and Sirius) someone had figured out Remus “furry little problem.”

“You’re really intelligent and perceptive then. If you want...you know...we could do this every evening when you're free. We don’t have to tell anyone that we are meeting up. Sometimes it's nice just to have someone outside of your friend circles.”

Regulus looked up and was clearly surprised.

“You would want to see me again?”

You nodded.

“If you want to see me that is...no pressure.”

Regulus quickly nodded, cutting you off.

“I would love to see you again...maybe around 7 tomorrow?”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_________

@amelie-black @realgaytrash @truly-insatiable @fandomsxxregulus @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @spiderxalmighty @jessyballet @knreidy1 @bennyberry @quuenofblacks @hazncalsgal @criminalyetminimal @whymyparentscheckmyphone @acciosiriusblack @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @summer-novak @hankypranky @stuckinsaudi1 @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @shitfaceddaniel @untoldshortsofthefandoms @deanwherescas @sprnaturallover @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Planetary Assaults

Few people can say that they’ve witnessed the end of their people.

To see the works of countless generations before you, the toils of your ancestors stretching back centuries, the greatest achievements of your people had made wiped away in a few days as if they were nothing but dust in the wind.

I remember the day human ships struck orbit above our world.

I remember the fury of our orbital stations as they sought to hold them at bay as hundreds of their ships exited jump space.

I remember the second sun that shun across our world when the Mobious Prime station’s core went critical and detonated. The debris showering across half a continent and setting the skies ablaze.

But most of all....

I remember the black ships as they came from the heavens.

Our judgement was at hand..........

We thought ourselves superior to every living creature in the galaxy, that none could match our culture and military might. We sought to conquer those we saw as less fortunate and bring them into the light of our empire and raise them above the shallows they had lived in. This went on for centuries until we finally came across humanity.

A backwards people living in the darkest corner of the universe, our fleets of glistening ships entered their system with the chorus of hope and deliverance on our lips. We set down on their lifeless red world and began to recreate it into something beautiful, something to show them our might and strength.

They responded by swatting our ships from their skies and sending them plummeting to the red world below.

War broke out then and the weight of humanity bore down on us from all quarters until now our very home world was besieged.

What few orbital guns we had left fired bright lances of energy into the night sending a dozen or so ships plummeting to their fiery grave. But for every dozen struck down it felt as if another hundred rushed to take their place.

High in orbit their ships targeted our guns and silenced them until all that was left was the army. Their ships landed all across the world and as their doors lowered and slapped against the soil of our world I saw the face of our enemy for the first time.

Clad in polished green armor and a face mask that resembled a demon of old the human soldiers stormed out of their ships and into our gunfire. Countless died as they crossed the terrain to meet us. Once their compliment of soldiers had left the dropships closed their doors once more and rushed back to the skies making way for more and more dropships to take their place.

What unnerved me most about these humans wasn’t their tenacity, nor their vigor to storm into combat; but how none of them made a sound. It may have very well been their helmets dampened all sounds they made but as I fired upon them I watched them tumble and collapse to the ground like a children's toy as the strings have been cut and the ones behind continue over as if their fallen comrade was nothing more than a speed bump.

The human soldiers had been pinned by our fire and were taking horrendous casualties when the heavy duty dropships arrived. Their doors opened wide and instead of soldiers came great mechanical machinations of war. Armored vehicles with weapons so massive they were more like mobile weapons platforms fired and tore apart our defensive works like paper while large slow moving troop transports lumbered across the battlefield. Our mines exploded underneath the monster’s treads but it merely rocked the behemoth as it pressed onward.

When it arrived at our defensive line the front opened up and great gouts of flame shot out and swallowed my comrades whole. As I crawled away I saw a gaping maw open and out came more human soldiers. Their weapons fire was precise and quick as they cleared out the remaining defenses. I managed to escape the nightmare to the cities but even behind their shields I found no refuge.

From miles away the humans cannons roared and their shells smashed into the shields like a heavy rain. The bombardment lasted three hours before the shield fell and then the shelling was upon us now.

Buildings crumbled like they were made of sand, streets lay ruined and crowded with the burnt remains of vehicles and the broken bodies of the dead, and everywhere I turned all I saw was destruction and chaos. I curled up into a ball then I kept my eyes shut. At least then I would not see my end coming.

After what felt like an eternity the shelling ceased and I opened my eyes. What I saw made me believe that I had died and had passed to the world beyond.

The streets were silent, as if the hell it had just endured was a distant memory. A layer of dust coated everything like snow as it continued to fall from the battered towers around me.

From behind me i hear something rustling beyond the dust plums and thought it was another survivor.

Marching through the dust like gods of death came the humans.

A squad of their soldiers slowly marching through the dust, weapons raised, helmets pondering the street back and forth looking for the smallest ounce of a threat to crush without hesitation.

I was on my hands and knees when they came upon me an I looked up at the one in the front. I could not tell what expression the human had under their mask, if they spouted a devilish grin from ear to ear as the leaders had proclaimed or if they really did have five throats from which to eat our children.

All I could see was those red lenses watching me unflinching. The human’s head cocked to the side slightly as they observed me; so did a few of their fellows but most continued to watch the street.

One of them stepped forward, reaching behind their backs for something of what I still do not know to this day but I imagine at night as I look into the darkness of my ceiling that it was a weapon of some sort. A way to finish me off, put me out of my pain.or maybe to exact some measure of revenge.

The one in the front who had been pondering me held out a hand and the other human stopped. No words were spoken and yet with a simple gesture the human had returned to their position.

Tilting their head back to me once more the lead human continued to watch me for a few moments and I felt as if the soldier was pitying me. Without an indication the lead human continued past me without a sound.

Crunch.crunch.crunch.

Out of that entire battle that is the sound I remember the most. The sound of my would be killers footsteps walking by.

crunch.crunch.crunch......

The rest followed behind them, though the one who had been reaching for something lingered behind watching me longer before quick pacing after their comrades.

The humans did more that day then just leave my body broken in the ruins of my world.

They shattered my will and left the broken pieces along the ground as they marched forward. Everything my people had done became nothing but dirt beneath their feet as they marched towards their own future.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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metanoiamorii · 3 years

Text

❛Maybe we are not meant to be, not yet. Maybe we’re stars, waiting to collide in another life.❜

♧ Title: Be Still My Foolish Heart [BSMFH]

♧ Status: Brainstorming & Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Action, Drama, Romance

♧ Warnings: Violence, War, Death of major and minor characters, nudity, past abuse, generational trauma, generational healing, racism, transphobia, homophobia, character corruption arcs, ethics vs morals, star crossed lovers, tragic endings, codependent and complicated relationships.

♧ Featuring: Diverse LGBTQ+ characters, enemies to friends to allies to lovers slowburn, complex and complicated characters, fantasy religions, plenty of symbolism, complex world building, ethics vs morals, a whole lot of moral grey can be fit into this bad boy, character redemption and corruption arcs, some found family, learning to separate one from their family's trouble and taking control of their life, soulmate trope, setting the groundwork for future generations.

♧ Setting: An Ancient Chinese inspired, fantasy setting

♧ Synopsis:

In Oidien there has always been a defined split against the Heavens and Ghost City. No one can remember what sparked the feud between them, it's possible after all these years of the fighting and endless war... they don't even remember themselves. They know it's tradition to keep fighting, to ensure the cycle of violence continues. So that is what they do; they keep fighting.

In recent years, the King of Ghost City has drawn back from the fields off battles and distants himself from politics. He leaves the affairs in his eldest children: Lianhauzi holds the crown, Lutaizi knows his way around the court, Suming’qiu is gifted with the army, and Taixuan is there to ensure everyone takes a break, to take care of her family.

A fight against children is how the Heavens view it... To their surprise, these children are more than gifted than their father. This isn't a game to them, it's a livelihood. They know how to secure a victory within minimum casualties, and they know how to balance one another's weakness.

The Heavens cannot take another loss. No matter how many battles they have lost, they have always managed to win this war. Each time. But on this account? They're afraid to admit they've been beat. So they come to a resolution: they have to take out one of the links. Take out one and the rest should crumble.

It's...

Not as easy as one would imagine. Or so their spies in court relay. The four know to keep their distance in public, and if they meet in private no one knows. They handpick their servants carefully, and they ensure each servant knows their tasks and do not overstep. They've taken every precaution necessary.

Even when it works, when one of their spies is welcomed inside that well guarded, hidden court... no one expects the game of cat and mouse to transpire. Their spy is humored until she's willing to change her allegiance and eventually is brought into the family by marriage... In the very least, she offers the weakest link to exploit to destroy the family.

♧ Tease

Of all I have done,

Forgettable they to none;

Has it now begun?

No, not forgiveness.

That I would never ask for, love.

I wish, regret comes.

You know as I do,

Games I once played, have turned you,

A pretty face blue.

I made no mistake,

You know as I do, the stakes

Required; played.

Once, for you, my rule

To survive, I broke, for you;

That forsaken dual.

My conscious it haunts;

My sleep, in dreams it will taunts

And it brings your scorn.

Pour me a wine glass,

For my sanity to last

And my wrath? To trap.

For me, preform; dance

Distract me with your nice laugh

Until I collapse.

And leave, in silence,

See to it, quiet your lips

Of the truth won't slip.

Allow me my sleep,

Don't be cruel, do not slight, cheat

You ugly she-beast.

A single night, peace,

That is all I ask for, please...

Better, just leave.

I have discovered,

Regret? No, I now confessed

Not for you, coward.

♧ Excerpt:

Her booted feet pattered against the puddles of rain droplets as she hugged the umbrella close to her shoulder, protecting herself from the storm. In a hurry she rounded the corner, following after the image of a soaked cat that had caught her attention and ran before she could approach it properly. It had been the first time in awhile since she had taken to sprinting, to follow the cat. Around the corner Xihuli came, brought to an abrupt halt when she turned into another person, as insane as she was to be out in the midst of a storm.

Her umbrella clattered to the floor, dropped as she staggered back a pace. The bright red silk was out of place, spinning upon the rain soaked ground. She gained her footing, no longer staggering to place distance between them. Her head threw back, an angry look quick to find purchase upon her features. Having yet to reach for her umbrella, the rain begun to soak the bright red and white silks she wore, drenched and sticking to her figure. "Watch—"

Her protests are so abruptly cut off. She watches the man tilt back his own umbrella, dark as the stormy sky with red spider lilies imprinted upon the fabric; the hanging tassels brush against his form, parting to expose his face. A youthful face that should have been smiling, with those eyes— so red to match the spider lilies upon his umbrella— staring at her as if she were a lesser being. The umbrella sits back upon his shoulder, head tilted forward with his chin forward, a sign he was in fact superior to her.

"Don't you know better, Zhuque?" The tone he speaks in, it's unlike that rambunctious voice he's known for, full of laughter that becomes too obnoxious for the ears. How serious it is, no jest spoken, no room for his games. He stares her down, staring through the dangling tassels of his umbrella. And how unkind that look is, a look that's no better than a wolf staring at a lamb. "You should never be out so late."

The two men, another prince and his own dog. Wine and lilac gives him away, wearing the golden lotus crown in his hair. Face unfriendly, a natural scowl he had been born with. He stands beneath the umbrella held above his head, keeping him dry from the rain. Held by that fucking bastard, smug and vain, with the bones acting as hair pins. He's uncaring if he gets wet, of course he is. When he controls the ocean why would he care about a little storm?

Lianhauzi pulls back his hood as he now stands blocking the last exit, Lutaizi and An Huli keeping the woman pinned in. He takes a step forward, Xieyuan moves with him, holding the umbrella in place. When he steps forward they all watch Xihuli push herself back, struggling to press her back into the wall, able to stare in each direction where one was coming from. "The fear in your eyes betray you... You know why we are here."

♧ Characters:

Love Interests

Shenguai Suming’qiu; Heizhao-jun

Amab • Agender • He/Him • Asexual • Reciproromantic

The Fourth Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of Black Sinister Claws. Said to be cursed from birth, as he has come to age and stepped into the politics and warfare, he has come to be their lucky charm. A conniving young man with a sharp intellect, and a shaper wit. For his family, he has taken up the role as master of intelligence and handles all correspondence, planning, and diplomacy. As a front, he appears an apathetic man, detached and void of all emotions, only hellbent on his work; only his siblings and a selected handful are able to see another side of him.

Yi Xianzi; Courtesy Name Ke’ai

Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

The Young Mistress of the Yi Manor is a woman with high and strong morals, and lives to maintain peace for the Heavens, and secure a future for the younger generations. She bears conflicted emotions of supporting her mistress’ less than moral ambition, but often does not speak of them and turns a blind eye instead; she tries to justify these actions for the greater good, despite knowing better. Often at times, she is torn between her loyalty to her household, and her own sense of justice and morality.

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Phantom Paradise

Shenguai Bixie’e; Guiwang

Amab • Nonbinary • He/They • Pansexual • Apothiromantic

The King of Ghost City. Despite years and generations of war with the Heavens, he remains undefeated and stays alive. Defying the odds, many believe he is unkillable, and quite well, untouchable. He has retired, for the most part, from the battlefield, and remains within the Phantom Palace, allowing his children to helm the war. He spends his time with his concubines, or with his council. Few see his face, fewer are able to gain an audience with him.

Shenguai Lutaizi; Heige-jun

Transmasc • Genderfluid • He/They • Omnisexual • Demi-Homoromantic

The unorthodox First Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Lord of the Black Song. First in line to the throne, he has conceded his right to it, and would concede his own royalty if not for his siblings. Despite being a Prince of Ghost City, he is nothing like his father. Carefree and reckless, he would prefer to spend his days drinking, goofing off, and living life to the fullest, uncaring of a familia grudge that makes little sense to him.

Shenguai Taixuan; Duandaojian-jun

Transfem • Nonbinary • She/They • Demisexual • Panromantic

The Second Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Princess With A Broken Blade. She takes greatly after her elder brother, and refuses to partake in a war that has not personally done her wrong. Despite her heritage, she is a woman with a strong sense of justice, morals, and honour. She protects her family from harm, and she will not turn away someone in need, no matter their origins. Opposed to being a sister and a daughter in her family, she fills the role of mother and acts as the woman of the household.

