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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 4 years

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Remembering You (Hugo Stiglitz x Reader)

Requested by @mbluxaeterna

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho

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Normally....you would have been thrilled to meet the basterds. Hell, you could have made an unstoppable team, had they encountered you at any other possible moment in time. But of course, it's now. Now, when you are a lone, rogue soldier. Now, after you've lost your team. Now, when everything around you is oh-so-incriminating.

Naturally, they took you in for interrogating, and cuffed you. "You gon' tell us who you are, or you gon' keep on lying?" You rolled your eyes, "I've told you a million times. I am not a nazi." The fact that you'd been accused of it was enough to make your skin crawl. "Then what are you doing out here, alone?" Donny prodded at you with his bat, which was meant to be threatening given its fame...but it really just annoyed you. "Same as you. Killing nazis." "Got a pretty lil German accent there," Aldo snorted some tobacco, and went on matter of factly, "So-" You rolled your eyes, "I'm sorry, really. But you have a German right there, and an Austrian. How is an accent indicative of anything? Especially now?" You looked around. Surely, they knew all about double agents, especially those like you. "So you're trying to say you're just some kid wandering around with all these guns and knives," Omar held up your pack with all the evidence, "And you expect us to believe you?" "Pretty much." You shifted a little to sit with your legs crossed beneath you, though your hands were still cuffed. You understood their lack of trust...but also...you were a bit more than annoyed now. "I wasn't alone the whole time." You relented. They were with the OSS, and definitely not traitors. What harm would it do to tell them? It may just save your life, after all. "I was part of a team. We were called the Double Eight." Aldo didn't hesitate, "Never heard of it." He turned, almost smirking, "You boys heard of it?" A chorus of 'no sirs' and laughs rang out, and you rolled your eyes, "Of course not. Some of us are better at being undercover than others." An uncomfortable silence blanketed them, and you sighed and went on, "There were eight of us. All of us double agents, double crossers," you smiled fondly remembering your teammates, "Double trouble... Best of the best in what we did, worst of the worst to the nazis, recruited by an American officer working for the OSS." Aldo narrowed his eyes. "Oh really?" "Really." You held your ground, and held your head up high. You heard one of the boys, Smitty, ask Donny, "You think it's true?" Donny then turned to you, "Who was in your team?" He often prided himself for knowing things about agents stationed around Europe, people in resistances, and allies. He was a bit of a networking king...so if any of the basterds could tell, it was him. "A Jewish girl from Poland. Halina..." You smiled softly, though your heart broke for her. You were the one who helped her family escape...but you couldn't help her in your last mission. "She could make and break any code." "And there was Andrej. Big, tough Andrej," You shook your head remembering his loud, bellowing laugh, "Jewish kid, no older than you." You gestured to Hirschberg, "He was Serbian. He was a good strategist." The mission to recruit him was one of the earliest, (and toughest) because he was so damn stubborn. "Ruslo..." You sighed a little, remembering his kind eyes, "Romani guy. Recruited when we passed through Croatia. Didn't need a map when that boy was around." You shook your head with a gentle smile, "Then there was Konstantin. Writer and intellectual, defected from the Soviet Union. Good spy." You glanced up at, and almost imperceptibly whispered, "Good man." Omar looked around, "Kid's gotta be telling the truth." WIcki frowned a little, "How do you know?" Omar shrugged, "Konstantin is the most soviet-spy sounding name I've ever heard." Donny narrowed his eyes and nodded, "Right. Almost too perfect." Aldo rolled his eyes, "Go on." You smiled a little, remembering the unbreakable bond your team had. One even stronger within it, "We had an Italian rebel, he was an escaped political prisoner. His wife was a Spanish anti-fascist rebel. Marzio and Carmina..." Names that axis troops in the mediterranean were terrified off. You took a breath, "Our leader was an American...if you would believe that." You smirked a little, "Shelby Hellberg. Shell-Hell, we called him." You glanced off into the distance. Toward the east, where your last mission together had been. You sighed, knowing you'd never see them again, no matter how many times you passed through there. "And you." Aldo remarked, hardly believing a word you'd said. "And me." You nodded with a smile. What more could you do? Hirschberg shifted a little, rifle still in hand, "And who's you?" "Y/n L/n." You spoke with a sly shadow of pride in your lips, "After all, every team needs some muscle." Donny looked you over incredulously, "You were the muscle?" You challenged him with a simple smirk, "Why? You wanna test that theory, big guy?" You meant it, Donny was quite a bit taller than you, but you could definitely take him down. You'd taken people bigger than him down before, after all. The basterds didn't realize that just yet. But, Hugo kept his eye on you the entire time, thinking about every word you'd said, and the way you'd said them. He'd run with spies before, he knew their ways and webs. You were unlike any of the agents he'd known before. And still, he thought he'd seen your face somewhere before. And he said so, abruptly, without any explanation. "You look familiar." The way he said it...the way he looked at you was not in an accusing manner. He meant it. You went with your default response. You smiled suavely, thumb and finger sitting square beneath your chin as you remarked, "I just have that kind of face." Hugo nodded, and looked away, though he still kept trying to remember. "So, will you let me go? I do have a mission, you know. I'll be terribly late. Madrid is a long way from here, after all." Donny spoofed, "Nice try, a real agent wouldn't have told us all that." "You asked." You reminded Donny with an eye roll. Donny retorted, "So if a nazi asked, you'd tell 'em too." "No, because THEN IT'S A NAZI." Hirschberg piped up then, "How do you know we're not nazis," as if he really got you. Even Hugo and Wicki rolled their eyes. You rolled your eyes, "Because you're basterds." Aldo seemed amused, and humored the boys, "Says who?" "Says that accent. Sorry, but it's not one many people would strive to imitate." The basterds laughed. It had been so long since someone had gotten away with making fun of his accent. "Besides, everyone knows the Bear Jew. And, everyone knows about Hugo Stiglitz...And the Little Man." Donny chuckled, "Wait, who's the Little Man." "Oh, it's-" Before you answered, Utivich stepped closer to you, "Is that...blood?" "...Oh right..." You glanced at your side, with a slowly growing red stain. "When did that happen!?" "Just before you happened." you shrugged. Hugo crouched by you, "Were you stabbed?" "Oh... most definitely." You were somehow so blunt, and so stoic. Shock is one hell of a drug. Donny, who was slowly being convinced that you were telling the truth, quickly looked around for a cue, "Why DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?!" Before you could answer, Hugo practically flung toward you with a medic kit in his hands. He didn't say a word, but he kept looking up at you. He looked you in the eyes, and it wasn't something he normally did with anyone. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to see into your eyes...almost as though he was trying to dig up a memory that was not his own. The basterds went about with their day. Aldo sent a few of the boys along with a message asking the general if the OSS could confirm or deny your claims. In the meantime, the rest of the basterds scattered around. A few went to get supplies and food, some of the others went out to gather a few scalps here and there to pay off their debt to Aldo. Only Hugo remained, of course 'to keep watch.' But he was busy disinfecting and stitching your wound. "Wer hat dir das angetan?" 'Who did this to you?' "Würden Sie mir glauben, wenn ich es Ihnen sagen würde?" 'Would you believe me if I told you?' He smiled a little, which you heard never happened. You raised your eyebrow, 'Why are you helping me, Hugo?' 'If you're not who you say you are, then we need answers. But if you are you, then...' He trailed off into what was barely a whisper, and glanced up at you. By now, he hardly thought you were a nazi... But that still left him with a thousand questions. Number one being...Who were you, really? The basterds came back, slept in their tents. You were still handcuffed, left outside. In the middle of the night, Hugo's eyes shot wide. He had been dreaming, which was relatively rare for him, even before the war. But this dream was much more of a memory. He'd never been much of a sports fan, but there was one night, just before the start of the war his friend Klaus had recently become a manager and promoter in boxing, and invited Hugo to a match. Your match. He made his way outside, and found you, with your cuffed hands behind your head as you laid on your back, and looked up to the sky. You glanced over at the approaching figure, then back at the sky. He stopped a few feet away from you, "Du warst ein Boxer." 'You were a boxer.' You dismisively hummed. He was silent for a moment, then stepped a little closer, tilting his head, 'I remember you. You used to-' You shook your head.

