#[ it means 'alone' in German by the way. that's the whole joke y'all.

[skymade]

What ‘Allein’ Means

   Freedom. Finally.  

   It feels like eternities since Willow last saw the sky, stretching above her endless, tinted with the hint of a distant sun, glistening with the hue of some liquid in the air. It’s grey, here, almost as if the ash of Akan has followed both of them here. She wouldn’t be surprised if it had. Everything else had.

   Willow’s more exhausted and in pain than she’s ever been in her life. Their landing, to start, wasn’t exactly cushioned or soft -- she lays sprawled on the ground, unmoving, seeping every color of blood possible from her lithe frame.

   Brown. Blue. Black.

   The cuts rest deep -- wrists, ankles, a thin line around her neck. A name etched onto her back, below her hip, the size of a palm. Mila’s.

   Cuts christening her legs agree with that, too. Circles around her upper thighs, lines leading up to where nothing should ever bite, where no one should ever sting. Her clothing is no longer green, blue, grey -- everything is brownblueblack, everything is the color of pain. She can hardly see anything through the veil of blood that falls over her face. It feels as though her skin is splitting off from her body, leaving her nothing but a shivering soul, wandering alone.

   But… she isn’t alone. Not yet. Tallow’s above her, gaunt, bleeding himself, lines dusted against a pale red body, but still there. Still steady. Still strong.

   She can almost swear that where her hand touches ground, ash and dust sticks to lines of blood. They’re not back on Akan, are they?

   “Seems a little bit like fate, doesn't it?”

   It’s the first time he’s spoken to her since they fell from the sky -- since they stumbled out of Mila’s ship and spilled into an escape pod that still chokes flame and fire behind them, and it’s probably, possibly, the stupidest fucking thing he could’ve said. Willow gives him a look that she hopes communicates that opinion appropriately and perfectly, even if it’s mired and grimaced in pain.

   “I don't--” know what the fuck you’re talking about, you fucking freak. But with blood in her lungs, only the essentials slip out. “... --you don't believe in fate."

   “No, I don't. But I believe part of you does.”

   He’s being that serious, weirdly focused part of himself that he always his. His clothes aren’t colored any color, and no hint of black liquid clings to him. Maybe it’s easier to keep being a strange, awkward, uptight asshole when you’re not dying. Willow looks at Tallow like they’ve never met and he’s spouting nonsense at her.

   “What... the absolute fuck?”

   He steps before her, still lying on the ground -- not Blinking because of the patch he’d stolen and stuck to her skin, so she wouldn’t sink through the escape pod -- and crouches. The dust and ash move with him, too, so it must be real, not just her. Hands cradle something, and he picks up a long, white stick that stretches into the air, paints white against the gray of the world around them.

   “A Staff. One of our own died here.”

   “Great,” Willow huffs, breathless, confused, “and I'm gonna be the second if you don't fucking Gate us out now.”

   “You do not understand. Then again, you rarely do.”

   There’s a stretch of silence as the air is ruffled around them -- a soft breeze blowing gentle against a bloodstained, unmoving body. Eyebrows crease her face, nose twitches up with it.

   She’s never been one for planning, never been one for holding off certain events until later, but if there was ever a time to ask to prolong an argument, it was fucking now. Here she is, abused, ravaged, ruined by the hands of someone who despises her, someone she used to care about, used to love with the fibers of her soul, and Tallow is standing above her, reminding her how stupid she is.

   “Is this really the time for this?” Willow splutters -- everything in her voice strained shocked and confused. “I -- I -- I mean... F-FUCK.”

   He doesn’t speak, again, weighs the silence like he weighs the Staff. He draws something on the ground, is apparently satisfied with what he sees. He blows dust from the token slot in the side. His blood stained hands don’t even shake as he holds it. Whatever he’s considering comes to him easily, and he nods.

   “This is where we part ways, Willow.”

   A day of blood and ash and dust, and somehow, those words ring the loudest -- ring so loudly that every part of her body burns as though she needs to Blink, burns as though a certain knife is cutting a certain line against a certain part of her body again. Muddied green eyes stare at him in absolute horror.

   “You’re leaving me?”

   “It’s a Staff. You no longer have use for me.” It’s laid on the ground, next to her -- he begins opening his coat.