Shenguai Lianhauzi; Baoli’jífeng-jun

Amab • Agender • He/They • Asexual • Akioromantic

The Third Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Violent Tempest. Pressed by his elder siblings, he has taken up as their father’s heir to the throne; the Crowned Prince. He is known for his bad temper and strict nature. At heart, he has good intentions, he lacks the best judgement to execute his intentions.

Shenguai Kuangre Ai Du De; Dubo'mogui-jun

Amab • Genderfluid • They/He/She • Pansexual • Cupioromantic

The Sixth Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the title of the Gambling Demon. He is a man unaffected by grudges, politics, responsibilities. He prefers to take a page from his brother, Lutaizi’s, book and spend his time enjoying life to its fullest. He is very much a hedonist, and a compulsive gambler. Everyone he meets, he is obligated to gamble with them, at least once. The catch? He’s capricious, he’s erratic, and he will always change the game and stakes with every person.

Shenguai Jiaxiu; Mei-jun

Amab • Genderfluid • He/She/They • Pansexual • Frayromantic

The Seventh Master of the Phantom Palace; that has earned the name of the Beauty Lord. Arrogant and narcissistic, he is a very conceited man. He enjoys simple flattery and having others fawn over him, being the center of attention. Out of admiration he has taken after his brother, Suming’qiu’s, footsteps and assists him with his tasks. Himself, he carries out the more… darker duties called for, and gathering information; assassinations and spying tends to be his expertise.

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The Four Calamities

An Huli; Chui Feihong

Transfem • Agender • She/They • Homosexual • Homoromantic

Little Fox, as she’s called, is the favored of Prince Lutaizi, and the oldest of the Great Calamities. She is a woman who knows what she desires, what she is determined to do, and she refuses to allow anything or anyone to stand in her way. She comes off to be blunt, spiteful, angry; a she-devil, some claim in kinder terms than a bitch. Ahead of her time, she refuses to hide herself behind a mask, to be perceived as a gentle woman when, in truth, she is a walking storm, and for that, many frown upon her.

He Ruxie; Hei Xieyuan

Amab • Agender • He/They • Demisexual • Gyneromantic

Lord Black Water, as he is called, is the favored of Prince Lianhauzi, and the second of the Great Calamities. Formally a scholar in his past life, he experienced a string of bad luck, costing him his family, his wife, his daughter, his livelihood, his freedom, and soon his sanity. When he perished in his mortal life, he returned as a malicious spirit, and soon came into the service of the Shenguai family and serves loyally and viciously

Da Chen; Nitu Guiguai

Transfem • Nonbinary • They/She • Asexual • Demiromantic

The Enlighted One, as they are called, are the favored of Princess Taixuan, and is the third of the Great Calamities. In their previous life, they lived the life of an honest priest, surrounded by corruption and sin. When they met their end, their resentment for their peers remained and thus they rose to power to root out the corruption and seek retribution. Of the four, they are the amicable. They often forgo emotions and act only in rationality. Their mind is never clouded, and each act they make are in good conscious. Good will is shown to those that live an honest life, no matter their origins; ruin is shown to those are decide to live a dishonest life.

Wusi Linghun; Bai Wulian

Closeted Transmasc • Agender • He/They • Akiosexual • Demi-Akioromantic

The White Devil, as he is called, is the favored of Prince Suming’qiu, and the youngest of the Great Calamities. Formally a young lord in the Heavens, he turned his back on a betrothed he held no affection for. Openly, he cast aside his previous life, to serve the Shenguai family, and became a quick aid to the Fourth Prince. He is said to be two-faced, in some encounters being ruthless and apathetic, and other times he is genuine and compassionate; a toss up upon which side someone will see when their paths cross with him.

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The Heavenly Host

Meng Zhang; Courtesy Name Amnizha

Transfem • She/Her • Demisexual • Demiromantic

The First Master of Dongbu, and the acting Qinglong. Kindness is the one rule she lives by: kindness to her family, kindness to her allies, kindness to a stranger, kindness to her foes. She sees no reason to rule with fear and hatred, and actively will not promote negative emotions. She is a stern and serious woman, she takes pride in her knowledge, her power, and securing the truth. Behind closed doors, she opposes Xihuli and the Emperor, knowing both have secrets they would prefer to keep buried, in public she maintains an appearance of being a close ally.

Ling Guang; Courtesy Name Xihuli

Cis-female • She/Her • Demisexual • Apothiromantic

The First Master of Nanfang, and the acting Zhuque. Openly, she is perceived as a compassionate woman, who puts the needs of her people before herself, and acts selfless; in truth, she is surprisingly violent and vulgar. She continues to fuel the war, slandering and starting rumors of false deeds to rile the public, and gain the support of her supposed allies. There is nothing she is not willing to do to gain fame, support, and what she desires.

Jian Bing; Courtesy Name Cixia

Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Asexual • Demiromantic

The First Master of Xibian, and the acting Baihu. She is known for being a compassionate woman, she wears her heart upon her sleeves, and acts out of the goodness of her heart. She openly encourages peace, to cease endless war and bloodshed; to make amends. For which, she is seen as an enemy to Xihuli, but is a close friend to Amnizha. Her only downfall are her chronic illnesses that have left her sickly since birth.

Zhi Ming; Courtesy Name Lu'yongshi

Amab • Agender • He/They • Closeted Homosexual • Homoromantic

The First Master of Beifang, and the acting Xuanxu. He has a reputation that precedes him as an honorable gentleman. He is a man of his word, he acts in accordance to justice and honor, and rarely strays from it. At heart, he is a warrior, and lacks the delicacies for social greetings; he comes off as blunt, uninterested, distant, and often lacking a heart to care.

Zhi Shi; Courtesy Name Yansbi

Cis-female • She/Her • Asexual • Aromantic

The younger sister of Lu'yongshi, the Second Master of Beifang, and acting Xuanshe. She happens to be her brother’s polar opposite. She is less than honest, she lacks honour, she craves power, she will use blackmail to get what she desires. As, she is not above blackmailing and guilting her own brother to act in accordance to her own agenda. She is also a close associate to Xihuli.

Long Jianhong; Courtesy Name Canren

Cis-male • He/Him • Bisexual • Apothiromantic

The current Emperor of Zhongxin, and the acting Honglong. A prideful man that cares more of his own person than his own people. Often, he turns a blind eye to all suffering, and allows Xihuli to do as she pleases. He is a womanizer, with various concubines’ , and elicit affairs with others. He was loveless to his wife, as there are rumors he was behind her untimely death. Whether these rumors are true or not are unproven, and few challenge them out of fear.

Long Shisan; Courtesy Name Li Busengren

Amab • Genderfluid • He/She • Quoisexual • Quioromantic

The Fourteenth Prince of Zhongxin. With twelve siblings in line of succession to the throne, Li Busengren acknowledges the chances for him to be the heir are little to none; this is added by the factor of being, from birth, his father’s least favorite child. With a will to prove his father wrong, and desperate for his father’s approval, he’s ready to do anything for an ounce of recognition.

Taglist

BSMFH: @writings-of-a-narwhal, @kittensartswriting, @inkflight, @qelizhus,

General: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @alexwritesfiction, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

Both: @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-writes, @hazard-writes, @egg-shark

#My writing #Wip intro #Wip introduction #Writeblr #Writeblr community #Writing community #Writers on tumblr #Writers of tumblr #Fantasy #Star crossed lovers #Original writing #Fantasy writer #Morri's collection #Morri's wips #Did Morri really say instead of being productive with new content they would just make a re-intro to this wip?#Yes yes Morri did #Original works #Original story #in the midst of chaos there is queue

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 3 years

Text

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 2: The Confession (Chapter 1 here)

Ichabod couldn't move, couldn't take his eyes off of the mirage before him, could barely breathe. How could she be standing here, days after she'd disintegrated into that confounded box that'd then combusted into nothing, looking none the worse for wear? Looking as gorgeous as the day he'd met her. Looking as real as the heartache clawing at his insides felt.

It had to be some monster's trick, a devil's devious ploy to destroy him. He raised his arm, his forefinger pointing to the sky. "Who are you?" he managed to demand harshly, though he felt none of the power the words conveyed. The creases of her smile deepened, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling at his confusion indulgently. "Crane." He longed to close his eyes and revel in her presence, let her voice wash over him and sluice the grief away, soothe the hurt in his heart like a healing balm. She hadn't answered his question, instead speaking his name as a statement, and he nearly gave in to his desire to accept this fake as the genuine article. He opened his mouth to speak, but she began before he could formulate any words. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions....and I'll do my best to answer them. I can't imagine what the past few days have been like for you," she lamented, her voice and expression dripping with sympathy. "And before you ask, it's really me." He squinted his eyes at her, doubtful and hesitant and simultaneously so damn afraid and desperate to believe her. "Prove it," he challenged. One side of her mouth quirked up as if she expected nothing less from him, and she held her fist out towards him. He eyed her hand skeptically, unable to reach out and touch her, even with a simple fist bump, until he knew for sure it was her. She waited a handful of seconds, but when he didn't reciprocate, she slowly dropped her hand. "I know this can't be easy. I know it doesn't make sense, not yet. I can't quite believe it myself. But it's me," she entreated him to believe her. "Prove it," he repeated, more heatedly this time. She thought for a moment, the intense look on her face willing him to trust her. "We were in Pandora’s lair, and the last thing I said to you was to never give up. The last thing I heard from you was...you calling my name." He nodded, the moment indelibly imprinted in his memory, a cursed experience his eidetic mind had relived a thousand times already in the past few days. "Before that, we sailed to the entrance to the catacombs. Found Betsy Ross in the hidden chamber inside the temple just before the essence of Pandora's box wrapped its ugly black tentacles around me. You carried me out, had..." she paused momentarily before continuing, "words with Betsy, and then she left. We followed not long after." The more she spoke the harder his heart beat against his ribs, the more heat flooded his body, returning warmth to him and the empty house he'd inhabited for over three days. "Abbie...?" he dared to believe. She smiled fully at him, and his heart broke itself back into place. "Oh, Abbie," he breathed in a broken whisper of relief, and she easily launched herself towards him as he moved to embrace her.

They covered the several feet between them in a single heartbeat, and he snaked his arms around her, holding her fast, his knees nearly giving out at the feel of her alive, warm, breathing, the smell of her fragrant and clean, her arms cinched around him, a welcoming comfort he'd expected never to experience again. "Abbie," he murmured again, nearly gasping out her name on a heaving cry, his eyes dropping closed. He knew it bordered on inappropriate to hold her so long, but he couldn't make himself let go for fear she'd fade away before his eyes again. He cupped her head, holding her against him, though by how tightly she held him she had no intention of letting him go either. He breathed her in, grateful for and reveling in every movement she made, inhaling, exhaling, her body pressed against him, her presence more powerful than any drug. Reining his emotions in, he slowly released her from his embrace, gripping her shoulders and peering at her like a vision from heaven. She still smiled gently at him, not overwhelmed or fearful of his desperation in the slightest. "Abbie, how...? It's been three and a half days. How are you here?" he marveled. "Miss Jenny and I searched for a way... Miss Jenny," he interrupted himself. "We must tell her! She needs to know." He patted his pockets searching for his phone but stopped when she pointed to it lying on the coffee table. He grabbed it up and scrolled through his recent calls. "Don't tell her over the phone; it’d be too cruel. Please, just ask her to come here. I want to tell her, show her in person." He nodded, sure Miss Jenny would think him drunk again anyhow if he told her Abbie had walked through the door and hugged him. He clicked on her name and stared at Abbie as the phone rang, unable to let her out of his sight for even a moment. Voicemail picked up after a handful of rings. "Miss Jenny, it's me, Ichabod. Please come by the house as soon as you're available. There's... something we must discuss. It's of the utmost importance, and I beg of you not to delay. I eagerly await your visit. Respectfully, Ichabod Crane." Abbie nearly smirked at him, and he wanted to query her about it, but he refrained, needing so much more than her wit and banter about his entirely too prim and proper voicemails. Without thinking, he sank to his seat, still staring at her in awe. "How is this possible?" "I don't exactly know," she admitted, moving the box of tissues from the couch to the coffee table, dropping to the cushion and angling towards him. "I emerged from the lake, much like I did—like we did—when we returned from the Catacombs. It's just down the way from the river cave where you were buried. All I can figure is that that body of water or that acreage of land is somehow linked to...whatever realms exist beyond." His brow furrowed in consternation, and she continued. "Anyway, I came out of the water a bit ago, without memory of where I've been or what happened after I felt myself slipping into the box. But I had this..." She fluttered her hand in a circle, trying to find the right word. "...this knowledge, like it'd been downloaded into my brain." "What knowledge?" he questioned warily. "You said it's been three and a half days?" He nodded, wondering what this count of 84 hours and—he looked at the clock—34 minutes had anything to do with anything other than being the exact count, nearly down to the minute, of how long he'd suffered in anguish without her. Her smile surprised him, and he waited, quite impatiently, for the punch line. "We've called ourselves Witnesses. Others, our enemies, have called us Witnesses. But we've never paid attention to the passage from Revelation that speaks of us. I woke up with this knowledge, this…unmarred understanding of our role, our destiny. And not even Pandora, her box, the Hidden One, or death can thwart that. As eternal souls, we’ve been given power against the antagonistic forces of evil. And this job of making things right, of justification, is never brought about by a single witness. There's always got to be two.”

He stared intently at her, in awe of both her and the information she relayed. Indeed, they’d never read much from the Scriptures about their role, instead merely settled in to their roles as warriors. This knowledge she now had seemed to grant her a lighter countenance, a more secure understanding of their place in this world. And it’d brought her back to him. He waited for her to continue. "See, Revelation chapter 11 describes the death of the two witnesses only after the testimony—our role to fight against evil—is done. We're only to die at the end of all trials, after all of the tribulation. And we're only to die together." "But you did die...didn't you?" "I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, visibly confounded. “All I know is Pandora, while she may have held more power than anyone we'd ever faced before, is no match for the biblical prophecy. You said it yourself once: the Bible foretells two witnesses. You and I must remain together if there is any hope of victory." He hung on to every word, trying to comprehend all she detailed, not to mention her presence here once again. "You’re saying...we're invincible?" "No, not as I understand it. We've been endowed with... fortitude and strength to fight these battles, the demons, the witches, the monsters, the ungodly. We can still die. And will. But not until our appointed time, and no one other than big-G God determines that. And even then, it's only for three and a half days." "Three and a half days," he muttered, the wheels in his brain trying to keep up with her revelation of their part in the cosmic war they fought. 84 hours. All this time he'd been calculating not how long she'd been gone but how long before she'd return. The notion filled him with a heavy dose of incredulity, and not a little fear.