He crouched by you, and took your hands abruptly. You looked at him, confused though....you certainly didn't mind. Still, he wasn't holding your hands for the hell of it. He was studying the discolored memories of a glorious past in every scar from every victory, loss, and draw. 'It was you.' 'Was.' You conceded with a sigh, 'A long time ago.' 'Do you remember a promoter named Klaus?' He sat down, and wondered aloud, 'I wonder where he is these days...' You cleared your throat, ' Oh...you know....we...um...' 'Had a falling out?' He raised his eyebrow and chuckled a little. It was his way of asking if you'd had a falling in. You blushed a little with a smile, 'Well, yes...but it was so long ago.' Hugo was silent for a while, then asked, 'Is he...' 'Dead, deadweight, or a nazi?' He nodded once, again raising his eyebrow. He wanted the answer to all three. 'No, no, and definitely not. He's a spy for the OSS, too.' You smiled at Hugo, who seemed relieved. He didn't have many friends to begin with before the war. He always wondered what he'd do if he made it to the end. 'I'd like to see him again. I owe him something.' Hugo said with a chuckle. He'd bet Klaus that you'd lose your match...and you didn't. 'After the war, perhaps.' You chuckled and Hugo nodded, 'Perhaps...' You were quiet again, then he commented, 'I saw you sparring, once.' 'Congratulations,' you stopped smiling suddenly, and turned away from him as much as you could, 'good night.'

'Wait.' He shifted to sit directly in front of you. 'What?' 'You...disappeated.' 'They used footage from my matches as propaganda against my will. I left the ring, I left my family, I left Klaus, I ditched my contract, and I lost everything.' 'Where did you go?' 'Doesn't matter.' 'What did you do?' 'What are you, the gestapo?' You rolled your eyes at his sudden interrogation, and he grunted at himself and mumbled, 'Sorry..' He started getting up, thinking perhaps he had crossed a line. You sighed, cursed at yourself wordlessly, and then called out 'I worked as a bouncer in a club in Munich. Nice place. Nicer when we started hiding people where no one would think to look. I got rid of nazis that were too close.' 'Not bad,' He smirked a little. You didn't. 'It wasn't enough.' 'So what did you do? You were recruited, weren't you?' 'Same as you.' You smiled a little then, and he did too. For once in his life, Hugo's hands felt warm... He looked down, and saw he was still holding your hands. You didn't seem to mind. He let go suddenly, and uncuffed you. 'You're not a nazi.' 'Oh gee thanks,' You chuckled a little as you crossed your legs beneath you. He mumbled again, 'Sorry...' You smiled and shook your head, reaching for his hand, 'We can never be too careful, I suppose.' 'I suppose not,' He sighed, and his eyes wandered as he sat back against a tree. 'You're not going to sleep?' You smirked, and again said, 'We can never be too careful...' Of course, you meant you didn't want the other basterds to catch you without your handcuffs, and for Hugo to be in some trouble, Hugo thought you meant the fact that you were deep in enemy territory that was the trouble, 'It's safe here,' He promised you with his eyes, a slight nod, and a squeeze of his hand. 'We thought that not too many years ago, Hugo...' You sighed, remembering the day before the world turned upside down in 1933...you were just a kid then. Hugo turned to you, 'You're hurt.' 'You knew that already.' 'But you're hurting...' 'Who isn't, these days?' You laughed a little, but he didn't. 'Let me see.' 'Fine.' He shook his head as he let go of your hand, and went for the medic kit again. As he took care of you and your wound again, he asked 'What happened to your team?' The sky was a cool dark blue, with a tinge of orange in the horizon. It would be sunrise soon... 'It was just before dawn, about a year ago. We were ambushed. From then on, I've been on my own.' 'I'm sorry.'

You didn't tell Hugo that the nazis weren't looking for your team. They were looking for the Basterds, who had just broken Hugo out of prison. 'Don't be...' You looked up at him, and for a moment, you realized you'd had enough talk of the past. 'Where will you go?' 'What do you mean?' 'After this. After the war.' He smiled, 'I don't know...The world is a big place.' He smiled and looked at you, and you understood he didn't want to go back to Germany either. 'Where will you go?' You shrugged, 'Wherever I'm needed, as always.' For reasons neither you or HUgo could comprehend, he murmured, 'What if I needed you?' You kissed him softly, 'Then I'll be there.' **** "Well....that checks out." Aldo held up a letter from the general, demanding they let you go immediately, while also chewing Aldo out. Donny shrugged, "Well, we're sorry kid..."

You laughed, "I know, I know." You glanced over at Hugo, "Can't be too careful these days." Hugo smiled, though the basterds didn't see. You turned, and started walking west, deeper into the forest. "You're leaving? Just like that?" Omar was asking what half the basterds were wondering. "I told you, I have a mission in Madrid...and I've been set back a few days." Hugo shook his head, "But you're hurt!"

You smiled softly, as you stepped back toward him. "I'll be fine," your hand grazed over his for a moment, "You'll see." He smiled quietly as he watched you go, then Hirschberg gasped, "Is Hugo smiling?!" "No." Omar rolled his eyes, "Great you ruined it." Smitty shook his head, "I didn't even get to see." Wicki asked, "Did Y/n ever say who the nazis call the Little Man?" Smitty shrugged, "Huh...guess we'll never know."

***Months Later Aldo was pacing around. They'd recently lost Andy, Simon, and Michael. Now, the basterds needed some extra firepower, and had nowhere to turn to. At dawn, they'd be moving toward a nearby village for their mission. Hugo was looking east, as the first splash of red and orange began to glow in the distant horizon. "What are you lookin' for, Hugo?" Aldo turned, taking a sip of watered down, stale, coffee. They then all heard footsteps. Boots over fallen leaves. A face peered through some low hanging branches, glad to have stumbled upon them. "Y/n!" The basterds had never seen Hugo run so fast. And they were even more shocked when they saw him wrap his hands around yours. "Klaus lässt grüßen, mein Lieber." 'Klaus sends his regards, my dear.'