   Every part of shivering skin protests as she forces herself to elbows, forces her head up to get a better look at him. He looks so much darker, beneath a black coat, under a gray sky. His face has no hint of humor -- no hint of anything. The words explode from her in a shuddering screech of anger. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

   “No.” He isn’t looking at her. Maybe that’s what’s so different about him -- painted so strange. He drops, by her hands, by the Staff, a woven, bright pouch of tokens -- the her share of her tokens she’d used to entice him to take her along. He crouches next to her, opens his Rune book, begins reading in a slow, measured, deliberate voice how the pages are arranged, how to find where to go next.

   She isn’t listening. She wouldn’t be listening on the best of days, and she’s mostly liquid, mostly blood, mostly fear and anger and self-loathing, today.

   “I don't believe it.” The words come out in a croak. Willow wishes she can throw everything she hates from within her to him, but she can feel dust settling deep into her bones, as if in exchange for her blood she was given death.

   “Well, learn to. This is no place for a Traveler -- no place for either of us. Leave it. Take your Staff, and… leave it.”

   The Rune book, bounded leather and small, is left next to her, and he rises. He seems taller and further away than he ever has as he turns to leave.

   A desperate, purple, hand, half-shattered, half-cut, mostly nails attached to strings, collides against his boot, holds him there with everything she’s got. The desperation is rising, bubbling, everything in her throat is acid, acid she’s spitting up on the floor, or is that blood, or is all of her seeping out of her as she tries to drag herself with his retreating figure, the only friend she has, the only one she knows, the only one she loves--!  

   “No!” A shriek. “No, you’re not-- n-not l-leaving me!”

   “Let go, Willow.”

   “NO! NO, no! Not at-- after-- after all of this. After everything we’ve done for each other… you’re not really doing this.” He can’t be! He can’t betray her, too! It can’t be everyone she knows! There has to be someone out there in that universe that wants her alive, that loves her, that cares about her, that would help her, that wouldn’t kick her away, that wouldn’t hurt her! “ Y-- you’re not really Tallow, someone set you up to--”

   His boot strikes backwards, front of her palm, top of her forehead. She’s all pain, anyway -- has no more strength left to grasp. Willow, child of the sky, the young, excitable force the cajoled Tallow to show her the skies, stares at him painted against the gray and sees him so clearly, even through all the pain, that she knows for a fact that it is him.

   This is not one of those dreams that Eryk had told her about. This is not one of those imaginings. This is real. Tallow’s body is too steady, too still, and he doesn’t even look at her.

   He’s truly leaving her. Truly. Really.

   All of that time.

   Her smoking beneath a star-sprinkled sky as he coughed, pointedly. Her beaming as she brought back arms of food gifted by new friends for him. Her holding his hand as he sifted through nightmares and memories, and though he never thanked her for her grasp, she knew he’d still kinda needed it.

   Had always thought, maybe, deep down, he’d kinda needed her, too.

   So? How long till you leave me? Never. Wow, aren’t I lucky. That’s a long-ass time. I mean it, Will. C’mon, really? For real. Let’s be, like, realness, here. One day, you’re gonna get annoyed with me-- I am already annoyed with you. Gee, thanks. Warm my little, uh… soul… pocket… thing.

   And now, another voice, but there was no set. Just one.

   The only one who is ever going to love you is me. Look at you, Willow. Look at how disgusting you are. Why would anyone else want you the way I do?

   The hardest, most bitter taste in her teeth was not the blood -- she’d been tasting blood for years. It wasn’t the abandonment -- she’d stared at people’s backs all her life. It was the fact that Mila was right. No one would ever want her. No one would ever love her.

   Eventually, she would wake up and someone she loved would be gone without a word.

   Eventually, she would stir beneath their knife.

   Eventually, they would give her a pale Staff and fade into the horizon.

   Her fingernails curl against the dust, curl into her palms.

   No more pain. No more agony. No more memories. Time to fight.

   One knee bends awkwardly -- hands grapple at the Staff, forcing it upright, using it to stand. Everything in her body protests so much that she screams out, cries as she forces herself upwards, and all the world is gray and static but the patch is still preventing her from Blinking.

   She tears it off, can’t even feel her fingernails scrape at her skin, too. Can only feel lines etched beneath her pants.

   Tallow is the one doing the abandoning, and he hasn’t even fucking left. He’s standing there, unmoving. He’s abandoning, and he’s gonna make her do the leaving.

   Risking her life for him… fighting for him until she could feel nothing but fury. How could she be so stupid to offer him everything when he wouldn’t offer her anything?

   “FUCK --” it comes, heaving from her throat as she stands, and she can both feel the words and not at the same time. “-- YOU.”