Something tickled his brain, a conversation from long ago, and his fingers twitched as his tired mind drew up the memory. “Not long after we met, you told me about your encounter in the woods. You said you’d been missing for four days.”

“Four days,” she repeated quietly as her eyes went wide. “Closer to three and a half, if we’re being specific.”

“And Miss Jenny was spared too. Perhaps because of her relation to you. Or her proximity at the time.”

Eyebrows raised with uncertainty, Abbie nodded.

“You’re right,” he claimed in surprise. “Moloch couldn’t defeat you then, and Pandora and her hellish box couldn’t conquer you now. Three and a half days, and you’re revived.”

“Just as the prophecy says: we’re given power, able to overcome our enemies. And at the end…‘But after three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet,' Revelation 11:11," she quoted. "That's why you're here," he marveled. "The prophecy isn't complete, and He...He sent you back." She nodded resolutely. "We still have work to do." He couldn't respond, trying to take in all that she'd relayed, the weight of their destiny, the fact that she sat before him in perfect form, speaking to him of their future after he'd mourned the unspeakable loss of her for over three days. His heart's undulation from sorrow and despair to relief, wonder, awe, and astonishment left him reeling and emotionally spent, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. "Crane?" The concern in her voice made his heart ache anew, and her hands settled on him like cool silk, one gripping his arm, the other clasping his fist.

God's wounds, how he'd missed her! Missed her quirks and foibles, her goodness and passion, her fierce spirit, persistence, and kindness. Her contagious laugh and beautiful smile, expressive brown eyes and teasing nature, the way she explained things when he felt confused and teased him when he became too academic. How she cared about people, held herself to the highest degree of integrity, defended him against any naysayers, made him feel valued in this time he was only beginning to truly settle in to. He missed hearing her putter around the house after he'd gone to bed, playing chess with her, discussing and solving cases with her, listening to her sharp mind delve into fine details, her surprises of confections or ethnic foods he'd never had the joy of experiencing before. Missed seeing her first thing in the mornings, bleary-eyed and coffee-deficient, bedhead hair wild and sexy, so excruciatingly adorable sometimes she stole the breath right out of his lungs. Missed the sound of her voice, her big brown-eyed stare, her petite frame next to him, how she'd always protected his back. Missed her flirtations and irritabilities, her soft touches and fierce hugs. Missed every single detail about her, flaws, favors, and features all. "Crane..." "Yes, I...I merely need a moment," he nearly begged. She started to pull her hands away, but he grasped them, gently but firmly. "Please," he murmured so softly he barely heard his own voice. "Don't go." She squeezed his hand in response, trying to comfort him, and the silence of the room filled with the knowledge of her presence. "I'm sorry. Crane, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice full of sympathy. "You shouldn't be. You quite literally saved the world, Lieutenant." She turned her hands over in his until their palms met, and she clasped at him. "I mean... I'm sorry for the loss that you and Jenny have endured the last few days. Losing Joe and then...."

"And then you," he finished for her when she'd gone silent. "It must feel like whiplash, having me here." She almost sounded regretful, though he knew she merely sympathized with their suffering. He stared at her intensely. "Yes," he admitted honestly. "But I wouldn't trade you for a hundred battalions of soldiers to fight this war with me." A shy, appreciative smile eased over her face, and she looked down at their joined hands. His eyes followed, and he stared at the ying and yang of them, her hands so small and dark in contrast to his large, pale ones. Complete opposites in nearly every way, and perfectly complimentary because of it. The memories of all the things he'd wanted to say floated through his mind, the reasons he'd spent days mentally flagellating himself, how he thought he'd never have the chance to make up for all the times he'd swallowed down his affection for her, of the words of all those who'd seen that he loved her before he'd faced the realization, and too late it'd seemed.

Master Corbin knowingly prompting him to ‘talk to her.’ Miss Corinth blatantly denying his words. “I think you are ready for someone. I just don’t think it’s me.”

Master Mills’ words upon their first meeting. “Take good care of my daughter.” Betsy had spent less than an hour in their presence. "Only one truth matters: your heart belongs to Abigail Mills," she’d declared. “You love her, don’t you?” Pandora had stated. “She is your hope, your everything. I took her from you.” His mind flashed in picture-perfect fashion to his desperation for her, his need to rescue her from Purgatory and the utter desolation he'd felt at having left her there; the absolute despair that'd come over him when she'd become lost in the Catacombs, the numbness he'd forced upon himself to secret his emotions away in order to focus on finding her. The way he'd fluttered around her when she'd returned, ensuring she ate, making her laugh, keeping her company, wooing her with full candlelit dinners and rousing late-night games of chess. He had so much to make up for—he’d caused her such pain over the years when he'd only ever wanted her safe and cared for. He needed to tell her—now—what she'd come to mean to him. He watched his thumbs rub over her soft skin, the feel of her warm hands pouring liquid heat back into his frozen veins. "Having you back, I cannot begin to express my elation." He lifted his eyes to hers. "But I shall try." She lifted her eyebrows in innocent wonder. "Abbie, when I awoke in that cave four years nigh, I never could have comprehended this world and what my life would become. I felt lost. Defeated, and alone. And then you walked into the room. Despite our initial and mutual misgivings regarding one another, your compassion and integrity drove you. Your tenacity for the truth and your strength of character made me believe I could trust you. And I've never stopped. I know I've done things that've hurt you, things I regret and I'd go back to erase if I held that power. Please," he asked sincerely when she started shaking her head against his words. "Please, hear me out.” She nodded once, and he took a fortifying breath before continuing.

“So much of our time together has been me chasing an old life, one that’d become lost to me before I ever even crawled out of the ground. I tried to cleave to it…” He balled his hand tightly into a fist. “And the harder I held on, the further it slipped away from me.” He slowly opened his fist. “And through it all, there you were. You helped keep me grounded as everything I’d ever known and relied upon disintegrated. You spent more time trying to fix…the Crane family problems than you did grieving all you’d lost because I appeared in your life. And never did you complain. You’ve been the epitome of kindness, patience, virtue, and strength. And it’s more than I deserve.”

He threw a finger up in the air to halt her protests. “I’ve made some grave mistakes, the greatest of these being... You’ll have to forgive me. In my day we weren’t quite so free with our sentiments. We were more…”

“Puritan?” she offered.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Indeed. Though I am striving to become a 21st century gentleman.” His expression turned serious again. “I’ve missed you gravely these past few days, Abbie. You’ve come to mean so much to me over the years, and when I thought you were gone before I ever took the chance to tell you how much I care, I…”

His trailed off, staring into her wide, trusting eyes. His heart beat wildly at this step he was about to take. He swallowed hard and plunged forward, her expectant look filling him with hope.

“You have been the greatest surprise and the most valuable treasure of my life. I love you, Abbie. I have for longer than what’s appropriate and more and more so every day. And I regretted it profoundly when I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you so. I love you. And there’s nothing in this world I desire less than to be without you. I want you with me always. That is...if you..." His words faded away, uncertainty replacing his resolve. She could reject him—dear God, he hoped not, but she could—and still he wouldn't regret letting her know she was loved. Not after the abject self-loathing of the past few days. In one smooth move, she tucked her legs beneath her, kneeling next to him on the couch, sitting back on her haunches. She reached for him then, one hand lacing through his hair and resting at his neck, the fingertips of the other settling against his scruffy jaw. She gazed at him from eye-level, tears flooding her eyes but not falling. He didn't know what they meant, but she'd moved so close, invaded his space in a way she'd never dared to before. He could only peer at her helplessly, not comprehending how he'd arrived at this moment after losing her. How her warm hands could be touching him, her ears hearing the words he thought he'd choke on for the rest of his lonely life, her eyes staring into his soul like the sun blazing onto the frozen tundra. She mesmerized him, his mind simultaneously reeling from and numbed by her presence. The trauma of the past few days and lack of sleep had him spent; he had nothing left to give at this moment and everything to lose. "Ichabod." She breathed his name, and his heart clenched in his chest, recalling the only other time she'd done so. Then, too, she'd left him speechless, though he should've spoken up; he couldn't now even if he wanted to. Her knees pressed against his thigh, and he felt the soft puffs of her exhales ghosting over his skin. Her fingers absently teased along his neck, and he felt tingles race down his body. It'd been so long since anyone had touched him so intimately, caused such sensations to course through him, and he stayed frozen in place, nearly overcome by sensory overload. He watched her, helpless, wondering what came next. Her eyes, filled with desire, flicked between his gaze and his mouth as she inched towards him. Strewth, he must be dreaming! Passed out on the couch after drinking heavily to try to numb the pain and grief. Hell of a job he'd done too, to conjure such a perfectly sensual fantasy. He let her close the distance between them, unable to think straight, unable to move, but prepared for the feel of her lips, the taste of her kiss, the heat from her flowing into his frozen limbs. Her expression, so soft and vulnerable, made his heart ache fiercely, the cavern inside his chest closing with each inch she moved closer. All he could do was watch her. Time had slowed, frozen just like he had, as if the heavens had pressed a pause button, and his blood pounded loudly in his ears. Then, without warning, it seemed to scramble forward, and he watched as her eyes dropped close. His did the same as her lips pressed against his. He was not prepared. Whether the torrential cocktail of the past days' emotions or the reality that his fantasy had come true deserved blame, he couldn't say, but he sat completely at her mercy. She moved slow, patiently, her kiss soft, tantalizing, hot, and he moaned out a soft breath in disbelief and wonder. She started to ease away from him, but he chased her lips, not ready to wake from this searing dream, and she easily fell into him, her arms looping around his neck as she pressed herself against him. He came alive then, blossoming under the scorch of her ministrations, and he turned towards her, one hand cupping her head gently, the other roaming her back, pulling her more urgently against him. "Abbie," he murmured heatedly against her lips, but she silenced him easily, her tongue teasing his, her mouth drawing another moan from him, even as she matched it with her own. She moved to straddle him, and he helped her, his hands steadying her hips as she slid one leg over his lap. His large hands nearly spanned her small waist, and he moved them over her petite frame, from her lower back to the curve of her...buns (that word didn't seem so offensive at the moment), up the line of her spine to her shoulders, then down again to her hips and up her sides until he felt her rib cage beneath his hands, his thumbs just below her breasts. He wanted so much more, but even as she allowed—encouraged—his handsy exploration of her and continued doing marvelous things with her mouth and tongue, his mind screamed at him to cease, the impropriety of their situation a haunting specter he couldn't shake. Before he could muster up the willpower to pause their fervor, his phone both vibrated and rang, and he reluctantly, regretfully eased away from her. He touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, self-conscious about his shortness of breath—though he immediately noted that Abbie suffered from the same affliction. His phone continued warbling loudly and sputtering across the coffee table, infernal thing it was, fraying his sensitive nerves. Clearing her throat, Abbie slid off of his lap and grabbed for the phone. He watched her, cheeks tinged pink, lips rosy from his kisses, contented look on her face, and wanted to pull her right back to the place she'd vacated. Instead, she glanced at the phone, then held it out to him. "It's Jenny," she intoned softly. He nodded, still not entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming, drunk or not, and took the phone from her. He swallowed hard before answering with a meek hello. "Crane, are you alright? I got your message." He peered at the petite woman in front of him, overwhelmed and grateful, exhausted and thrilled beyond reason she hadn't disappeared like a desert mirage, and wanted to weep at the realization that she was real. She stared back at him as if he'd hung the moon, eyes dilated, corners of her mouth upturned in a perpetually pleased smirk. His heart nearly gave out knowing he was the cause of such a wondrous look. "I am...alive." Miss Jenny wouldn't understand his dual meaning. Yes, his heart still beat, but more than that his body zinged with fervor, full of passion and longing, his lips hot from Abbie's kiss, his mind reeling with all the possibilities that lay before them. "Stay that way. Be there in five." And she hung up. Ichabod cupped the phone in both hands, drumming his fingertips on its back, trying to think of something to say, something to do that wouldn't find them back in a compromising position, especially with Miss Jenny on her way. He began twirling the phone in the palm of one hand, the fingertips of the other tapping out a beat against his knee. "Would you like to sit back down?" Abbie's eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk on her face, and he realized the unintended innuendo in his words. "Oh no, not... Of course, I didn't mean to imply... I meant..." His hand fluttered in a circle in the air, his tongue tripping over his words. God's wounds, he felt depleted. He needed sleep. But not just sleep. Rest. Still, he couldn't help thinking if he fell asleep he'd wake up to find this was an exquisite dream he'd never get back.

Focus, you imbecile. "I just thought you might want to sit a spell," he managed to explain, his hand indicating the other end of the couch, the large comfy chair. "Miss Jenny will be here soon and..." And he didn't know what. He could barely keep his thoughts in order after the past 20 minutes, let alone the past three and a half days. The look on Abbie's face turned to concern. "Jenny's not going to take this well," she surmised, beginning to pace. “Not at first.” He'd laid his heart out, spilled the words he'd thought would plague him to eternity, played all of his cards. And while she'd seared him with her passion, she was already moving on, unaffected. His heart sank, broken all over again for different reasons. What came next for them? For him? How could she feel so indifferent after branding his lips with hers? "We don't have nearly enough time for me to say all the things I want to say to you before she arrives."

He hadn't realized until this how many ways a heart could be devastated. Hearing her now... Wait, had she just...? He watched her pace in frustration for a moment, her words sinking in to his daft, sleep-deprived brain. His heart, lying in the pit of his stomach, fluttered to life, making him queasy and anxious to hear what came next.

"Abbie...?"

She stopped moving and faced him, the coffee table standing between them. Her hair, full around her face, sat perfectly, her wondrously pouty and kissable lips called to him, her eyes filled with compassion and—dare he think it?—love. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

"There's so much more I want to tell you, so many things we have to talk about." Her eyes pleaded with him. "This isn't over, Crane. Promise me this isn't over."

The desperation in her tone simultaneously ignited concern and anticipation. "It's not over, Lieutenant. It's only just beginning," he promised fervently, resolutely.

She opened her mouth to respond but was silenced by an urgent knock at the door.

Jenny had arrived.