Hugo smiled, and held you. You'd heard quite a few rumors in the past few months about the basterds. And seeing their faces now... Seeing Hugo... You knew where you were needed.

#Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #hugo stiglitz #hugo stiglitz x reader #hugo stiglitz imagine

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 16: Sasha

There’s a long silence after the door shuts behind Jon Prime. Sasha stares at Martin Prime for a long moment, several possible things to say next running through her head. How did we actually die wars with how much of that really happened and a slight humorous side trip into I don’t think I’ll ever wear this shirt again, because of course she’s wearing her favorite shirt today, as well as what words did Jon say in that memory and if he was in the other fourteen why did you talk like it was an unknown subject.

What actually comes out of her mouth at last is, “Wickie?”

Martin Prime sighs heavily. “It’s…an old name for a lighthouse keeper. Comes from trimming the wicks to keep the light burning.”

“M-my—” Martin rubs his temples hard, almost like he’s trying to manually turn the wheels in his brain. “Dad used to call…us that. I’d forgotten…” He looks up at Martin Prime, and Sasha is a little taken aback at the anguish in his eyes. “Is—was it a coincidence or—?”

“No. The Keeper is…he’s part of the Lonely, and maybe a little of the Spiral. The loneliness of distance. Not just being separated from someone you care about, but the specific loneliness that comes when you know exactly where they are but can’t get to them, either because there’s a physical barrier or because you just…can’t. The fear that if you reach out to them, they won’t reach back.” Martin Prime closes his eyes for a brief moment. “So the Keeper just…knows those sorts of nicknames. A name given to you by someone you miss…or someone who misses you. Someone you can’t reach, anyway. In this case, though…he knew it because he is the one who gave it.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously? Does that mean you’re—”

“He made a deal to keep me—us—safe,” Martin Prime interrupts. “It’s why he left in the first place. I can tell you the story some other time, but…maybe not today?”

“No,” Martin agrees in a very small voice. “Not today.”

Tim drapes his arm around Martin’s shoulders and nods. Sasha is more inclined to press, but she swallows down on the urge. Curiosity is all well and good, but she shouldn’t sate it at the expense of her friends, so if they say no to a topic, she’s going to respect that. For now, anyway. Time to pick one of the other avenues of discussion.

She wants to ask about the pictures, get more details about what came before those moments, but something tells her that’s a discussion that needs to happen with the Jons in the room. Also, that’s going to hurt Tim, probably, so she starts running through her other options, looking for the least volatile one.

Tim beats her to it, which is probably a good thing. “So that was the first time…your Jon found out about all that? You didn’t, like, give him a taste last night?”

“No. That…I knew he’d need it. Like I said, he hasn’t had a statement since he got back. Sitting in on your—our, I guess—statements from last night…all that did was take the edge off of things. I knew what I went through was big enough that it’ll keep him going for a bit.”

“Right, but why not at least lay the groundwork? Warn him that it was going to be…bad?”

Martin Prime hesitates, turning in the direction of the door briefly before saying in a low voice, “He can’t always…the hungrier he gets for a statement, the harder it is for him to control himself. The last few months before the world ended? I found out, sort of by accident, that he’d been going out and…pouncing random people for their statements. One of them complained to the Institute and I had to stage an intervention. He’s doing better about it, but I didn’t want to risk tempting him. He’d never forgive himself.”

“For falling off the wagon?” Sasha cocks her head.

Martin Prime turns to look at her, and really, it’s a little unnerving now that she knows he’s blind. It explains why he always looks like he’s looking through her, but it’s still creepy. “It’s a lot more painful when he takes a statement by force. Even if I was going to offer it to him anyway, if he…pounced on it like that, it’d be more intense. He hates it enough when it’s strangers, but if it’s—someone he knows…” He trails off.

“Will that happen to our Jon?” Martin asks. His voice shakes a little when he asks. Sasha wonders how much of that is residual from hearing Martin Prime’s statement and how much of it is actually about Jon.

Martin Prime doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “Probably not so quickly, anyway. Gertrude Robinson…I don’t know if she just never got as bad or if she just could control it better. You can ask Jon later.”

“He won’t pass out if we do, will he?” Tim glances towards the door. Sasha suppresses a smile at the obvious concern on his face. Honestly, Tim fusses just as much as Martin does at times. He’s the consummate big brother, while Martin is something of a mother hen.

“No. What just happened was…he pushed too hard, against the wrong subject. He can’t Know what’s going on inside the Eye. Really, trying to Know anything about any of the entities directly is beyond him, and he knows that.” Martin Prime’s voice sharpens into censure for a moment before he visibly forces himself to relax. “Usually he’s pretty good at knowing his limits.”

“So why did he do that?” Tim asks. “If he knew it would hurt him, why would he push? He’s not that…masochistic usually. That’s your job.”

“Hey,” Martin mumbles, but without any real heat behind it.

“He’s not wrong,” Sasha points out. She’s watched Martin push himself, break himself into smaller and smaller pieces, trying to be what everyone needs him to be, always putting everyone else first.

“I think part of it is that it was something he genuinely wanted to know the answer to,” Martin Prime says. “We’ve never known for sure how much the Beholding can see on its own and how much it needs its…agents to give it. It for sure can watch us at the Institute, but in a very real way, the Institute is part of the Beholding, or vice versa. Honestly, it’s not something we think about much. But knowing Jon, once he had the question in his mind, he had to see if he could find out the answer to it, despite knowing it was a dangerous idea. Part of it might have been that he was so tired, too. The longer he goes without a statement, the worse his decision-making skills get.”

“Oh, brilliant. They’re so amazing most of the time,” Tim drawls. “God knows Jon never makes poor life choices.”

Martin Prime actually laughs. “I mean, not like we can throw stones here.”

Tim laughs, too, and Martin manages a smile. Sasha wants to ask if Martin Prime considers her one of Tim’s “poor life choices” or if he even knows they slept together, but just in case he doesn’t, she doesn’t want to drag that out into the open just now. Again, she’s fond of unearthing others’ secrets, but very close-mouthed about her own; it’s probably unfair, but there you are. Lest Tim bring it up, she starts looking for the next thread to pull on.

“That was Jon, right?” she asks at last. “In the…last gallery you were talking about. Those pictures. They were all of Jon?”

That fast, Martin Prime’s smile disappears. “Yeah. Most of them haven’t happened…obviously. And one of them for sure won’t now.”

“The third one,” Sasha guesses. “That was—when Jane Prentiss attacked you all?”

Martin Prime nods. “It was the middle of the day. Jon’s the one that accidentally went through the wall—there was a spider he was trying to take out—”

“The Web toying with him?” Martin asks. He sounds a little calmer than before, but still shaken.