   “Willow…”

   He’s turning back to her, but she’s spun away, can only see her shaking, blood-colored hands against ash as she takes the few parting gifts he’ll leave her and thrusts them in blood-soaked pockets.

   For once, something in Tallow sounds pleading -- but skies, she no longer fucking cares.

   “I hope you fucking die.”

   She Blinks out before a response can come back -- the patch’s worn off. And with boots that squelch with blood and a body that protests even the movement of her bleeding, Willow begins to run, to make herself one with the horizon.

   Never has Willow meant a statement more -- and just as she had when she was leaving Amyr, she doesn’t take a moment to look back.

[knives-out20]

Inglourious Boyfriends - Part 5

Fandom: Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Pairing: Joshua Margolis (OC) x Lt. Aldo Raine

Word Count: 2272

Warnings: Spoilers For Inglourious Basterds,

Note: Part 5, Lads. Shows How Joshua Is Clever, Meaning He Can Catch Onto Other Peoples’ Ideas Quickly. He’s Also Empathetic, And Is Able To Sway Aldo To Do, Or Stop Doing, Something.

Bridget Von Hammersmark groaned in pain as the needle injected its fluids into her body, fist covering her mouth in a failed attempt to muffle herself.

Aldo walked in, sleeves rolled up to his biceps."Not so goddamn fast, doc. Tell 'im to go play with his dog" he spoke, Donny and Joshua following him inside. Aldo pat the doctor as Hammersmark spoke to him in French, the doctor quickly dropping his equipment and going to sit by PFC Utivich. Aldo turned to Joshua, gently nudging him back to give himself room. He put his hands on the doctors equipment table, wasting no time and pushing it aside harshly, crashing it into the wall. Aldo angrily kicked the small stool the doctor sat on, Joshua taking another step back in fright. 

Donny stood menacingly over Bridget on one side of the table, his back to the barking dogs, as Aldo leaned his arm onto the table, his other hand on his hip.

"Before we yank that slug out ya, you need t'answer a few questions" Aldo said.

"Few questions about what?" She asked, gaze going from Aldo, to Donny, to Joshua.

"About I got three men dead back there. Why don't you try tellin' us what the fuck happened?" Aldo asked.

"The British officer blew his German act and the Gestapo major saw it" Bridget answered.

"Before we get into who shot John, why'd you invite my men to a rendezvous in a basement with a bunch of Nazis?" Aldo inquired, tilting his head.

Bridget shifted uncomfortably."I can see see since you didn't see what happened inside, that the Nazis being there must look odd".

"Uh, y-yea, we got a word for that kind of odd in English. It's called suspicious" Joshua piped up, hands behind his back as he stood at attention. He looked away when Aldo pressed the bullet deeper into Bridget's wound, having her moan in pain, louder than before."Aldo-".

"I know what I'm doin' Josh" Aldo held up his other hand, taking this as an excuse to look at his dearest.

"Everybody needs to calm down, you're letting your imagination get the better of you" Bridget strained, exclaiming again when Aldo pushed the bullet in deeper.

Joshua crossed his arms, shutting his eyes and turning his head away as if a lack of sight would dim down his hearing, too.

"You met the sergeant yourself. Willie. You remember him, don't you?" Bridget struggled, gripping the side of the table.

"Yea, I remember him" Aldo scoffed, taking a glimpse of Joshua's physical empathy. He also remembered how gentle Josh was, with treating the scar on Aldo's neck after the attempted lynching, back when Joshua and him fought the KKK one time. Aldo loves how Joshua's always been there to tend to his wounds, which have ranged from scratches on his knees after playing in parks when they were kids, to digging bullets out from his shoulder in more recent years. He inhaled slowly, exhaling at the same speed when he listened to Bridget.

"His wife had a baby, tonight. He had just become a fa-" Bridget squeezed her eyes shut, "he had just become a father!".

Joshua, from time to time, liked to imagine someone saying that about him, 'he had just become a father'. A soft smile graced his lips, in the worst moment possible. He always smiled, each time he thought about himself being a father. The idea of Aldo and him taking in a kid as their own, a little boy or girl the two of them could train to kick Nazi ass and fend for themselves. Joshua opened his eyes, catching Aldo looking right at him. He saw a knowing look in Aldo's eyes, automatically knowing that Aldo knew what he was thinking of.

Aldo hummed, turning his attention back to Bridget. 

"His commanding officer gave him and his mates the night off to celebrate" Bridget shakily breathed, groaning again."The Germans being there was either a trap set by me, or a tragic coincidence. It couldn't be both" she pleaded.