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 3 years

Text

THE BASTERDS’S ANGELS

Somewhere in a safe place in the French countryside, a group of armed men prepared themselves for the mission they were sent for: killing Nazis and sending fear through the ranks of the Wehrmacht based in France.

And until now, they managed to accomplish their work, as the German soldiers only knew them as The Basterds.

Led by Lieutenant Aldo Raine, those volunteers took pleasure in killing and terrifying their foes, as many of the Basterds were Jewish.

Looking at his men, Aldo smirked: he could not wait to hunt down new Nazis.

"I know that look. Looking for new scalps, darling?"

Smiling, he turned and saw the woman he cherished the most.

"You know me too well, honey."

"That's why we're husband and wife!"

"Ya damn right, Winona."

The woman named Winona was, indeed, Aldo's wife. Born in the Cherokee tribe, this woman was the embodiment of the Native American female warrior: athletic, wise, loyal, and brave.

Moreover, she was the only woman in this group. Some people would think that a woman had nothing to do in the U.S. Army.

But quoteth Donny, "She kills more nazis in one day than I kill in three days."

The Cherokee woman has already won the respect of her peers since the first day in France. Besides, she gained a gruesome reputation among the Nazis based in France. They called her "The Cherokee Amazon."

The Apache and the Cherokee: a match made in heaven who took their enemies in hell...

Aldo put his arm around her shoulders:

"Can ya believe it, honey? You and I, in France, killing fascists... How pleasant it is!"

"I agree."

"It's like our honeymoon!"

Winona laughed at this statement.

"Well, a very blood-thirsty honeymoon. But honestly, I would never imagine killing Nazis without you, Aldo!"

"Aw, sweetie! Ya know how to talk to me!" he grinned before kissing her.

A sweet moment interrupted by the booming voice of Donny Donowitz, aka "The Bear Jew."

"Aw, look at those lovebirds!"

"Damn ya, Donny! I was enjoying this moment!"

"We have noticed!" smirked Wicki.

Raine rolled his eyes but smirked. His men are the best among the best, especially when it comes to killing Nazis.

They all came from different backgrounds, had various faiths, but for sure, they were more than ready to wipe out the Third Reich.

Of course, among his men, there was Donny Donowitz, a sturdy chap from Boston and the other leader of the group. This man gained the nickname of "Bear Jew" after he bashed the skull of dozens of Nazis with his prized baseball bat.

Then, you have Wilhelm Wicki, who fled his native Austria after the Anchlüss. Probably one of the oldest members of this group, his remarkable marksmanship made him a feared sniper.

Sitting next to Wicki was Hugo Stiglitz, a former German soldier. He hated the regime to the core, and he managed to kill 13 Gestapo officers. The Basterds get him out of his jail, and now, Hugo became one of them. More silent than some of his teammates, he easily scared people around him.

Near them, a young man was quietly reading a book, enjoying this peaceful moment. This young man was Smithson Utivich, another Jewish-American soldier. Like his friends, he enrolled in this group to save the remaining European Jews from Nazism's clutches. Even if he was not the most impressive, he excelled at killing Nazis.

The one next to Utivich, who was taking a small rest, was Omar Ulmer, his best friend. A remarkable soldier, Private Ulmer often works along with Smithson and Donny during his missions. Fast and efficient, the Nazis did not stand a chance against him.

Not far from Omar, his friend Gerold Hirschberg was laughing with his comrades. Hirschberg was considered a loyal and cheerful friend by his fellow Basterds. However, his hot-tempered character made him the official trouble seeker of the group, as he often found himself in danger.

The other man talking with Hirshcberg was named Michael Zimmermann. He has the two roles of driver and explosives expert. The Germans muttered that he was a crazy man who escaped from an asylum. But the truth was that Michael only became mad when he saw a swastika. But for the Basterds, he was a pleasant companion and a joyful friend.

Sitting at his right, his best friend named Simon Sakowitz was tidying his medical stuff. Before the war, he was a brilliant medicine student, but he decided to put his studies on hiatus to enroll in the army. Simon was a skilled and efficient doctor in his group and also an appreciated friend.

Smoking a cigarette, Andy Kagan smirked while looking at his teammates. The young Mister Kagan came from a wealthy family and started a promising acting career in Hollywood until he decided to rescue his people in Europe. He was the spy of the group, a master of manipulation and charm.

Leaning against a tree, Archie Hicox looked at his allies with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. This British officer was the last addition to the group. In the beginning, the MI5 spy did not get along with the Basterds, as he saw them as a bunch of crazy rednecks while the others considered him as a snobbish man. But the more they worked together, the most they trusted each other, and mutual respect started to settle between them.

All those men were here in France for one reason: killing Nazis.

Something they excelled, as they did earlier, as they exterminated an entire patrol an hour ago.

Now, they enjoyed a moment of calm to relax before reaching another town.

Suddenly, Aldo gently stroke Winona's cheek and said:

"Get ready, my lady. We're gonna move!"

"At your orders, Mr. Raine!" smirked the woman as she started to pick up her belongings.

Smiling, the Lieutenant turned to his men and exclaimed:

"Get up, boys! We move!"

"Uh? What? What's going? Are we attacked?" asked Omar, startled.

"Nah, Omar. The Lieutenant just said we're moving. Get up now!" explained Donny.

"Where are we going?" asked Simon.

"Probably somewhere near Fontainebleau. At least, we have to get closer to Paris," replied Utivich.

"Exactly, Smitty! I hope I will have time to pay my debt off once we got there!" sighed Zimmermann as he finished packing up his stuff.

As he picked his backpack, Hirschberg noticed Hugo, who trimmed his knife in his bag. Smirking, the young Basterd came nearer to his comrade. A little game that Andy and Wicki had noticed.

"Oh my Lord! Here we go again! Will Hirschberg never learn his lessons?" sighed the Austrian.

"I wonder how it will end this time: will Hirschberg have a kicked butt or a broken nose?" smirked the American.

Meanwhile, Gerold was close to Hugo and said with an authoritative tone:

"C'mon, Stiglitz! Hurry up! We have to go!"

The German deserter turned and glared at his teammate:

"Lass mich in Ruhe, Hirschberg." (Leave me alone, Hirschberg).

"Why do I fear the worst?" sighed Simon as he pinched the bridge of the nose.

He counted how many times he healed the bruises on Hirschberg after the latter tried to pick up on someone stronger than him.

At the same time, Hirschberg teased Hugo while the latter tried to contain his anger. But his patience was running thin...

"Ich werde es dir nicht zwei mal sagen." (I won't tell you twice).

"Aw, come on! Don't look at me like that! I am trying to tell you that you're a bit slow!"

"Stop that, Gerold! You're going to regret it!" smirked Andy.

Indeed, Hugo was pissed off by Gerold. Fuming, he took his knife and put it on Hirschberg's throat.

"Leave me alone. Now!" growled the German man.

Gulping, the young Basterd raised his hands in defeat.

"O-OK, Stiglitz. I stop. Can you lower your knife, please?"

Growling, Hugo put his knife back in his vest while Gerold ran away.

"We told you that you're going to have trouble, Geri!" snickered Michael.

As for Wicki, he turned to Hugo and asked:

"War es notwendig, Hirschberg einen Schrecken einzujagen, Hugo?" (Was it necessary to scare Hirschberg, Hugo?)

"Er ist eine Nervensäge." (He is a pain in the ass.) snarled Hugo as he walked towards Donny and Omar.

Wilhelm rolled his eyes and muttered:

"Ich schwöre bei Gott, die würden mich wahnsinnig machen!" (I swear to God, they would drive me crazy!)

"C'MON, BOYS! WE HAVE A LONG ROAD!" yelled Aldo as he led the march along with Winona.

Soon, all the commando started their long road across the French countryside. Unbeknownst to them, they were about to make an encounter that would change their lives for a long time...

Meanwhile, Maddie and Ada wandered through the forest, looking for shelter.

A little earlier, they had almost been spotted by a German patrol, which had scared them.

Now, their priority was to find a safe place while they waited for help.

As they walked through the woods, Maddie saw a cave:

"Look, aunty! A shelter!"

"Well done, Maddie! Let's go!"

They rushed to the hiding place and checked that nothing was inside.

Once assured that they were alone, Ada ordered her niece:

"Listen to me, Maddie: you're going to stay here and make no noise, okay?"

"What about you? What are you going to do?" asked the little girl.

"I'll try to find something to eat. Keep quiet, do you understand?"

Maddie nodded. Smiling, Ada stroked her head:

"I'll be back soon, I promise!"

Then, she walked away while Maddie hid behind a rock.

The young girl hated being alone. Of course, she knew that it was necessary. But the truth was that she was scared.

She was afraid to be alone, at the mercy of the Germans. After all, what could a seven-year-old girl do when faced with armed soldiers?

And then, who knew what could happen to her aunt?

Well, the little girl knew that Ada was capable of defending herself. But if anything happened to her, she would not be able to survive.

Suddenly, she heard voices and footsteps approaching the cave. Covering her mouth and trying to be as hidden as possible, Maddie tried to figure out who had just arrived.

She kept her ears open and listened to the conversation:

"Great, guys! We can stop here!"

"Finally, it's about time! We must have been walking for hours, and my legs are killing me!"

"Stop complaining, Gerold!"

"Oh no! You're not going to start bickering again!"

Maddie was intrigued: these people seemed to be speaking in English. Well, at least she wasn't dealing with Nazis, which was good news.

But what were these people doing here?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear anyone enter the cave until a man's voice asked:

"What on earth are you doing here?"

Horrified, she looked up and saw a medium-sized man staring at her with a surprised look.

As for Omar, he did not expect to find a child alone in a place like this.

He called his boss:

"Lieutenant, come and see!"

"What?" asked Aldo, who arrived in his turn and saw the little girl.

"Look at that! It's quite funny!"

"What's going on?" asked Wicki.

For all answers, the two men came out of the cave, escorting Maddie. The little girl was looking at the rest of the group with a frightened look.

"It seems that our hideout already had an occupant!" declared Hicox.

"But who's crazy enough to leave a kid all alone in the wild?" exclaimed Michael.

"I don't know," muttered Andy.

Simon, in his role as a doctor, walked over to the girl:

"I need to check her out. Who knows, maybe she needs treatment?"

"Do your job, doc!"

Sakowitz kneeled in front of Maddie and asked her:

"Do you speak English?"

She hesitantly replied with a small voice:

"Y-Yes, doctor!"

"Aw, ain't she cute?" smiled Donny.

"Low your voice, Don. She is scared!" said Winona while looking at the young girl.

Meanwhile, Simon carefully examined Maddie. He realized that she might suffer from malnutrition.

"Oh God, look how thin she is!"

He turned to Aldo.

"Lieutenant, do we have some food to give her?"

"For sure! Omar, gimme some bread, would ya?"

"Right now, sir!" replied Ulmer as he threw a piece of bread.

Raine caught it and handed the bread to Maddie.

"Here, ya can have some!"

Hesitantly, the little girl took the bread and muttered:

"Thank you!"

"Cute and polite: you must be a lovely little person!" smirked Archie.

Maddie took a bite and ate slowly, enjoying the taste of the bread.

"Poor little thing! She must not have eaten for days!" declared Wicki.

Winona came nearer and asked:

"What's your name, little one?"

Once she finished her mouthful, the little girl replied:

"Maddie Mandelbaum!"

"Okay, Maddie. Now, tell me: what are you doing here, all alone?"

Looking around, Maddie replied:

"It's because I flee!"

"What do you flee?"

For an answer, Maddie picked her necklace and showed a silver Star of David.

That's all it took for the Basterds to understand what Maddie was trying to escape.

"I see... You're a Jew, right?"

The little girl nodded.

"I see... But what are you doing by yourself?"

"I'm not alone: my auntie went to get food."

"Well, okay. And what's your auntie's name?" asked Smithson.

A female voice answered:

"Why don't you ask me?"

Everyone turned to Ada, who was holding a bag over her shoulder.

The young woman looked suspiciously at this troop. Even though they were not wearing Wehrmacht uniforms, she did not want to take the risk of crossing paths with Gestapo soldiers.

"Well, I guess you're the famous aunt?" asked Omar.

"Indeed. I am Adela Mandelbaum. And you?"

"We are American... with a German deserter, an American-Austrian soldier, and a British officer," replied Andy.

Sighing with relief, Ada put down her bag.

"At least there's some good news in this mess!"

Maddie rushed to her aunt and said:

"Ce sont des gens bien, tata. Ils m’ont donné du pain!" (They're good people, Auntie. They gave me bread!)

Aldo walked over to Ada and introduced himself:

"Lieutenant Aldo Raine, nice to meet ya. So like this, you're the one who manages survival?"

"Yes, indeed."

"I see. And how long have ya been alone?"

"I don't know. I'm more concerned about escaping the Germans than counting the days."

Aldo nodded before replying:

"And I suppose you're hiding because you're Jewish, Imma right?"

Ada sighed.

"Exactly."

Donny spoke up:

"Lieutenant, we can't leave them alone. They'll get caught by the Krauts!"

"But they're civilians: we can't afford to have potential targets with us!" grumbled Hirschberg.

Hugo glared at him:

"Put yourself in the kid's shoes: would you like to be left at the mercy of those sickos? I don't think so."

Simon added:

"Besides, if they stay with us, they'll be safe. What do you think, Lieutenant?"

Raine massaged the back of his neck, doubtful.

"It's true that having two civilians with us can be a problem..."

He met his wife's gaze as she stared at him pleadingly. And if there was one person who could make Aldo Raine give in, it was Winona.

He sketched a smile:

"But as ya seem to me two brave women, it seems logical to me that ya stay with us!

This decision was greeted with enthusiasm by the rest of the team.

"I thank you for your help."

"No worries. After all, several of my guys are Jewish."

The young woman asked:

"Before I forget, Lieutenant Raine..."

"Yes, Miss?"

"What is your mission here?"

At these moments, she saw all the Basterds sketch a toothy grin. And the Lieutenant's answer did not hide their intentions:

"We parachuted into France for one mission and one mission only: to kill Nazis!"

Hugo asked:

"Doesn't that cause you problems?"

At these words, he saw a gleam in Ada's eye that he knew all too well. He could see the sorrow and hatred for the Nazis in her brown orbs.

And the determined tone of her voice confirmed his impression:

"On the contrary, it pleases me to hear that my people are being avenged. Hitler's foot soldiers stole my life and threatened my niece. I lost my family, and I don't know if they are alive or if those Gestapo goons shot them!"