“Honestly, I’ve never been altogether sure about that. It might’ve actually just been a spider, but…the balance of probability is on it being the Web, yes. Anyway, Jon accidentally broke the wall, the worms got in—our Sasha and I ended up having to drag him into that storage room, but he’d already been bitten a few times, he couldn’t walk. Our Tim was at lunch at the time, he came back and—Sasha went out to save him, they got separated, and Tim wound up in the walls. He came through the wall in that storage room and convinced Jon and me to come out with him. We got separated in the tunnels, just like you all did, but Tim and Jon found the trap door and I, well, I found Gertrude. Eventually. But yeah, when Jon and Tim came out in the Archives, Jane Prentiss was there and she attacked them. They were pretty bad off before…Elias finally set off the CO2 system.”

Tim looks down at his hands—or more accurately, Sasha realizes, at one of his hands, since his other arm is still draped around Martin’s shoulders. She wonders if it’s to comfort Martin or to reassure himself. “Are we lucky, then?”

“Yes,” Martin mutters. “Extremely.”

“You’re lucky, too,” Martin Prime says. “Trust me. It wasn’t…Jon’s right, just because I didn’t come away with physical scars doesn’t mean I got off unhurt. And that was when things started going bad for us all.”

“So how do we stop the rest?” Sasha asks. “Are you all going to tell us what happened so we can avoid it?”

“Yes, I think so, but I’d really like to only have to go over it once?” Martin Prime glances in the direction of the door again. “And most of them I wasn’t there for. He’s told me about them, but…I wasn’t there.”

“But what were they?” Sasha persists. “Just how he got hurt? How he got the scars?”

Martin Prime takes a deep breath and curls his hands into tight fists. “Broadly, yes, they’re how he was scarred. They’re…they were the encounters with the Fears that marked him.”

Sasha tilts her head to one side. “Like what Michael said about you—that you’d been marked?”

Martin Prime nods. “To be marked by a Fear is to feel it, all the way through to your soul. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes not. Mine aren’t…at least, not really.” He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly without noticing. It’s the first time Sasha realizes how much grey is streaked through his curls.

Martin swallows audibly. “How…how many fears have marked you?”

“Four, I think. Three for sure. I’m not altogether sure about whether or not the Stranger actually marked me or not.” Martin Prime tilts his head to one side. “You’ve only been marked by two, though, and…I never got the mark of the Corruption. My others were the Lonely and the Spiral, and of course the Beholding.”

“What about us?” Sasha asks. “In your timeline, I mean. How many were we marked by?”

Martin Prime hesitates. “Tim…I think he was four as well. The Beholding, obviously, we were all marked by that one as soon as we set foot in the Archives. At least I—I think that’s how that worked. Or at least as soon as we put our voices on those tapes. Then the Corruption—Jane Prentiss’ attack—and he was with me when I got tricked into entering the Spiral’s domain, so it marked him too. And I’m pretty sure he was marked by the Stranger. I can’t say when, but I’m fairly sure he had been.”

Sasha waits, then prompts, “And me?”

Martin Prime takes a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know, Sasha. If I had to guess, I’d say two. Three at most, but I don’t know if your encounter with Michael really counts as a mark. Honestly, I wouldn’t have known the Corruption had actually marked you if you hadn’t mentioned that you could hear the worms singing.”

Sasha huffs. “I’m not sure what surprises me more—that I didn’t get more marks, or that you didn’t.”

“I spent more time at the Institute than I did actually tracking things down,” Martin Prime replies. “Someone had to keep the Archives running properly, and, well, that fell on me. Our Tim was…he had a project of his own he was focusing on.”

“And me?” Sasha asks again.

Martin Prime looks in her direction for a long moment. His face is tight with pain. “You’re really going to make me say it,” he says flatly.

“Sash—” Tim begins.

“Yes,” Sasha says over whatever it is Tim’s going to protest. “Whatever reason I avoided all that…don’t I deserve to know?”

“You died, Sasha,” Martin Prime says sharply. “You didn’t get marked by more entities because you died. You were torn to pieces by a—a thing that took your place, replaced you in our memories so that we didn’t even know you were gone. We spent almost a year believing that it was you, and finding out that it wasn’t nearly destroyed all three of us. Worse was finding out that Elias knew all along and didn’t tell us because he wanted to see what it would do to Jon, and damn the effect on Tim or me.”

Okay. Sasha really should have known that. She heard him describe the painting, after all, she even thought about not wearing her favorite shirt again because of it. She knew she was dead, and Tim too; it’s obviously why they didn’t come back with Martin Prime and Jon Prime. But something in her wanted to hear Martin Prime say it out loud, and she’s not sure she likes what that says about her. She bites down hard on her tongue to keep from asking about Tim’s death. That’s not hers to ask, and she’s almost sure its going to be something the Jons need to be there for too.

After a moment of awkward silence, Tim gets up from the sofa. “I’m getting us all tea,” he says, his voice unusually subdued. “I think we’re going to need it.”

“Do you…need a hand?” Martin pushes himself to a standing position.

Tim looks like he’s going to refuse, then nods. “Sure, c’mon.”

Sasha watches them go. Martin is walking well enough, if a little stiffly, but Tim still hovers just behind him, not touching but there to catch him if he falls. It’s almost funny how flustered Martin gets when Tim looks after him, too. For a moment, Sasha is tempted to ask Martin Prime about that—if it’s Tim he has the crush on—but that feels a little bit like a betrayal of Martin, to take away his choice to tell her. And she’s still stinging a bit from the way Martin Prime flung the answer to her last question at her.

After a moment of silence, Martin Prime sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for saying it like that.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Sasha replies. “Not like I didn’t know the answer. I—I don’t know why I had to make you say it when I knew I’d died during your attack on the Institute.”

“I’m beginning to see why Gertrude Robinson expected you’d be appointed Archivist after her. You’re…a lot like she was. That’s not necessarily an insult, mind, but that’s not necessarily a compliment either.”

From what Sasha remembers of Gertrude Robinson—which isn’t much—she can understand that. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the clattering of mugs from the kitchen, before she finally says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

“What’s it like? Being blind, I mean.”

Martin Prime tilts his head to one side. “Are you asking me in clinical terms or in more general ‘how does it feel’ terms?”

“Both?”

Martin Prime smiles, briefly. “Fair enough.” He pauses for a moment, as if considering his options. “In the strictly literal sense…it’s like being in a room with really thick blackout curtains over the window. Sometimes there are…textures, maybe, to the darkness? Only if there’s a really bright light. For the most part, though, it’s just…darkness.” He takes off his glasses and holds them out to Sasha. “Here, take a look.”

Curious, Sasha does. She holds Martin Prime’s glasses up to the light, then removes her own and slides on Martin Prime’s. The strength of the prescription knocks her backwards against the sofa and makes her head swim. She takes them off, blinking, and puts them back in Martin Prime’s outstretched hand. “In other words, you were basically blind before all this.”