"Aldo..." Joshua called, in a tone that meant for Aldo to leave Bridget alone.

Aldo glanced at Joshua, looking back to Bridget with an arched brow before finally pulling his finger out. He took the handkerchief Joshua offered him, wiping his finger of blood as Bridget grunted."How'd the shootin' start?" He asked, glaring at all his Basterds, so that no one would take this as an opportunity to crack a joke about how Joshua's tamed Aldo the fucking Apache (a joke they make quite a lot).

"The Englishman gave himself away" she started.

"How'd he do that?" Aldo pressed, squaring his shoulders as the light hit him in a threatening way.

"He ordered three glasses" Bridget croaked, holding up three fingers in a way where her pinkie and thumb touched."We order three glasses" she clarified, holding up her thumb, pointer finger and middle finger."That's the German three, the other looks odd".

"So, uhm, t-that whole standoff happened 'cause he held up three fingers in a weird way t'order three drinks?" Joshua scoffed.

"It's much more serious than you think, especially nowadays” Bridget huffed."The Germans would, and did notice".

Aldo looked off in thought, pushing himself off the table."Okay, let's pretend there were no Germans, and everything went exactly the way it was supposed to" he imagined, going to lean against the doorway by Joshua."What was the next step?".

“Tuxedos." Bridget went to the point, suspiciously eyeing how close Aldo stood with Joshua."To get them into the premiere wearing military uniforms with all the military there would've been suicide".

Joshua pulled a quick sturgeon face in agreement.

"But, going as members of the...German film industry-".

"They wear tuxedos a-and- and fit in with everybody else!" Joshua cut Bridget off in conclusion, snapping his fingers."Eureka-- oh, uh, s-sorry, ma'am" he apologized, stepping closer to Aldo.

"No, it's fine, you're right" Bridget breathed heavily, catching Aldo smile down at Joshua with a certain air of adoration."I arranged for a tailor to fit three tuxedos tonight" she recalled.

"How'd you intend to get 'em in that premiere?" Aldo questioned, turning back to Von Hammersmark with a less positive gaze.

"Hand me my purse" Bridget instructed, Hirschberg obeying as Aldo walked back over. She dug inside her purse, everyone watching intently as she handed it to Aldo, who fished out a small card of paper."Lieutenant Hicox was going as my escort. The other two were going as a German cameraman and as his assistant".

Aldo inspected the paper, showing it off to Donny, then Joshua."You can still get us into that premiere?" He asked.

"You speak German better than your friends? No. Have I been shot? Yes! I don't see me tripping the light fantastique up a red carpet anytime soon. Least of all, by tomorrow night" Bridget groaned.

"Uh, a-actually, miss" Joshua respectfully cut in, pushing himself off the wall and walking over."I don't mean t'brag in front of my fellow Lieutenant," he glanced to Aldo, "nor my fellow soldiers, but I happen to be fluent in many languages other than English. French, German, Dutch, 'n' the list goes on" Joshua timidly listed, rubbing his left arm with his right hand."If you still wish for us to cover as German, I could do most o'the talking".

Bridget offered Joshua a fake smile, nodding curtly.

The dogs started barking as Aldo clattered something aside on a table, leaning against it as he kept his eyes on the paper. Finally, he slammed the paper down onto the table in defeat, hand on his hip.

"However, there's something you don't know" Bridget teased, Aldo slowly turning to face her, at that. She grinned, "there've been two recent developments regarding Operation Kino. One, the venue has been changed from The Ritz to a much smaller venue".

Joshua's lips parted, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he glanced up. He caught Utivich's and Donny's gaze, the three of them exchanging glances of disbelief with each other."Uh, e-enormous changes at the last minute? That's not very Germatic" Joshua pointed out, as he went back to leaning against the wall by the door. 

"Why the hell is Goebbels doing stuff so damn peculiar?" Aldo asked, turning to fully face Bridget.

"It, uhm, it- it probably has something to do with the second development-?" Joshua suggested, a more friendly nod of correction coming from Bridget.

"Which is?".

Bridget sat up."De Führer is attending the premiere" she let out, Joshua's breath hitching.

"Fuck a duck!" Donny cursed, hitting the table Bridget was on.

As the dogs barked, Aldo leaned back against the table, pursing his lips in thought.

"What are you thinking?" Bridget grew curious.

"I'm thinkin’ gettin' a whack at plantin’ old Uncle Adolf makes this horse a different colour" Aldo replied, Joshua nodding along in an understanding manner.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bridget squinted her eyes in confusion, Aldo turning to Joshua to explain.