She turned to Aldo and declared:

"Lieutenant, I know I look like a simple damsel in distress, but I want revenge. I want to make them pay for the evil they've done."

Impressed by this sudden determination, Aldo asked:

"What can ya do?"

"I'm an excellent shot, and I can fight."

"That's not so ladylike, coming from a young woman!"

Ada smiled:

"Who said I was ladylike?"

"My aunt is the best in the world... right after Mom!" pointed Maddie.

Aldo smirked and held out his hand.

"In that case, welcome to the team, Ada! Just so you know, if you join this commando, you owe me 100 Nazi scalps!"

Without hesitation, Ada grasped the outstretched hand and shook it in agreement.

"I will settle that debt, Lieutenant. And I will die trying if I have to!"

"That's what I like to hear!"

"But I want you to promise to look out for Maddie, no matter what!"

"PROMISED!" exclaimed the Basterds.

At that moment, Maddie's face lit up with an adorable smile that seemed to shine through the dim light of the Fontainebleau woods. Now she had nothing to fear from the Germans because now she had found guardian angels armed with guns and baseball bats.

As for Ada, it was a new life for her that began. She was not a prey anymore. Now, she was the predator.

The Germans better start running because she won't have mercy. And Ada Mandelbaum always kept her words...

Thanks for the reading!

Stay tuned for the next chapter!

@sergeant-donny-donowitz @marilynmonroefanfics @velvet-waltz @ocfairygodmother @redrosewritingsstuff @empress-writes @jokersqueenofchaos (whom I thank for the German translation) @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 @knives-out17 @multific @cherryplasmids @askthebasterds @nataschalena2

#inglourious basterds #fanfiction #the basterds's angels

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amesstm · 3 years

Text

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Word Count: 1313

Warnings: angst, character death

A/N: Ngl, I dunno how to make a cut so it can be like “Keep Reading” so if anyone wants to help a girl out, please. Thanks~

“Y/N, you do it,” Reiner commanded. “You’ve been acting too friendly with the Scouts.”

You clicked your tongue, “And what about you and Krista?”

“Are you trying to disobey a direct order?” He sneered. Light brown eyes bored into your eyes for any sign of betrayal to Marley. Of course it would be like this, you thought.

“Reiner, just do it yourself.” Annie said, not able to look down at the freckled-boy she was holding down on the sheltered roof.

“Don’t you see how close you’re getting to these devils? I think you even like one of them,” Reiner muttered coldly underneath his breath.

A chill went down your spine. So, Reiner had seen how close you and Jean have become. In fact, from spending so much time with Jean, you’d become great friends with Marco. Marco did nothing wrong except for be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

You bit your lip, unable to respond as you slowly lowered yourself to Marco’s level. A shaky hand started to undo his gear. It wasn’t your own; it couldn’t have been. But the nails and skin color all belonged to you. In a dissociated state, you heard Marco screaming for mercy and begging for his life. “Y/N, we trusted you! I trusted you! Jean trusted you!”

Yet, when you looked back at Marco, a chunk had already been eaten out of his side. It seemed not only a few moments ago that his face was in panicked despair. You looked down at your hands, the hands of a murderer. Reiner whispered, “W-why is Marco being eaten by a Titan?”

Your eyes widened, noticing a complete change in the blond boy’s demeanor. It was as if he was an entirely different person. Reiner didn’t hold those determined orbs that Marley drilled into him, but the grieving shock of a devil.

Jean couldn’t stomach Marco’s death. You knew he wouldn’t. Not when he was the first one to identify the body and you, secretly, were the first to leave Marco to his own resources. It was easy to blame it on a Titan for your friend’s death, but it wasn’t easy to rethink what led up to his demise.

Since Jean couldn’t also hang out with Marco anymore, he mostly stayed by your side. When you were both on missions, he was the first one to search for you immediately afterwards. If you could afford to be together, he would stay by your side like a lovesick puppy.

But that just made the painful truth all the harder to reveal. Soon, that unfortunate event happened.

“Did everything we went through together mean nothing?” Jean asked, teary eyed before you ran away. Flashes of your kisses and hugs rippled through your mind. Jean was wrong, it meant everything to you.

Reflecting back on what occurred, there wasn’t much you could remember – or wanted to remember. It was like your brain selectively chose what you remembered from your time on that island. Seeing Reiner would return you to that place, where you’d cuddle up to Jean for warmth. Otherwise, you couldn’t remember the hardest parts.

You sighed on your bed, before rising to go through your newly found daily routine: get dressed and clean accordingly, grab a newspaper for breakfast, and attend meetings. After doing the first step, you stepped out to purchase a newspaper. Although you were there for military meetings, you still chose to read the news.

There was a line to the newsstand, per usual. Standing behind a tall man, you waited patiently. However, something felt oddly familiar about this man. No, he was too tall to be him. Surely. Yet, he had the same build and signature scent that Jean so adored. In fact, you kept a handkerchief of his that had his scent. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

Ironically, it wasn’t a coincidence. Jean and the rest of the Scouts managed to travel to Marley and lived amongst you. Now here you were, sitting across the man you once shared everything with. The campfire crackled and the food was passed around. Out of the blue, Yelena mentioned Marco, and Jean’s face dropped. He had been cautious around you, which was jarring.

The cocky teenage boy you left behind was practically fully-grown, with long hair and facial hair to match. His rambunctious eyes were beaten into a determined gaze. Despite all the changes Jean endured, he was still the boy you fell in love with - you hoped. The feeling of his hand in yours was permanently etched in your skin and the softness of his hair could still be felt under your chin from your hugs.

Now, he only talked to you when he needed to. There were those longing gazes that were unavoidable, but nothing was said aloud. Sometimes his eyes would say everything – no, scream everything. The yearning to talk to you, to understand – why had you done it? Because you were just an innocent kid when you signed up to ruin his life.

“I did it. I took off Marco’s gear,” you admitted. Annie’s aura evolved into one that wanted to reach out and comfort you. Jean looked appalled, shocked, and betrayed. Tears welled into your eyes, blurring your vision so you wouldn’t have to see Jean’s disappointment.

Reiner interjected and took the blame on your behalf. “Don’t be mad at her, Jean. I forced her to.”

Reiner, wanting to find the fasted way to die, started to retell the whole event from that day. At that point, you had begun to dissociate as if your brain wanted to block out his words and forget that day ever happened. Your eyes stared off in space, into the unknown. Then you were dragged down to earth, but not just you. While you were blocking out your surroundings, Reiner was literally on the ground, accepting the punches of Jean. If it wasn’t Reiner being beaten, you only imagined what Jean would do to you. You gulped, and realized that Jean really had changed so much.

Today, the group would really save humanity – but not from the enemy they originally thought they’d face when they joined. Eren had really done it; he started the Rumbling and was trampling humanity into the earth from which they came. Jean was right, Eren really was a suicidal bastard.

The warm air fuming from Eren’s large form threatened to force all the oxygen out from your lungs. But riding on the back of Falco provided a breeze with a view of exactly where Eren’s nape was.

Jean clung onto Falco beside you. You tried not to think about his presence, wanting to focus on the mission. What would you say, after all? “I’m sorry”? No, no amount of apologizes could ever display the true sorrow you felt from killing Marco. Jean deserved much more than a simple apology.

“I think I’ll try to forgive you from what happened that day,” Jean said, his hand clasping yours. You blinked at him, really seeing him for the first time. Hints of sympathy were in his voice, but his beautiful brown eyes held all the understanding in the world. Every flaw and perfection were laid before you under the sun. If this was the way to heaven, you would gladly die.

“You don’t have to,” you conceded. Perhaps it was the fact that the both of you could die at any moment now that you were on Falco’s back, but confessions were pouring out of the both of you. In a way, Eren really did bring people together.

“Y/N, you know I can hate you forever. But if I do, then I’ll hate myself. We only have so long in this world that it’d just be a waste of time if I did.”

You swallowed, “Okay. Let’s survive this and we’ll see what happens.”

#aot imagines #aot x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean aot #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtien #jean angst #aot angst

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idreamofplaid · 4 years

Text

Christmas Past

Square Filled: First Time

Characters: Dean x Reader; Bobby; Sam and Rowena mentioned

Rating: Mature

Summary: Dean has reached a point in his life where something has to change.

Word Count: 2254

Created for @spnkinkbingo

A/N: This is Part 1 of a four part series.

The bunker was so empty Dean could hear his footsteps echoing through the halls. Cas and Jack were on a hunt in Oregon, and Sam was spending the night at Rowena’s. Dean hadn’t seen that one coming. Sure, she was hot; she was powerful. She made a pretty good match for Sam really, but there was a time they had hunted witches. Witches had been the enemy, and now his brother was getting cozy with one.

That left Dean alone with his bourbon on Christmas Eve. He poured himself another glass and put the bottle down next to the initials he and Sam had carved into one of the library tables. That briefly made Dean smile before he realized that tonight was just a preview of what the rest of his life would be like if nothing changed. With Sam gone and pursuing a life, it left Dean to face the kind of demons that didn’t have black eyes. He tossed back the contents of his glass and poured another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, wake up.” Dean rubbed his eyes and lifted his head from the smooth surface of the table. As his vision came into focus, he saw a familiar beat up baseball cap.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Bobby?”

“Of course it’s me. Who were you expecting? Angelina Jolie? Nevermind.” Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Get up. We’ve got things to talk about.”

Dean sat up and looked at the bottle of whiskey he’d been drinking. It was way too close to empty. He was seeing things. That’s what this was, some kind of liquor induced hallucination. Then he heard the chair drag across the floor when Bobby pulled it out to sit down. His imagination usually wasn’t this vivid. “B...Bobby? Why are you here? Are you some kind of ghost?”

Bobby took Dean’s empty glass and poured one for himself. “Yeah, I’m a ghost. Idjit.” How do you think I got here?” He looked around, taking in all the books, weapons, and relics. “This is some kinda set up you got here. You and Sam have a hunter headquarters now?”

Dean squinted his eyes, and his forehead wrinkled. “Not exactly.” He rubbed his eyes again. Bobby was still there. “You’re a ghost that drinks whiskey?”

Bobby took another sip. “Gotta have some kinda fun. I mean my heaven’s alright, I guess. But it’s kinda boring. I don’t feel useful anymore.”

“Is that why you’re here? To be useful?” Dean chewed at his bottom lip, not at all sure of the situation and feeling a little bit groggy. “Is it a case? Is the world ending again?”

Bobby finished his drink and set down his glass. “The world’s always ending with you boys.” He sat back and ran his fingers over his beard. “Nope the situation I’m here about is something of a more personal nature.”

“Well, what is it, Bobby. Tell me. Is it Sam?” Dean leaned forward in his seat ready to jump into action. “Has that witch done something to him?”

“That right there’s the problem, Dean. You can spend your whole life devoted to Sam, do anything for him, but you never think of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean had tightened his lips in a pout. “And give me my glass back.” He snatched the tumbler from across the table, and picked up the now empty liquor bottle. Dean put it back down with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“Your life is completely off the rails, Dean. And I’m not talking about monsters, angels, or the Apocalypse.” Bobby stood. I’m talkin’ about the way you don’t let people in. That’s gotta change, and it’s gotta change soon.”

Dean leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know what you mean. My life’s fine. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Bobby’s eyes were laser focused on Dean. “You’re full of crap. Now get up. We’re takin’ a trip.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The block walls and book laden shelves of the bunker had disappeared and been replaced by a street lined with black lantern street lamps and a soft snow falling from the sky. Dean followed Bobby down the street, his feet crunching in the snow as they walked. When they got to the building at the end of the street, Bobby stopped. A warm golden light was pouring out of the windows. Inside, Dean could see tables, large comfy looking upholstered chairs, and a big fireplace on one wall.

It all looked so familiar to him. A young woman walked from behind the counter carrying a cup of coffee. Her hair hung down her back and her smile was gentle and strong like the first notes of a rock ballad. Dean moved toward the door like he was in a trance. He looked up. The sign over the door read The Coffee Nook. His eyes went back to her face, and he swallowed hard.

Bobby walked up behind him; he was only inches away from Dean’s shoulder. “Do you remember her?”

Dean’s voice had dropped to just above a whisper. “Remember her? I couldn’t forget her.”

Bobby opened the door and motioned Dean inside. She was walking straight toward him. He could smell her perfume as she got closer. “Y/N.” She walked past without acknowledging him, and Dean’s eyes followed her.

She put the cup of coffee down on the table in front of a guy sitting at one of the tables by the large brick fireplace. He turned, and Dean was looking at himself the way he looked before years of strain had deepened the crinkles around his eyes. It was the way he looked when Sam was at Stanford and he’d been left with loose ends that Y/N had helped hold together.

Dean walked closer so he could hear what they were saying. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. “You want to hang out while I close up?”

Younger Dean took a sip from the oversized coffee house mug that he would have described as douchey if she hadn’t given it to him. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ve got time.” She ran her fingers over his hand that was on the table before she went back to the counter and started wiping it down.

Both Deans watched her bend over the tables to clear them and the sway of her hips as she cleaned them. Present day Dean felt his heart tighten in his chest. He looked around the room. There was a garland strung along the mantel, and a small Christmas tree decorated one end of the bar near the place where customers picked up their orders. It was that night.

She finished up her closing routine and locked the front door. The coffee shop was dark now except for the strings of colored lights around the windows. She took off her apron and ran her hands through her hair. Solo hunter Dean stood and walked to her. He was still wearing Dad’s leather jacket then. He put his arms around her waist. “You want to catch a late movie?”

She tilted her head and smiled that earth stopping smile Dean still remembered. “I thought we might stay in tonight.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek then took his hand and led him toward the stairs that went up to her apartment over the shop.

Bobby’s voice cut through the scene Dean was watching. “What are you waiting for, boy? Go after them.”

Dean shook his head. “Bobby I can’t. They’re...we’re…”

Bobby got silent; it was a heavy silence. “There’s some things you’ve forgotten, Dean, and it’s time you remember.” He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. “Go on now. I’ll wait here until you’re done.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15 years ago

Dean’s heart was beating fast as he followed Y/N up the stairs. He felt like almost like he did before he had sex for the first time, only not freaked out worrying that it would be over too soon because he didn’t know what he was doing. Dean Winchester was famous for knowing what he was doing. Only now he didn’t, because he was feeling something that was entirely new to him.