“It’s just that the glasses don’t help anymore,” Martin Prime confirms. He settles them back on his face anyway, which Sasha understands. They’ve got to be a comfort. “Not being able to see…I can work with that. It’s just the added layer of there not even being blurry shapes in front of me, and, well, Mum was a light sleeper, so I kind of got used to moving carefully and without turning on any lights when I was growing up. Moving around I can do, although I’m sure you noticed me running into things a lot over the last couple weeks because I don’t know there’s a table or a stack of books between me and where I’m trying to get. But it’s…it’s disconcerting to not know if someone’s in the room, or be able to see what they’re doing when there’s a silence. I can’t read faces or see hand gestures. I can still tell when someone is looking at me, but I can’t tell who, or even what direction it’s coming from. And there’s—there’s so much I took for granted that I won’t ever see again. Tim’s smile, Jon’s eyes, the sunlight sparkling on the Thames, the moon rising over the city.” He’s silent for a moment. “I didn’t even remember what you looked like. The—the Not-Sasha? It looked different, it sounded different. It had to, because whenever it takes someone’s place, there’s always one or two people who—who remember the person as they were before, only no one believes them.”

“Which is how it feeds its patron’s fear,” Sasha guesses. “The Stranger?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Martin Prime nods. “I recognized your voice when I got back, only because we—we had a few recordings you were in from before. Your statement, your teasing Jon about the pronunciation of ‘calliope’, the recording Tim did on Jon’s birthday…a couple more you were on. But even having seen that—painting or whatever, I still couldn’t put a face to the voice. I only knew what you looked like in shadow and the most terrified you’d ever been in your life. I knew the Not-Sasha wasn’t what you looked like, but…I had to get Jon to describe you last night.”

Sasha glances in the direction of the kitchen, to make sure Tim and Martin aren’t coming back, but she hasn’t heard the kettle yet. “What did—it look like? The Not-Me? What did it make you think I looked like?”

“She—it—was…well, for starters, it was short. Petite, I think, is the right word. At least a head shorter than Jon and scrawny on top of it. Blonde hair in a shag cut, green eyes. No glasses.” Martin Prime pauses. “Only drank green tea.”

Sasha, who admittedly has a serious caffeine addiction, pulls a face. “How’d she drink it?”

“With cream,” Martin Prime answers. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell Jon, but…actually, there was a little part of me that was kind of relieved when we found out it wasn’t really, well, you. The first day we were back in the Archives after the attack, it was just the two of us, and…I made a cup of tea for both of us, we were both stressed out, so I thought it would help. I thought I made it like I always did, but…when I gave it to her, she took a sip, all but winced, and asked me if I’d made it for Jon or Tim. That’s when she ‘reminded’ me that she only drank green tea with cream. It—it threw me. Badly. I spent the next three months second-guessing myself at every turn, about the stupidest things, because if I could forget something like how one of my friends like their tea, what else was I forgetting? What else was I doing wrong?” He shakes his head. “Honestly, it was hard to shake that even after we knew it wasn’t our Sasha, but at least I could convince myself that there was no good reason for me to know how it would like tea. Even though, supposedly, it replaced all our memories of her—you—with the ones it wanted us to have.”

Sasha hears the unspoken question and considers leaving it, or forcing him to actually say it aloud, but honestly, she’s put him through enough already this morning. “I can’t stand green tea. I’m more one for coffee, actually, but when I do drink tea, it’s black with lots of sugar. Tim suggested once that you just heat up a cup of syrup and call it a day.”

Martin Prime’s face lights up at that. “I did remember it right then! Christ, thank you. You have no idea…it’s been eating away at me for ages. I know it’s ridiculous in the grand scheme of things, but…”

But a big part of Martin’s identity is wrapped up in his ability to care for others, and naturally thinking he got it wrong would set him atilt. “Why leave you that, though?” Sasha asks curiously. “If you couldn’t remember anything else about—me—why remember just how I like my tea?”

“Well…I mean, I worked with you every day, if I’d remembered all about you, I’d have gone to Jon straightaway, or—probably not to Elias, but maybe. I didn’t…know I shouldn’t trust him then. If I’d laid down Amy Patel’s statement in front of Jon and pointed out the parallels, there’s a chance he’d have believed me, which would’ve ruined everything for it. So the one person it chose to remember you as you really were was someone who didn’t see you every day, or at least didn’t work with you closely enough to be suspicious. And—” Martin Prime swallows. “Part of the Stranger is that fear that you—you don’t know someone as well as you ought to. So what better way to make me afraid than to make me doubt such a fundamental part of our interaction? I-I mean, it wasn’t human. It might not have liked tea at all. Maybe it just picked something at random that was so different from what you liked that it would throw me off-balance.”

Suddenly, Sasha gets it. “That’s why you said you might have been marked by the Stranger! You don’t think that counts? If it made you that…paranoid and afraid?”

“Maybe? It was worse for Jon. It made him so paranoid he thought one of us was trying to kill him, and that didn’t count as his mark, if we’re going by the paintings.”

“Oh, please.” Sasha waves a hand. “Jon’s probably paranoid because of finding Gertrude’s shot-up body in the tunnels. That’s not a supernatural death, that’s something provable and possibly human. Was I—or the Not-Me—his top suspect?”

“No?” Martin Prime’s forehead puckers in a frown. “Actually, you—it—was the one he suspected least. At least at first. That doesn’t mean he trusted you, mind, but he did at least think you the least likely suspect.”

“Then the Not-Me didn’t mark him because it wasn’t what made him paranoid,” Sasha says. “If he’d been in his right mind, he’d have suspected me most of all because I put in for the Archivist position, so the logical conclusion would have been that I killed Gertrude Robinson in hopes of getting it and then might be out to kill him so I could take the job from him. He was on edge because of what happened, and what I’m guessing was the general atmosphere of mistrust and tension in the Archives at the time probably made it worse—but it wasn’t the Not-Me’s doing. You, on the other hand, were directly targeted by it, so any paranoia you felt was because of it. Hence the mark.”

Martin Prime blinks in her direction. “That…God, you’re right. I never thought of that before.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Do me a favor?”

“Don’t mention that to Jon, either?”

“Don’t—yeah. He’s got by all this time by reassuring himself that he wouldn’t have acted like that if the Not-Sasha hadn’t been there, but…” Martin Prime sighs and looks up at her. “I will tell him. It’s not fair not to. But just…let me do it?”

“Of course,” Sasha promises. “Despite how I’ve been acting tonight, I can keep my mouth shut.”

“I know. You knew I’d lied on my CV and never said anything.”

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, making Martin Prime flinch slightly. Sasha looks briefly over her shoulder. “They’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Martin Prime hums in acknowledgment. “Anything else you want to ask me while it’s just the two of us?”

Sasha can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?”

“Hey, I didn’t say the Not-Sasha was completely different from you, necessarily. It just looked and sounded different.”

“Fair point.” Sasha considers. She looks in the direction of the kitchen again and thinks of the paintings Martin Prime described. She looks back at Martin Prime and says softly, “Did we suffer? Either of us?”

Martin Prime swallows hard. “You, yes. The—the Not-Sasha bragged about how much it hurt you. Tim…I don’t know. The actual moment of his death might have been quick, but he was definitely suffering beforehand. Maybe not physically, but still, he was hurting and neither Jon nor I could do anything to fix it. Believe me, I tried.”

Sasha bites her lip and nods before remembering he can’t see it. “If you couldn’t fix it…I don’t think it was something that could be fixed.”

Martin Prime smiles. “Thanks, Sasha.”

A moment later, Tim pokes his head in the living room and announces, “Here we come. Tea’s up.”