"Joshy".

"Yes, uh, yes sir" Joshua nodded, turning to Bridget yet again."It means you gettin' us in that premiere".

"I'm probably going to end up losing this leg" Von Hammersmark hissed, making Joshua flinch in surprise."Bye-bye acting career, fun while it lasted. How do you expect me to walk the red carpet?" She inquired, glaring daggers at Joshua, who was visibly uncomfortable with the anger targeted towards him.

He hugged his elbows, glancing to Aldo for help.

"Easy on my right-hand man Joshua o'er here, it was my idea, blondie" Aldo put his hand up, walking over to Joshua and standing by him protectively."Doggy doc's goin' to dig that slug out ya gam" he snorted, "he's gonna wrap it up in a cast, and you got a good how-I-broke-my-leg-mountain-climbin’ story; that's German, ain't it? Y'all like climbin’ mountains, don't ya?". It was almost laughable, how proud-of-himself Aldo looked at this new plan.

"I don't. I like smoking, drinking, and ordering in restaurants. But I see your point" Bridget nodded sarcastically. She tilted her head, eyes wandering to Aldo's arm around Joshua's waist.

Aldo quickly snuffed some more tobacco, putting his small box away before speaking again."We fill you up with morphine 'til it's comin' out yer ears, and just limp your lil' ass up that rouge carpet" he grinned triumphantly, as if his plan would be able to solve world hunger.

"I know this is a silly question before I ask it, but, can you Americans speak any other language than English?" She asked, leaning back."Asides from 'Joshy' over here-" Bridget coughed, nodding towards Joshua.

"Don't call him Joshy" Aldo growled, his hold on Joshua's grip tightening."I love you" he whispered, against Josh's ear.

The corners of Joshua's lips quirked up into a smile."I love you too, Aldo".

"We both speak a little Italian" Donny piped up, referencing himself and Aldo.

"With an atrocious accent, no doubt. But that doesn't exactly kill us in the crib. Germans don't exactly have a good ear for Italian...You, Joshua, you said to me earlier how you know many languages. What about you?".

Joshua's eyes widened a bit, eyebrows raising at attention."Uh, uhm, well- I, uh, actually..." he turned to Aldo, then Donny, and everyone else, all eyes on him."I was unfortunate enough to not exactly have Italian be a part o'the list o'languages I know".

"Goddammit, Josh, are you serious?" Donny howled.

"Joshy, y'gotta be kiddin' me. You grew up in that fancy mansion of yer's, been learnin' to hunt with guns since you were five, use bombs since you were ten, and learn languages since before all that, and yer tellin' me neither yer mom nor yer pops ever put a lil' Italian in ya?" Aldo exhaled, looking at Joshua, dumbfounded.

Joshua nodded shyly."Mhm. I-I've got almost every other language in my head, you guys. Polish, Hebrew, Welsh, even Spanish, but I doubt that that'd be any at all useful? I got Russian, Portuguese, Japanese, Turkish, too. But no one in m'house spared the light of day for Italian if I was already learnin' Spanish".

Aldo kept his focus on Joshua, trailing his hand up to pat Joshua's shoulder.

"So you mumble Italian-Spanish bullshit and brazen through it, is that the plan?" Bridget gave them a 'you can't be serious' look.

"That's about it" Aldo shrugged.

Bridget nodded, "that sounds good" she mumbled.

"Sounds like shit, what else are we gon' do? Go home?".

"No, that sounds good. If you don't blow it, with that, I can get you in the building...Who does what?" Bridget clarified, looking around.

"Well, I speak the most Italian-" Aldo glanced at Joshua, "so I'll be yer escort. Donowitz speaks the third most, so he'll be yer Italian cameraman. Omar, fourth-most, he'll be Donny's assistant, like Josh'll be mine".

"An escort's assistant-?" Bridget questioned.

"Listen, lady we're in the middle o'some kinda world war with Jews runnin' around and Nazis huntin' after them, destroyin' everything that gets in their way. What's wrong with escorts havin' a lil' extra protection and assistance, huh?" Aldo pointed out.

Omar snapped his head in Aldo's direction, caught off-guard."I don't speak Italian".

"Like I said, fourth-best. Just keep yer fuckin' mouth shut-" Joshua cut Aldo off by snorting, "In fact, why don't you start practicin' right now?" Aldo grinned, looking down at Josh, who was holding back laughter.