Her home was a studio space with a living area, kitchen, and the bed together in one large room. The bathroom was the only thing that was hidden from view. It was the bed that had Dean’s full attention. His cock started to grow and harden at the thought of what was going to happen soon in that bed. Y/N headed directly for it. She sat down on the edge and patted the mattress beside her with a smile.

Dean took off the oversized leather jacket and let it fall to the floor. He found his place next to her and took her cheek in his hand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She put her hand over his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Her lips touched his in a slow gentle kiss. When they parted, Dean opened his eyes. The way she was looking at him made it hard to breathe. “Do you know why I’m so sure?”

Dean licked his lips and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Because you didn’t assume I would. You didn’t think that just because you’re so handsome, you could smile at me or charm me straight into bed. You waited; you wanted to get to know me.”

Dean let his hand slide into her hair. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention just how many times he had done that smile and flirt thing, but this was different. “I do want to know you, Y/N.” That admission scared the hell out of him. There was no room in his life for feeling like that.

She lay back on the bed and pulled him down with her. “I want to know you too, Dean.”

Dean took his time with her. He kissed every part of her. Her pleasure was more important to him than his own. He was lost in the taste of her on his tongue, drowning in everything she was making him feel. Dean held her while he made love to her; he looked into her eyes, and let every defense he had down. He threw aside the barriers he’d been taught he had to have. He gave himself to her that night, and that was something he had never done before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

Dean came slowly down the stairs back into the coffee shop. Tears had gathered in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. “Bobby, I need to get out of here.”

Bobby put his hand on Dean’s arm. There was a bright flash of light, and they were back in the bunker. Dean walked wordlessly to one of the leather chairs by the bookcase and sat down. He rested his hand on his fist while he grappled with what he had just seen and heard, everything it made him remember.

Bobby broke the silence. “You’ve lost a part of yourself, Dean.”

Dean turned on the man who had been his father after John died, and in many ways was his father while John was still alive. “You think I don’t know that. This job is nothing but giving up any chance of having a life, being normal, having any kind of happiness. It leaves you all twisted up inside.” Dean walked to the table, braced his hands on the back of a chair, and leaned forward. His tone was calmer now, almost defeated. “Makes you wonder if it’s worth it.”

Bobby looked at the man before him that he knew he’d had a hand in raising, and he knew he was here now because that raising still wasn’t done. “Remember what you wanted once, Dean. It’s not too late to have it. Not yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke up the next morning in his bed. He was in a t-shirt and sweats, but he didn’t recall putting them on. The last thing he remembered from the night before was the look on Bobby’s face when he’d uttered those ominous words, Not yet. Dean sat up and clicked on the bedside lamp. His room looked the same. A couple of his recently worn flannels hung on hooks near the door, and a half eaten piece of pie was on his desk.

He lifted his hand and looked at it not really sure what he expected to see. Did he think he was a ghost like the “Bobby” who had visited him the night before? How the hell did the ghost or whatever it was know about Y/N? He’d never told Bobby about her. He’d never told anyone. Dean had enjoyed the best four months of his life, then his father disappeared and everything changed.

Y/N. Her memory sat in the back of his heart for all these years. He still thought about her, but that wasn’t anything he’d shared with anyone either. Not even Sam knew anything about her. She was Dean’s precious secret. He still dreamed about her too. That had to be what last night was, just another dream about the woman and the life he’d lost.

Dean got up and walked to the sink. He splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Bobby’s words from the night before rattled through his mind. Remember what you wanted.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @tumbler-tidbits @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Dean/Jensen Love: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @waywardrose13 @feelmyroarrrr @winchesterxfamilybusiness @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @team-free-will-you-idjiot @ellewritesfix05

#spnkinkbingo #dean angst #dean fluff #dean series #happyhalfchristmas #dean x reader #reader insert #spn christmas

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years

Text

I Just Want to Kill You (Except That I Don’t)

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T (Mentions of blood, war, religious themes, and kissing) (also there are approximately (2) uses of the word f*ck)

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Ever wonder about what it was like for the other crusaders watching Joe and Nicky kill each other over and over? Well I did, and this is what happened! This story is from Ferrando’s perspective, watching as his fellow soldier figures out that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t hate the enemy (or more specifically, one singular enemy) all that much.

Warning: I am not religious, but there are mentions of Christianity and the Crusades, along with potentially racist connotations when referring to Yusuf and his people. This story is not historically accurate, and any mistakes that I make are my own. This story does not personally reflect my own views on Christians or Muslims.

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please consider liking and reblogging, I love the feedback!

It had been three weeks since the Saracen had killed Nicolo, and by the grace of God, Nicolo had been brought back. Their commander had declared Nicolo’s resurrection a holy sign, that their cause was just in the eyes of God, and that their siege of Jerusalem was the will of God.

Ferrando had believed their commander, he’d had no reason not to, until the very next day when Nicolo faced off against the same Saracen as before. Ferrando thought that Nicolo had killed the Muslim soldier, just as the soldier had killed Nicolo, but now, here they were, fighting ferociously.

Ferrando watched, stunned, as Nicolo and the Muslim struck each other at the same time, burying their weapons in the other’s chest, falling on the battlefield once more. Surely Nicolo was only entitled to one miracle, and now that he had struck down his foe for good, God would be gracious, and Nicolo would be allowed admittance into Heaven.

But, as Ferrando fought his way over to his fallen brethren, he was shocked to see Nicolo’s eyes open once more, a shuddering breath escaping his fellow soldier as Nicolo grasped the Saracen’s scimitar, removing it from his chest in one swift movement. On the ground, across from Nicolo, the Saracen jerked awake as well, removing Nicolo’s sword from where it was buried in between his ribs.

Both men sat up, and Ferrando watched as their wounds closed, miraculously. The Saracen stood up, and Ferrando raised his sword, ready to defend his shield-brother, but the Saracen merely held out Nicolo’s sword, hilt first.

Nicolo stood slowly, eyeing the Saracen warily. He slowly held out the scimitar, trading weapons with the enemy. An understanding seemed to pass between the two men, and the Saracen turned away, heading back to his campsite. Nicolo watched him walk away, a funny look on his face. Ferrando tried to get Nicolo’s attention, but Nicolo just waved him off, heading back towards their camps.

And so the pattern continued day after day. Every morning, Nicolo would charge onto the battlefield, but he always seemed… distracted. That is, until he managed to cross paths with the Saracen. Ferrando didn’t always see them fight, but he heard stories from the other men. Over the course of three weeks, Nicolo and the Saracen had killed each other in practically every single way imaginable.

At some point, Nicolo learned the Saracen’s name was Yusuf–when on earth did Nicolo find the time to lean the Muslim’s name in the middle of fighting to the death–and there wasn’t a night that went by that Ferrando didn’t hear at least one complaint about their enemy, and more specifically, Yusuf.

“Why must God torment me so?” Nicolo lamented one night, sitting beside Ferrando in one of the tents. “How can it be God’s will that I strike Yusuf down when he rises the same as I each and every time?” Nicolo sounds so despondent, and Ferrando might feel bad for him if this wasn’t the third or fourth time he’d heard this complaint.

“Surely this is the work of the Devil, tempting me so that I may stray from my holy path,” Nicolo mutters, and Ferrando looks over at his shield-brother in shock. But Nicolo doesn’t seem to realize that he’d spoken aloud, and Ferrando is left to wonder just what it is that Nicolo meant.

Ferrando gets his answer two days later, when he once again witnesses Nicolo facing off against Yusuf. The men are evenly matched, and Ferrando notices much of the fighting seems to cease near them, as though the others, Christians and Muslims alike, are waiting to see the outcome of this fight.

The battle seems to last for ages, the clash of metal ringing out, the dusty ground stirring up around the two men, creating the illusion of two otherworldly beings. Finally, Yusuf managed to gain the upper hand, trapping Nicolo between his chest and his blade. None of the other soldiers move, they all remember Nicolo’s anger when a fellow warrior of Christ had struck Yusuf down. Nicolo had raged at poor Benetto, nearly causing the young soldier to faint from fright, yelling about how only he was allowed to kill Yusuf. Ferrando had raised an eyebrow at that, but Nicolo had been too angry to realize what he’d said. Ferrando watched as Nicolo gathered Yusuf’s body into his arms, and to his surprise, he saw fear on Nicolo’s face.

Perhaps their divine blessings only kept them alive if they were the reasons behind each other’s demise. But surely Nicolo should be pleased? His enemy might finally perish? But as Ferrando watched Nicolo press his hand against Yusuf’s wound, pleading with the Saracen to come back, he wondered if perhaps there was something more than just anger tying the two men together.

Now, with Yusuf pressing his blade against Nicolo’s throat, the only thing the Nicolo could do was press back against Yusuf’s chest. Ferrando watched with no small amount of interest as Yusuf leaned forward, his lips a hair’s breadth from Nicolo’s ear, whispering something. Ferrando can’t hear his words over the sounds of the battle raging around them, but he watches as a blush spreads across Nicolo’s cheeks, right before the scimitar slices across his throat, spilling his blood on the dirt. Nicolo manages to stab Yusuf in the side as he goes down, taking Yusuf down with him. Somehow, Ferrando doesn’t think that blush is the result of threats, and he can’t help but wonder what Yusuf said to Nicolo to make his cheeks turn as pink as they did.

***

Ever since that day, Ferrando noticed that Yusuf was getting bolder and bolder in his attacks. He seemed to find ways to ensure that he was in contact with Nicolo in some way each time they fought: pining Nicolo to the ground, against a wall, against his chest. Yusuf seemed to prefer grappling with Nicolo instead of fighting with swords and scimitars. Every time, without fail, Nicolo would flush, which delighted Yusuf to no end. He seemed to enjoy making Nicolo feel embarrassed, delighting in every blush, stutter, and gasp that he could wring from him.

And every single night, Ferrando had to listen to Nicolo complain, moan and whine about Yusuf. He listened, with the patience of a saint, while Nicolo begged for someone to tell him why Yusuf tempted him so. Nicolo was not normally a very talkative man, but in his frustration with Yusuf, he’d spoken more in a month than Ferrando had heard him speak in a year.

By the thirtieth time the two men have killed each other, most of the soldiers in their regiment and the enemy’s camp know of the two opposing soldiers, touched by God, fighting to the death every day. Ferrando is quite proud of the fact that he was the first to notice when their little dance stopped being so angry and hateful and something… other.

He’d run out of fingers if he had to count on his hands the number of times other soldiers had come up to him to ask if the Saracen was Nicolo’s bedmate. Their tension on the battlefield had transformed, and all the men could see it. Except for Nicolo. He refused to. Ferrando would hear Yusuf speaking in Arabic to Nicolo while they fought, and despite not understanding the words, the tone in which Yusuf spoke made Nicolo flush a brilliant red. Nicolo was quite vicious in his kills whenever Yusuf would taunt him, although Ferrando thought it might be less out of hatred and more embarrassment. Nicolo was a priest, after all, at his core. Not a soldier.

But even priests can be tempted, and according to Nicolo’s rants when he thought the others were asleep, Yusuf was the most tempting of all. Cosimo and Giacomo had started a betting pool on when Nicolo would finally snap, and either outright rejecting the Saracen or finally fucking him. Ferrando really should shut it down before it came to the attention of their commander, but he couldn’t bring himself to. There was so little entertainment in the camps, let the men have their fun.

***

Two months from the day that Nicolo and Yusuf rose from the dead for the first time, everything changed. Ferrando wasn’t entirely sure why things changed, today of all days, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. It had started out normally, just like every other day on the battlefield. The two armies clashed, men fighting and dying like they had every day for the past two months. Once more, Nicolo and Yusuf met on the battlefield, to fight to the death, like they had every day for the past few months. Yusuf had gained the upper hand for the past week or so, and Ferrando knew that it angered Nicolo to no end.

Today, Nicolo gained the upper hand–and fought ferociously to maintain it–rather quickly in the fight, and he managed to force Yusuf to his knees, the tip of his sword pressing into the hollow of Yusuf’s throat. Ferrando was still shocked at the fact that Yusuf never once looked afraid, before any of his many, many deaths at the hands of Nicolo. Somehow, the Muslim managed to look smug, even when on his knees, with a deadly blade at his throat.

Nicolo was red in the face, panting from exertion, his white-knuckled grip on the longsword betraying his nervousness. Both men were dirty, covered in dust and blood from wounds already healed. Ferrando could hear as Nicolo began to yell at the man before him, the one who’d been tormenting Nicolo for two months. He couldn’t hear everything Nicolo was yelling, but he was yelling in Genoese, so Ferrando doubted Yusuf even understood him. Yusuf had shown no indication that he understood Genoese, so Ferrando wasn’t sure how effective Nicolo’s scolding was going to be.

“Why? Why must you torment me? Surely you’ve been sent by the devil, for there can be no explanation for why God would choose you to rise by my side!” Nicolo was frantic, begging for answers, answers no one had, least of all Yusuf.

Ferrando watched as Yusuf looked up at Nicolo, and for a moment, Ferrando thought he was going to speak. Instead, he winked.

Nicolo stared at Yusuf, a blush spreading across his cheeks as the Muslim stared up at him, smirking lasciviously. Ferrando thought Nicolo was about to run him through, but to his and the other soldiers’ shock, Nicolo dropped his sword, yanking Yusuf up by his tunic and pulling him into a kiss.

Ferrando felt his jaw drop, but he made no move to close it. He never could have imagined that Nicolo would actually act on his feelings, but the evidence to the contrary was clear in front of him.

Nicolo pulled back suddenly, his grip on Yusuf’s tunic weakening. He blinked, looking stunned, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Yusuf slowly opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. Nicolo started to apologize, stuttering and stammering over his words, but Yusuf was having none of it. Gripping his cheeks, Yusuf smashed his lips against Nicolo’s.

Ferrando and the other soldiers watched as Yusuf kissed Nicolo more passionately than any of them had ever seen, let alone experienced. Many of the men looked away, cheeks red. Even their enemies had stopped fighting, choosing instead to stare at the two men kissing like they would die if their lips stopped touching.

Nicolo buried his hands in Yusuf’s hair, holding the other man as close as possible, and Yusuf’s arm wound around Nicolo’s waist, clutching tightly at the fabric of Nicolo’s shirt. It was as though they’d forgotten they were supposed to be fighting.