He and Martin come into the room, Martin concentrating hard on holding onto a mug with each hand and Tim carrying two in each hand like it’s no big deal. He sets them down on the coffee table, then picks one up and hands it to Sasha with an overdramatic flourish. “Your hummingbird food, milady.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Sasha drawls, accepting the mug. It’s not the one she had her coffee in earlier, thank God, but she does wonder just how many mugs Tim has.

Martin sets down one of his mugs, then sits on the sofa with the other carefully cradled in his bandaged hands. Tim picks up the other mug and presents it to Martin Prime. “And here, this one’s yours. We picked a mug with a sculpted handle, so you should be able to tell it apart from the others if you set it down.”

“Oh, thank you.” Martin Prime reaches out hesitantly. Tim meets him halfway, settling the cup on his palm and turning it slightly so that it brushes his fingers and he’s able to wrap them around the handle. “As long as you’re not making me drink out of a horse’s ass.”

It’s probably a combination of the fact that it’s a joke at just the right time and the unexpectedness of Martin Prime using a profanity, even a mild and correctly-applied one, but the heavy mood shatters like spun sugar. Sasha and Martin both burst into giggles at Tim’s exaggerated expression of shock as his eyes go back and forth from Martin Prime to the white mug with a sculpted face and painted horn on one side and a sweeping, rainbow-colored tail for a handle on the other.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives

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alocalband · 5 years

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Adventures in Babysitting NurseyDex, 2.5k, Teen Also on AO3

Dex enters the Haus after his last class of the day and immediately freezes, eyes going wide at what he’s met with.

In the middle of the living room is Nursey, eyes equally wide, a look of absolute panic on his face. And there, on the couch beside him... is a baby.

“What the hell?” Dex asks.

Nursey is the physical embodiment of the complete opposite of chill. “Dex, save me.”

“Who in their right mind would give you a baby?”

“Right?! I’m kind of afraid that if I touch it I’ll break it.”

Dex narrows his eyes at the kid, who is thankfully fast asleep in its carrier. “It’s not yours, is it?”

Nursey’s panic manages to recede enough for him to give Dex a flat, unimpressed look. “No, Poindexter, it is not mine. Tango got it from somewhere.”

“Tango got it from somewhere.”

Nursey throws his hands up in the air, at a loss. “I don’t know, man! It’s Tango! He literally dropped by five minutes ago, told me to watch the thing and then bolted.”

Nursey doesn’t seem to realize the volume level of his voice until after he’s done speaking, and then his head whips around to assess the damage. The baby moves a little, stretching one pudgy arm up. Dex and Nursey both hold their breaths...

But then the baby stills and remains asleep.

They both exhale. Dex rubs a hand over his forehead. “Is Bitty around?”

“He’s at Jack’s.”

“Ollie? Wicky?”

“You and I are the only people in the Haus right now and I am two seconds away from having a panic attack.”

Dex drops his backpack to the floor and moves to stand in front of Nursey. He puts a hand on Nursey’s shoulder and squeezes. It’s rare that Nursey lets himself get this visibly flustered in front of another person, but Dex has known him long enough to be able to usually talk him through it.

“Listen, you’re fine. The baby’s asleep and now you have an extra set of hands. I’m gonna call Tango to yell at him, and then call my mom so she can explain to us how exactly not to kill an infant.”

Nursey nods his head and swallows, looking a little calmer. “Right. Okay, yeah. Chill. We got this.”

“Got your back.”

Nursey actually smiles at that. Ever since they stopped living in the same room, their relationship has been improving be leaps and bounds. Nursey gives Dex his space when he needs it, and Dex lets up on hounding Nursey about shit that honestly isn’t that big a deal. It’s been good.

And, as it turns out, they actually end up spending more time together in the living area or the kitchen than alone in their respective rooms. As though choosing to be in a room together instead of feeling forced into one was the big difference maker.

Dex pulls out his phone to call Tango. When it goes straight to voicemail, he sends an all caps text and then calls his mom.

“Did Tango mention a name?” he asks while it’s still ringing.

“No?” Nursey leans over the baby, squinting at it. “Maybe there’s a tag on it or something.”

Dex resists the urge to facepalm, but only just barely.

“Will!” his mom answers brightly. “You don’t usually call in the middle of the week. Is everything alright?”

He explains the situation, and once his mom is finished laughing at them, she gives a rundown of basic baby care. It essentially boils down to: feed it, change it, don’t drop it. There’s a bag of diapers and formula and other baby related stuff beside the carrier, and she walks Dex through making up a couple bottles in the kitchen, while Nursey stares after him from the living room with a betrayed expression for leaving him alone with the tiny human.

“You’re a smart, capable young man,” his mom tells Dex as they wrap up their crash course in babysitting. “You’ll be fine. Consider it a test run for when you have kids of your own.”

Dex pauses and glances sideways at where Nursey is obviously listening to his end of the conversation. “Mom, we talked about that. I’m not...”

“There are plenty of ways for you to still give me grandkids if you end up marrying another man. How does Derek feel about adoption?”

Dex chokes on his own tongue. “Mom, what? Why would-- Nursey and I are not--”

She starts laughing at him again, because his mom loves him but is also mean like that.

Dex rolls his eyes even though she can’t see it. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Alright. Love ya, kid. Good luck.”

“Love you too.”

He gets off the phone and turns to Nursey, who’s looking a little harried around the eyes again. “Okay, I was starting to feel better with how confidently you made those bottles, but now your face is bright red and I’m nervous again.”

“We’ll be fine. My mom just likes to make fun of me. You’d think that after all this time I’d know better than to tell her about my crushes, but she always gets it out of me in the end. It’s like mom magic or something.”

“Yeah, moms are wily like that.” Nursey agrees, turning back towards he sleeping baby.

They both stare at in for a long moment of silence. Then Nursey clears his throat awkwardly. “So, you, uh, you got a crush on someone, huh?”

Dex feels his ears go even hotter than they already were, and he keeps his eyes steadfastly on the baby. He wonders if it’s a boy or a girl. The triceratops onesie doesn’t really hint in either direction. “Like I’d tell you guys if I did. My mom gives me more than enough shit already for falling for unattainable people.”

“Unattainable?”

“He is so far out of my league it’s not even funny.” The moment he realizes what he just said, he freezes, heart pounding. Fuck. Did he really just...

Nursey turns his head to stare at him, while Dex opens and closes his mouth a couple of times without words.

He is saved, in a manner of speaking, by the sudden shrill cries of the baby before them.

“Oh shit,” Nursey curses, immediately panicked. “How do we turn it off?”

Dex steels himself, puts on his game face, and picks up the baby.

He sniffs it a couple times, but it just sort of smells like baby. So he holds it close and puts a gentle bounce in his step as he heads to the kitchen for one of the bottles.

As soon as the nipple is in its mouth, the crying stops. Dex heads back to the living room and sits down on the coffee table so that he can better hold the bottle and the baby the way his mom described.

Nursey is looking at him like he just cured cancer and defeated Voldemort.

Dex ducks his head, embarrassed. “You’re not gonna be nearly so impressed when this thing spits up all over me.”

“I will still be exactly this impressed, and I will also laugh my ass off.”

“I would flip you off right now but I’ve kinda got my hands full.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, the only sounds coming from the baby in Dex’s arms. Nursey stays standing pretty much where Dex originally found him by the carrier on the couch, watching him.

“Listen,” Nursey starts, and then stops. When Dex looks up, he’s chewing his bottom lip, his eyes darting around uncertainly. “I can pretend I didn’t hear anything if you want? Like, if you want a take-back. A do-over or whatever. You should get to say it how you want. If you want.”

Dex swallows. “No, it’s okay. I’ve actually been meaning to tell you for a while. Some of the other guys know. And obviously my mom.”

Nursey shuffles his feet. “And what about the crush?”

“Oh he knows. Not that it makes a difference.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Poindexter. This guy would be an idiot not to like you back.”

“Oh, he’s definitely an idiot, but not because of that.” Dex hesitates, licks his lips nervously, and then goes for broke. “I mean, we couldn’t even live in the same room for more than a month, I’m not sure you’d be up for exploring what a disaster dating would end up being.”

Time seems to stand still as Nursey gapes at him. Dex forces himself not to look away. He’s put it out there now, he can be man enough to deal with the consequences.

“Wait--” Nursey stutters out. “You-- I--”

And then the front door bursts open and Tango appears. “Hey guys! How’s Addie?”

Nursey immediately throws his arms in the air and redirects his focus to their tadpole teammate. “Oh my god, man, never do that to me again!”

Tango gives them a confused look, but that’s pretty much his default expression. “Was she not good for you?”

“Anthony,” Dex begins carefully, “whose baby is this?”

“My sister’s? Did I not say that? She got into town yesterday and I told her I’d take Addie for some playtime so she could have a break.”

“Okay. Follow up question. Why on earth did you think leaving her with Nursey was a good idea?”

“...Because he was the only one here?”

Dex shakes his head and sighs. “You know what, it’s my fault for asking. Get over here and take your niece already.”

Tango does so happily, cooing at the girl in a way that makes her laugh and clap her little hands together even though her bottle’s been momentarily taken away. Of course he’s magically good with babies. Sounds about right when it comes to Tango.

Dex grabs his discarded backpack and heads for the basement, emotionally exhausted. The last thirty minutes have been a bit of a rollercoaster and he will be happy to hole himself in his bungalow and not deal with people for the next several hours.

Except that Nursey follows him.

He stays a couple steps behind Dex and doesn’t say a word all the way into the bungalow.

Dex tosses his backpack onto his desk chair and stands facing the bed instead of Nursey. He closes his eyes and exhales, feeling his entire body deflate with it. “So I guess I don’t get any take-backs on that last one, huh?”

“If you really want one I’ll give it to you, but I’m kinda hoping you don’t.”

Dex’s eyes snap open, but his body remains rooted to the spot, scared to face whatever Nursey’s expression is doing behind him. “And why’s that?” he asks, a little shaky.

“Come on, Poindexter, you have to know.” Dex feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been pigtail pulling for years now, Will. It’s kinda gotten embarrassing.”

Dex finally turns around, struggling not to smile. “You’ve always been embarrassing.”

Nursey’s face is a thing of beauty. On any given day it could probably launch ships and start wars, but right now, broken open in Nursey’s apparent happiness and wonder, it’s the most breathtaking thing Dex has ever seen.

“I have it on good authority that you like me anyway.” Nursey smirks.

The smile Dex was fighting breaks free as Nursey closes the distance between them. He starts to lean in, but Dex puts a hand up to stop him. “Wait.”

Nursey’s brow furrows in confusion, his lips forming a small frown that’s almost more pout. It is totally not adorable.

“I meant it about this probably ending in disaster. We don’t share a room anymore but we still do live in the same house and are on the same team and share the same best friend. There’s a lot of ways for us to fuck things up.”

Nursey tilts his head to the side, considering. After a moment he nods. “Alright, what if we did, like, a contract? Kinda how we probably should’ve done for the roommates situation. We can go over boundaries, and possible consequences, and... I don’t know, just make sure we’re on the same page and are playing by the same rules.”

Dex blinks, a little stunned. “That is a surprisingly mature suggestion for someone who nearly just shit himself at the prospect of being responsible for a small child.”

“Hey, babies are scary!”

“Don’t tell my mom that.”

“What? Why?”

“Because on the phone earlier she asked me to get your opinion on whether or not we should adopt.”

Nursey chokes on air. If he’d been drinking something that would’ve been a legitimate spit take.

“Okay, rule one on this contract,” he tells Dex firmly, “is that all discussions of future child acquisition get tabled until after we graduate.”

Dex smiles. “You think we’ll make it all the way to then?”

“Well I’m gonna damn well try to, Poindexter.”

And how can Dex not kiss him at that?

It’s slow at first, lingering presses of lips against lips, over and over again because neither of them want to be pulling away at all. And then eventually it turns a little more heated, Nursey’s hands in Will’s hair and wrapped around his waist, Dex’s hands fisted in the back of Nursey’s shirt.

“Okay, okay,” Dex pants against Nursey’s kiss swollen lips, “anymore than this should probably wait until after the first couple dates.”

A low noise escapes from the back of Nursey’s throat that could almost be described as a whine, but he swallows and nods, his nose brushing up and down the apple of Dex’s cheek with the motion. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Contract first.”

“I hate how much it turns me on when you’re being all responsible and shit.”

“I hate how much it turns me on when you’re being all self-aware and shit.”

Nursey snorts. “I’m still working on that one, so don’t expect it to come up often.”

Dex takes a step back so that he’s no longer tempted to keep making out, and then sits down on the edge of the bed. “Wanna go get dinner with me tomorrow? As a date, just to be clear.”

Nursey makes a show of thinking this over and then stretching, the movement lifting his shirt up enough that Dex gets a nice view of his lower abs and the trail of hair that leads down into his jeans. The show off.

Not that Dex is complaining. But he is still gonna chirp the hell out of Nursey the next time he does it.

“Yeah, count me in,” Nursey replies with a smile. “As long as we’re considering that our first date, and not the Adventures in Babysitting we had to go through today.”

“Deal.”

From upstairs they can hear the clear sounds of a baby’s laughter, before the sound of the front door shutting as Tango leaves with Addie. They both breathe sighs of relief, and then meet eyes and grin at each other.

“If we can successfully handle a surprise baby, we can fumble our way through a relationship,” Nursey says matter-of-factly.

Dex hoists himself up briefly and kisses him again, quick and certain. “As long as I keep my mom on speed-dial, I think we’ll be okay.”