Ferrando was startled when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. There stood Cosimo, a smug grin on his face. “You should’ve joined the betting pool, I just won twenty bezants!” Ferrando smacked him across the back of the head, but that didn’t deter the grinning soldier.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here when the armor starts coming off.”

#The Old Guard #origin story #the beginning #of nicky x joe #nicolo and yusuf #kaysanova #crusades #historical inaccuracies #Im sorry #canon queer relationship #the beginning of the immortal husbands #the life of a background crusader #ferrando is DONE #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #first kiss #enemies to lovers #fics

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deankirk · 4 years

Text

Another Fic Rec List - various pairings

It’s time for another fic rec list, folks.

Immortal Husbands (Nicky/Joe from The Old Guard)

I’m pretty much obsessed with this ship and specially with their background history, and these are the getting together fics that we all love & deserve.

Waiting by domini_moonbeam, 12k, rated E

Summary: After a beat, Nicolo’s head bobbing in a tired nod. Yusuf patted his back, giving him a little shove toward the water. “Don’t drown! I don’t want to go in after you,” he said, backing away. Nicolo paused, glancing back at him, eyebrow raised and face painted in blood. There was a question there, in those incredible, expressive eyes—another question Nicolo would not say out loud. “And I would,” Yusuf answered this time. “I would go in after you. I would become a spirit of this forest, haunting that river until I found you.”

fearfully and wonderfully made by bethecowboy, 9k, rated E

Summary: Over the past few years, he’s started sleeping as little as he possibly can without dying — his under-eyes are permanently bruised and he spends daytimes hallucinating. It’s better than dwelling on what has come before: screams, limp bodies, spraying blood, blue eyes.

deo volente (lux aeterna) by qqueenofhades, 65k, rated M

Summary: Yusuf snorts, as if to say it’s mutual. But the Italian struggles to sit upright, wincing and swearing, and – Yusuf cannot pretend he does not want to know, not when a creature will always seek out its like, its matched half as the Greek philosopher Plato wrote, and there is nobody else in the world, to the best of his knowledge, like the two of them. He says, “What’s your name?”There’s a very long pause. He can hear the other man deciding whether to lie. But there is no purpose to it, except for bitterness, and the answer is uttered cold and shortly. “Nicolò.”

(Or: The inevitable backstory.)

Bonus:

Half In Love with Easeful Death by merle_p, 4k, rated M

Summary: “They are quite the sight, aren’t they?” Adrienne says, sitting down next to him on the log by the fire, offering him the eau de vie once more.“What are you talking about?” he says, feeling caught out. The bottle is half-empty already, and he does his part by taking a long drink so he doesn’t have to look at her for a while.“Those two,” she says, pointing her chin at Nicolas and Joseph, who are huddled together with their backs against the wide trunk of an ancient olive tree. “You were staring.”

(In which Booker is new to immortality, and trying to make sense of Nicky and Joe's love. Andy isn't exactly helping. Or maybe she is.)

Destiel (Time Travel and Future Fics)

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 25k, rated E

Summary: A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there.

At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history.

Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe.

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, rated E

Summary: “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

The Mirror by cloudyjenn, 25k, rated M

Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

The Story of You and Me by the_diggler, 55k, rated E

Summary: Dean wakes up in bed next to a very human Castiel, and a journal in his own handwriting that tells him it’s two years in the future. The house looks a lot like Bobby’s, and Sam lives there too… He just can’t remember how they got from angels falling in the sky – to comfortable domesticity.

While there is much in the journal Dean doesn’t remember, there is much of their story he’s always known. And as he settles into the routine of his new life and relationship with Castiel, it quickly becomes something he doesn’t know how to live without.

Stucky (Just Some of my Random Faves)

That Reflection Man by SkyisGray, 30k, rated E

Summary: Political AU - Steve is the son of a Governor and the grandson of a Vice President. At 18, he meets Bucky. At 24, he marries someone else. At 25, he's elected to the House of Representatives, and Bucky overdoses. But their story is really just getting started.

Ain't No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar, 107k, rated M

Summary: It's six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don't. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It's very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.

Steve Rogers at 100: Celebrating Captain America on Film by eleveninches, febricant, hellotailor, M_Leigh, neenya, tigrrmilk, 10k, rated G

Summary: Heil Hydra,” the enemy agent shouts.

“Heil this, motherfucker,” says Captain America, shooting off a rocket.

Steve and Bucky find out Hollywood has been busy since they went away. A historical survey, including but not limited to: one set of exploded genitals, a brief interlude in France, Mel Gibson and other masterworks of casting, eight Academy awards, several dinosaurs, and something Tony Stark has ominously dubbed “the masterpiece.” Art included.

Relax by ShowMeAHero, 1,3k, rated G

Summary: Bucky remembers a detail of his past over breakfast, and nobody can handle it.

FIC RECS: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

#immortal husbands #destiel #stucky #fic recs #my recs

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hyper-fixate · 4 years

Text

You wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me - Nicolo POV

First part from Yusuf’s POV here.

Chapter 2 now up on AO3.

[I’m not entirely sure how this chapter happened. It wasn’t meant to happen, I had no plans for it to happen, but here we all are. I ended up writing till 1 AM the other night, woke up, hated everything and ended up having to rewrite this. Then had an on going fight with myself to take out the lines that yes, objectively, were really awesome sounding but did not belong here! And now I’ve got about 3000 words of meta that I gotta come up with another soulmate AU to write about, I guess.

A week ago, my husband jokingly told me to write my own fanfic if I’d read everything else and I brushed it off. But I’m so glad these two burrowed into my brain because this fandom has been so welcoming and so lovely. Every person who reads, likes, reblogs or leaves kudos has made me smile ALL WEEK. And special thanks to ever single person who took the time to leave comments. I am honestly so overjoyed that anyone wants to listen to me wax on about these two adorable nerds.]

——

One of his earliest memories of the dreams were not of the dreams themselves, but rather of the talk about them with his sister, Anthonia. He could not have been much older than four. But he remembered waking to the first of the sun’s rays and he felt such a lightness in his chest. When Anthonia came to get him from his bed, he nearly felt as though he was floating.

‘You are excitable today, dear Nico.’ She smoothed down his tousled hair and pressed a kiss to his crown. He had always been a quiet, solemn child and she found the change in him that morning endearing.

‘My dreams were laughing at me Thea.’ He grinned and dutifully held his arms over his head for her to remove his nightshirt. He didn’t catch her biting her lip or glancing towards the door as she tugged it over her head. ‘And such a laugh! So big.’ He held his hands out to mime a pot belly. ‘Like when Father Manuel laughs.’ He went to show her, breathing in deeply, but she placed a hand over his lips to still him.

‘Nico. My dear. This is wonderful. This is something very special.’ She lowered her voice, with another glance at the door. ‘But we do not speak of our dreams.’

‘Why?’ He asked, with all the wide eyed innocence a child could muster.

‘Because the laugh, it belongs to the love of your life. The person who will fill the other half of your soul.’ She touched his hair again, her eyes going wistful. ‘One day, you will hear it from another’s lips and it will be as if all of God’s graces have come at once.’’

‘That sounds wonderful Thea.’ He looked at her so wide eyed. With eyes so like her mother’s. Anthonia sometimes imagined she heard the ghost of Mama’s laughter, and Papa’s too she supposes, when Nicolo turned those eyes to her. Nicolo could not hear it, but one cannot listen for a sound they never got to hear.

‘Yes, my dear one. It is.’ She cupped his face in her hands and rubbed her nose against his. ‘And I am glad it brings you such joy. But here, now, it is not to be discussed. Not in this house, do you understand? Rafael and the twins know this too. We do not talk about the dreams. Especially not to father. Not ever.’ Nicolo nodded, but he didn’t understand. Not really. Not yet.

‘The person who laughs is to make us happy?’ He asked and she nodded. 'Then why?’

'Sometimes this world can be a harsh and unjust place, Nicolo.’ Her hand strayed to a chain on her neck; the locket that held a plait of their mother’s hair. ‘It’s by God’s grace we have our happiness but others may not. And it may be a kindness to them, to keep our happiness here.’ She gently placed her palm on his heart. 'There is so much in this world that is beyond our knowing Nico, so much that is for God alone. But we can choose what we do. And we should always choose to be kind.’

So Nicolo kept his secret. A bright, wondrous secret, that felt so warm in his young heart. And every night he heard the laughter in his dreams and awoke with a smile on his lips.

Nicolo was only six when he began to understand God’s plans did not always match his own. It could be argued the unfortunate coupling of Nicolo’s birth and his mother’s death was a clear sign God and Nicolo’s plans had never properly aligned, but that blasphemous thought did not occur to him until later. Anthonia came rushing home from the beach, her cheeks ruddy and wind chapped. She brimmed with so much energy he felt dazed by the proximity. He felt the warmth in her smile and in her eyes and it hit him as a dizzying blow. His father’s house, like its master, still mourned and this joy felt so out of place here.

She had met a man, Giacomo, and she had made him laugh.

They married in the spring and Anthonia was beautiful, like an angel from scripture. She took Nicolo’s face in her hands and bent down to rub her nose against his. There were glittering tears in her eyes but they did not spill, even as Nicolo’s were rushing down his cheeks. She kissed him goodbye. She promised to return, but he knew that it would never be the same.

Nicolo did not have the heart for much laughter then.

It was Nicolo’s tenth birthday when divine intervention plagued him once again. Anthonia had promised to come, with his nieces, and Nicolo could barely contain his glee. A strange energy seemed to fill the house and everyone felt it. The twins, always a handful, felt whipped into mania and decided to steal the cake from the cook. With great whoops and hollers, they raced through the halls, tossing it between them. Nicolo ran deliriously alongside. As the twins turned a corner, they decided to include Nicolo in the fun. Shrieking, he dove blindly for his prize.

Only to run directly into their father, Offredo, and priest, Father Manuel. Nicolo ended up on the floor. The cake ended up in Manuel’s hair and Offredo’s coat.

Nicolo could not help himself. He laughed. A loud noise that almost seemed to crack the very air in the house.

The two cake-covered men shared a look that instantly cut the laugh from Nicolo’s lungs. Within two months, Offredo di Genova oversaw his youngest child take his vows.

Nicolo found even less reasons for laughter then.

He answered Pope Urban II’s call to retake the Holy Land because he felt called to do God’s will. This, he reasoned, was where he and God could agree. Which would finally, hopefully, be enough to earn his rightful place in the kingdom of heaven. Nicolo never considered that heaven might spit him back out.

When he awoke after his first death, clutching at his stomach, pulling apart his tunic to check for the gaping wound he can reflexively still feel, the one stupidly clear thought he managed to knock together was this: Must I always be born from death?

And then a rather familiar, bloodied blade cut into his vision and everything went dark again.

God, it turned out, didn’t even have the decency to send Nicolo back alone. He spat back out his enemy as well. Nicolo, in his admittedly limited earthly experience, had looked at the events before him and assumed the two events to be linked. So Nicolo killed the Muslim again. And again. And again. Until, woozy from the stench of their combined blood, he looked up to an outstretched hand instead of a blade and, without really understanding why, he took it.

Learning Yusuf spoke Greek was a pleasant surprise, though, admittedly, Nicolo had not used it for many years. The speed at which Yusuf picked up zeneize was also a pleasant enough happenstance, and Nicolo told himself he was not in any way jealous. But the language that Yusuf spoke refused to lie still on Nicolo’s tongue. It slipped and flowed like poetry out of Yusuf’s mouth and seemed to tumble out of Nicolo’s, heavy as mud.

But then everything about his companion was poetic, his mind unhelpfully supplied in the long march through the desert. The darker man’s movements with his sword or on a horse were always measured. The soft words that he whispered as he prayed five times a day soothed something in Nicolo’s worried soul. The easy way Yusuf made friends in the villages they passed. The endless patience in which he repeated any word Nicolo asked.

How that first night, after they had come to the agreement not to murder one another in their sleep, Nicolo had woken to find Yusuf’s cloak draped over his shivering frame while his companion had begun his morning prayers.

But we can choose what we do. And we should always choose to be kind, Anthonia had said, during a life he no longer recognised. Sometimes, when Nicolo looked at the endlessly kind Yusuf, all he could see was the blood he’d drawn from him. And he was ashamed.

This blood was so familiar to him. He imagined he could tell the difference of it’s hot spill across his face, his side, to the bandit’s blood from only moments before. His mind was racing, his body no longer under his command as one hand pressed desperately to Yusuf’s chest and the other gripped the arrow he had just pulled from Yusuf’s throat.

‘Please wake up, my friend. Please Yusuf.’ He saw his hand moving, touching Yusuf’s neck, his cheek, the rough curve of his beard. He did not remember telling his hand to move. ‘You cannot leave me here alone.’

Yusuf awoke with a violent gasp. Nicolo felt his own heart thump widely. His breath seemed to rush from him, leaving him dizzy. ‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked, his voice rough from pain, but strong. Nicolo sat back on his feet. He had been on his knees, bending over Yusuf as if in prayer. He could not remember the last time he had prayed.

‘Bandits.’ Nicolo willed his voice to be even, but he didn’t think he managed it. He indicated towards the bodies he knew would be there, but didn’t look. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Yusuf. ‘They shot you with an arrow.’ He held up the arrow, still clutching it so hard he thought it might snap. ‘You did not wake up. Not until I pulled out the arrow. I had thought-’ He was babbling now. A sharp pain in his chest cut him off. Nicolo had a sudden vision of himself sitting there, bowed in prayer, as the night passed and the sun rose. Waiting for a breath that would not come. ‘I was wondering if your stubborn refusal to die was just at my hand.’

Nicolo had not meant to say that out loud. He had not meant for the fear he had felt to force itself from his lips. But the way Yusuf looked at him now, the softening of the other man’s eyes, made him feel naked as a babe.

‘Are you well?’ Yusuf reached out, as if to touch him. Nicolo felt the tension in every inch of his skin. Would he know that touch, as he knew the other man’s blood? ‘Did they hurt you?’ Yusuf asked softly, pulling his hand back.

‘This is mostly yours.’ Nicolo said, still feeling the sticky heat across his skin. ‘It sprouted out of you like a fountain when I pulled this out.’ He threw the arrow from his hands then, unable to bear the weight of it any longer. He rubbed a hand across his cheek and felt the smear of blood. He grimaced ‘How bad is it?’

‘For you? It’s an improvement.’ Yusuf said in absolutely perfect zeneize, completely seriously. The adrenaline and fear shimmered out of Nicolo’s blood. He felt almost drunk with relief and he couldn’t help himself.

He laughed.

The next moments were so sudden, so unexpected, Nicolo’s brain took almost a full thirty seconds to catch up to the reality of what was happening. Yusuf was in his lap. Nicolo was painfully trapped with his arse half on his feet and half his pack. Yusuf’s hands bracketed his face. His mind spun. His hands grasped instinctively for a weapon that he knew was out of reach. He wondered if Yusuf would rub his nose to Nicolo’s as Anthonia used to do. He unhelpfully acknowledged that he did know the feeling of Yusuf’s skin just as intimately as his blood. And then he wondered why he was thinking about that at this exact moment.

Yusuf was shushing him, softly, gently. He pressed Nicolo’s hair away from his face with trembling fingers and stared into his eyes as if he could divine Nicolo’s very thoughts. Nicolo wished to blink. Looking at Yusuf’s eyes like this was as if staring into the endless night sky.

‘What are you doing?’ Nicolo wanted to moan at the dismal way the Arabic toppled from his tongue. His mind was writing poetry and his mouth refused to bring the words to fruition. He huffed out a small laugh at his own absurdity.

And with that small sound, Yusuf seemed to find what he was looking for. He smiled and Nicolo re-evaluated his previous reflection. Having the full enormity of Yusuf al-Kaysani’s smile turned upon you, that was as if being blinded by the sun.

Yusuf threw his head back and laughed.

Nicolo’s entire mind seemed to narrow to one point. One bright, flashing moment of understanding. Energy sizzled in his veins and for a moment he felt as he had done at first death, trapped between two worlds. The one that had been, and the one that would be.

‘Mio Dio.’ Nicolo gasped. Yusuf laughed again.

And Nicolo finally knew, in that moment, what it meant to be born from joy, not death.

Prologue (kinda)

‘After my first death, when I did not dream of any laughter for those many months. I worried my death meant my soul was no longer bound to the same man.’ Nicky says slowly, sipping his coffee

‘Ha, as if you could get rid of me, hayati.’ Joe leans back in his chair and nudges Nicky with his foot.

‘I would never have tried.’ Nicky replies easily. ‘I used to rush to bed after Compline so I could get to sleep, just to hear your laugh. It was the best part of my day.’ Nicky reaches across the table, offering his hand palm up. Joe takes it.

‘Okay, come on Nile.’ Andy screws the lid back onto her liquor and shrugs into her jacket. ‘We’re off.’

‘Why?’ Nile asks, standing up as Andy pulls her t-shirt and moves her towards the door. Behind her, she hears the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and a low voice.

‘And now, tesoro? Is being in bed still your favourite part of the day?’

Nile speeds up and practically throws herself out the door as Andy laughs.

#joe x nicky #the old guard #nicolo di genova #yusuf al-kaysani #kaysanova #immortal husbands #my fanfic #soulmate au #I just love them #okay?#togpositivity #beans writes fanfic

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readersguidetotheuniverse · 3 years

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What’s coming out this month – November 2020

Instant Karma, by Marissa Meyer

Release date: November 3rd

Alicia: I am fascinated by the concept of karma so this caught my attention right away. The power to actually cast karma instantly on someone? Well, where do I sign? The idea is just so appealing to me. Also, apparently there may be some 'enemies to lovers' involved here so I just have to read it. I have to. It has all it takes for me to love it from the get go. This may not be the most complex book, seems just another feel-good young adult romance, but that is just what I need right now.

home body, by Rupi Kaur

Release date: November 17th

Ariadna: I’m not that much into modern poetry, or any poetry whatsoever, but I came across Rupi Kaur’s Milk and Honey in a time of my life I needed to regain confidence and start loving and forgiving myself, so it was kind of cathartic. Her poetry has something that feels ancient and feminine and powerful. If you haven’t read her, give it a try, it’s almost sure at least one of her writings will mean something special to you.

Rhythm of War (Stormlight Archive #4), by Brandon Sanderson

Release date: November 17th

Ariadna: I’m a Sanderson fan since I read Mistborn back in the day. Although I’m a bit late on this particular saga, I have no doubt this book is going to be amazing. Sanderson is one of the Kings of Fantasy, and his combination of deep characters, intricate political issues, and science-level magic is bound to be superb.

Ready Player Two, by Ernest Cline

Release date: November 24th

Marina: I’m both concerned and excited about this book. On the one hand I loved, and I mean LOVED, Ready Player One. The characters were fantastic, the storyline was incredibly unexpected and the plot-twists made my neck hurt from the whiplash. On the other hand though… it was a very circular book, meaning that it has a distinct start and a rounded-up ending. Everything is neatly closed off, or if it’s not one can easily imagine what happens to the characters next, it’s not relevant to the enjoyment of the book. I understand what Ernest Cline is trying to do but as I really liked how the first one ended I’m worried this is just a way to make more money off of a great book.

Ruinsong, by Julia Ember

Release date: November 24th

Alicia: There are some key words that have a close to 100% success rate of trapping me like a mouse after some cheese. Magic, music and lgbt representation... These are definitely some of them. And I don't think I've ever seen the three of them in the same book, so I definitely want to check this book out. Also the idea of the main character reuniting with an old friend now turned enemy (and them developing a romantic relationship, it seems) sounds just too interesting to me to pass it out. It has the potential to be a new favorite of mine, can't wait to see how it plays out. (Also the cover is absolutely stunning).

The Awakening, by Nora Roberts

Release date: November 24th

Marina: I’m dancing in my room because I need more books from this queen and we’re getting one at the best possible time! Y’all may know Nora Roberts as one of the most renowned romance authors of our time and I’m not saying she isn’t but… she’s so much more than that! Many people only know her from her Romance novels but have you read her Urban Fantasy/Romance novels? Those are great. As I’ve previously said, I highly recommend The Guardians and the Chronicles of the One trilogy. Side note: did she know what she was doing when she wrote the Chronicles of the One saga? Because it's weirdly prophetic with what’s happening with COVID-19!

I’m very excited about The Awakening because it reads as a new Urban Fantasy Romance and to be honest I cannot wait to read it!

The Flip Side, by James Bailey

Release date: November 17th

Ariadna: After reading The left-Handed Booksellers of London, I was left rather disappointed, and I wanted to read a more light-hearted and uplifting book. We couldn’t decide on what to read together this month and came across it on one of the Goodreads’ New Releases posts, as if it was destiny. Besides, the description of the book starts with puns about coins and money, and I’m a sucker for puns! A match made in heaven? We’ll see next month; we too, as the main character, have nothing to lose.

Alicia: I'd be lying if I said I have never thought about letting something or someone out of my control decide what I do with my life. Sometimes life gets too harsh and it's hard to find a path and follow it. You make mistakes, you regret decisions you take (or the ones you didn't take), it's very easy to get it wrong so... why not let fate, luck, the universe decide for you? I am so curious about the story and it feels like the kind of easy, feel-good book I need right now, can't wait!

Marina: What would happen if you didn't have to worry about your future? If you left everything up to fate? That's what this book is to me. I would NEVER leave my future up to a coin toss but, hey if that's your way of doing things good for you! I'm very curious as to what the main character comes up to and what big (or small) decisions he lets fate decide.

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the-fae-folk · 4 years

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It's almost Valentine's Day! Will you please tell us a romantic story about a Faerie Prince and a Human Girl?

Greetings, Human Child. Perhaps it is a little late, being the new morning of the day after the Feast of St. Valentine. But we have a story to tell you. It is a story which tells of romance, as you have asked us for. However, it is also a tale of other things as well. Most stories end with love, a Happily Ever After if you must. But not this tale. Here we shall begin with love.They were the unlikeliest pair you would ever find. A mortal girl who lived in the house of those who were not her family. A slave girl she was, for in that time and that place it was common for man to view his fellows as something to be bought and sold, a thing rather than a person. But while she labored every day for those who would never care for her welfare, another lived in a golden world with those who cared only for him as an object to display, a golden prize, a treasure which must not be lost or wasted. A golden cage, however nicely furnished, is still a cage.Some meetings happen by pure chance, though they may seem to be ordained by Heaven. They came across one another for the first time during a local festival. He had come to play disguised among the humans, for it was his only escape. She, of course, was forced to serve the guests as they ate and drank and made merry. They met beneath the old willow tree.She did not know him for the princeling he was, yet recognized within him a kindred spirit. She saw more clearly than most when she looked into his eyes; there was a bird trapped fluttering within a gilded cage, wishing for blue skies where it can only find fool’s gold.So they left. That is all there was to it. They did not try to change the world, for it was not within their power. Some would call them cowards for running away. But sometimes all you can do is run and hope that there may be another day when maybe you can stop running and simply live.So they ran together and found a distant place of trees and sea and rocky cliffs. There they made a home and together they lived.Perhaps you might wonder how two from different worlds can love one another, but it is not so strange. At the beginning they only knew that the other was trapped, as they were. But as time grew on they learned the differences and circumstances of each other’s worlds. They grew to appreciate the talents of the other that they did not possess, and they learned to grow from one another as two good friends must.After a long while their friendship changed and became another kind of love. One filled with passion, yes, but it was more intimate than that. It was a love born of understanding another person. For when you know someone truly, even if they are your greatest enemy, you cannot help but love them in a way.Our tale could end there, on a distant cliff by the sea, far from the warmer lands from which the slave girl, now a free woman, had first come. It could end with their first child; a babe with hair white as her father’s was, and her skin dark as ebony, like her mother’s.But their love was stronger than a happily ever after could ever bear. For love is not simple and not sweet, it is one of the most powerful forces in the world, and its will cannot be denied. But the shape of a destiny born of love will never look how you would imagine it to be. It is a harsh road filled with harsh truths about the world, and there are times where you will falter and wonder if love is truly worth all the pain you face.They came one day, the entourage of Fae. Fineries draped upon their bodies as they came riding upon steeds which were almost, but not quite, horses. For sometimes, when a little bird escapes its cage, there are those who try to return it to its captivity. In many cases this is for the bird’s own good, for the cage will protect it from the world in which it has not learned to live. But other times… it is a prison which will kill the heart of the one inside of it. They wished to retrieve their stray princeling and return him home to his mother and his father. To his seven sisters and his twelve brothers. To his home amidst the great glaciers and frozen wastes, to the deep caves where his kin resided in the dark amidst the cold glinting treasures of their homes. To his little birdcage.But she stood forth, she who was once a slave, she who had been beaten but not broken. She who was kind in spite of cruelty, who was gentle in spite of bitterness, who was loving in spite of all the world had given her to choke upon.She stood forth before the Faerie Court; and to their eyes she was not foolish or weak, but a Queen of incredible power. Mortal she was, yet they feared her for reasons they could not understand, for she looked at them and knew them so well that she could have given their true names as she looked into their very hearts. So they departed from there.Three days passed before their return. With them came the ruler of the Faerie Court, a powerful Queen. For only a Queen can match the power of another Queen, they are always the most powerful pieces upon the board. She was none other than the Grandmother of the princeling. Young and beautiful she appeared, and far older than most she truly was. Upon the surface she was perfect in all ways. Yet her heart was black, broken, and colder than ice.They bargained. In this the stories are true, for there must be a bargain of a kind, a risk in the adventure, a chance that something might go terribly wrong or viciously right. While the princeling held his child close, while he desperately wished that her world might not be torn apart, his love bargained for his freedom.At long last an agreement was made and sealed with three droplets of red blood. A caged bird could fly free, but not to her arms. Any other human would do, as long as it was not her. The Princeling could be free from the world which was slowly breaking his heart, if only his love would agree to never speak to him until the day that Truth was shattered and Death itself was reversed.A terrible bargain; and the princeling cried out that he would rather bear his cage than be separated from the one he loved. But it was too late. The bargain could not be undone once agreed upon. And their family was broken apart.Yet love endured. How could it not? For love is the mover of all in this tale. The road we must take is not the road we wish for. And as the Princeling set out upon his journey he could think of nothing but his child and his love, his heart free at last from the chains that had bound it. The pain he felt at being forced to leave his family did not hold him back, but lifted him. With every step he found the strength to move forward, to grow…because of his love.The Faerie Queen looked at the woman who had freed the princeling’s heart and knew that she could not let her wander free, for she was far too dangerous. So she took the woman who had once been a simple slave girl and put her in a new prison. A prison of ice and glass. A mirror in which the Queen could gaze every day and ask after her own beauty, reveling in the pain she had managed to inflict on those who dared defy her, confident in her own superiority in all ways.But what, you might ask, happened to the child? As cruel as the Queen was, she would not harm a mere babe, especially not one of her own line. So she took it upon herself to raise the girl. It was not an easy childhood, filled with hard work and much that was painful. Yet it was not a bad childhood either. Despite everything, the Queen did grow to love the little girl.From far away the wandering princeling waited. Listening to tales whispered on the wind, looking at the sights the waves had seen, and thinking always of his wife and daughter, the princeling sought to find something that would help him find a way back to those whom he loved.That was how he came upon the seed. It was a tiny thing, hardly worth the notice others might have paid it. But the woman who offered it to him said that it was very old and very powerful. It was said to grow into a tree that would bear only a single apple in all of its life, an apple that could grant wishes made in the name of love. So he bought it and traveled back to the cliff where he had been parted from his family, and there he planted the seed in the midst of a grove…and he waited.Here we shall end our telling. But as we are certain you have guessed, the tale itself does not end here. For stories never really end. They move into new stories, growing ever in the telling of them. Love is not easy, but while its burdens are heavy, it gives you the strength to bear those burdens. For Love is about growing, just as a tree or a child grows. Just as a caged bird can find its wings and grow strong, as a slave girl can become a Queen to rival the Faeries.Perhaps we shall return to this tale again…a tale of romance…but also a tale of so much more. A tale of family, of love, of suffering, of separation. A tale of kindness and freedom, but also of captivity and cruelty.

#Fae #faerie #sidhe #otherfolk #faerie court #slave #girl #woman #queen #child #freedom #love #romance #prince #prison #ice #snow #mirror #glass #apple #magic #willow tree #golden cage #bird

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