#nurseydex #check please #omgcp #william poindexter #derek nurse #fanfic #fluff #coming out

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eclisseacontextforfilm · 6 years

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you only care about who lose. Typical of intellectuals, selfish but so full of pity! eclisse inspirations, vol. V Michelangelo Antonioni’s Trilogy of incommunicability part. 2 - La notte, 1961 “one question I am often asked is why the women in my films are more lucid than the men. I was raised among women: my mother, my aunt, and lots of cousins. Then I got married, and my wife had five sisters. I have always lived among women; I know them very well... Speaking for myself, I find that the feminine sensibility is a far more precise filter than any other to express what I have to say. In the realm of emotions, man is nearly always unable to feel reality as it exists. Having a tendency to dominate woman, he is tempted to hide some of her aspects from himself and see her as he wants her to be. There is nothing absolute in this area, but it seems to me that is at the heart of it Michelangelo Antonioni In reviewing the critical reception of La notte (1961), it strikes me that many observers seem to almost completely miss the fact that the film is, in part, a feminist critique of capitalist society, which centres around women, consumption, and the failure of our ecosystem, and not just the director’s trademark alienation and ennui.Conventional plot summaries of the film routinely insist that La notte centres around a male author, Giovanni Pontano (Marcello Mastroianni), his uncertain career, and his failing relationship with his wife, Lidia (Jeanne Moreau), as well as his flirtations with beautiful socialite Valentina Gherardini (Monica Vitti) I would argue, rather, that women are both the centre of the film and the mirrors upon which Antonioni reflects his dark perceptions and stark conclusions about the human condition. At a launch party for his latest novel, those who celebrate Giovanni’s newest book spend precious little time actually reading, opting instead to party all night, while simultaneously remaining oblivious to their own mortality. As in most of his films, Antonioni’s wealthy protagonists in La notte live in a hell of their own making. So thoroughly alienated are they from one another (and from the environment) that they experience the rain from the sky (in the pool sequence) as a sublime rapture from above, giggling like schoolchildren, briefly lifted out of their stupor for a moment’s play with the actual elements. The tragedy of Antonioni’s characters is not simply a matter of bored bourgeois ennui; these people are disconnected from the feminine, from the earth, and from life itself. Perhaps no critic got it more wrong than Pauline Kael in her infamous essay The Come-Dressed-As-the-Sick-Soul-of-Europe Parties: La Notte, Last Year at Marienbad, La Dolce Vita, in which Kael attacked the film, demanding less ambiguity: La notte is supposed to be a study in the failure of communication, but what new perceptions of this problem do we get by watching people on the screen who can’t communicate if we are never given any insight into what they could have to say if they could talk to each other? On the contrary, Antonioni gives us nothing but insight into the various relationships, and thus I find her dismissal baffling. More recently, critic Christopher Sharrett takes a far more perceptive feminist eco-critical approach to key Antonioni films such as Il deserto rosso (Red Desert, 1964) and L’eclisse (1961), noting of L’eclisse that “the failure of people to connect is rooted less in vague existential dread than in concrete social realities”. For me, it is those specific social realities that are most vividly explored and exposed in La notte. Antonioni’s key, early films are best understood from the point of view of a feminist director – keeping in mind Antonioni’s own philosophy, as noted above, “the feminine sensibility is a far more precise filter than any other to express what I have to say.” Sharrett’s perceptive comments on Red Desert also apply to La notte. He notes that Red Desert is: “explicit in its insistence that the sensitive individual (who must be, in the director’s view, axiomatically female, with little possibility for the male partaking of authentically human sensibility) cannot enjoy happiness in this end-product of patriarchal capitalist rule. A pervasive theme in Antonioni’s work is the concept ‘Eros is sick,’ meaning that the erotic, the drive for life, is sickened and doomed by the death drive in a society operating under the assumptions of capitalism and repression” Filmed on location in Milan, the opening credits shot is a stunner. The camera glides in a long track down the exterior of a glass-facade building, suggesting a descent into hell. Images of nature are fleeting in La notte – a few scrub trees in a desolate urban environment; the sky violated by amateur rocketry competitions; unfinished buildings everywhere – depicting Milan as an unnatural colonization of the feminine earth. Humans in La Notte shuffle along resembling zombie-like “sleepwalkers.” Specific allusions to sleepwalking abound, the most direct being a reference to Hermann Broch’s classic 1932 novel, which Giovanni picks up at the party with an air of surprise, wondering aloud, “Who is reading The sleepwalkers?” Broch’s own obsession with the death of values and the decay of humanity mirrors La notte’s central preoccupation with mortality as it relates to the value of love and art (as Eros). Mortality is omnipresent in the opening sequence in a hospital room, where Giovanni and Lidia visit their dying friend, an author named Tommaso (Bernhard Wicki). Tommaso wonders aloud if any of his life’s work is of value, and ironically Giovanni himself is battling the same sorts of questions, the central post-war preoccupations of modernism; self-doubt, alienation, and existentialism. Giovanni’s self absorption precludes him from a loving relationship with his wife, Lidia, who patiently waits for him to grow up during the entire length of the film. Antonioni crafts our perspective so that we see Giovanni primarily through Lidia’s point of view. Though he is unfaithful, selfish, and childish, Lidia still loves Giovanni, but she is keenly aware that their marriage is barely alive. Lidia observes Giovanni trying to woo the stunning young Vitti, but instead of protesting, she seems to almost push her husband into Valentina’s arms through her powerful gaze. Though Moreau is said to have disliked the role of Lidia, it is one of her finest performances and most of her power is established through her active gaze. In a strong and memorable sequence, Lidia wanders the streets looking at life going on around her, watching the activities of workmen and women of all types. Lidia seems keenly aware that life is going on around her, but in many ways without her, as she feels the pain of her own mortality and her unraveling marriage. Antonioni clearly empathizes with Lidia strongly. A particularly acute feminist moment comes when Lidia witnesses some young men fighting near a construction site seemingly for no reason at all. The fight summarizes patriarchy in a nutshell; macho, pointless, violent and dangerous. There is a brief moment when we think that perhaps Lidia will be hurt or even raped by the men, but she shoos them away and calls Giovanni to pick her up. The couple wanders through the nearby railway tracks where they first met and fell in love, even as the environment has taken over, and numerous wild plants have sprung up since they last visited, many years ago. Eros is still possible, even between these two. Thanatos has not won yet. La notte makes it clear that women’s artistic talents are wasted in a society that values them only for their beauty. As if to demonstrate this, in one telling sequence, Valentina uses a tape recorder to tell a story to Giovanni. She is a far better storyteller than the author, but after she finishes her narrative, Valentina erases the tape rather than playing it back. We hear a whiny, high-pitched squeak as the recorder rewinds the tape, thus destroying her story – and making us acutely aware of the myriad untold stories of all women. Whether or not Lidia and Giovanni’s marriage is saved at the end of La notte seems insignificant in light of the larger issues raised by the film. Antonioni offers us far bigger issues to contemplate. What have humans made of the earth? How do we love one another? What is the value of women, art and love in a world defined by men of commerce? Can we wake from our sleepwalking? These are but a few of the questions raised by La notte, a masterwork that only gets better with time, provoking a wakeful regenerative response to 21st century consumption, devaluation of Eros, and our reckless destruction of the natural world. [by Gwendolyn Audrey Foster, February 2015]

#eclisse #filmmaking #filmproduction #cinema #arthaus #michelangelo antonioni #monica vitti #italy #tumblr #artists on tumblr

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whatwouldfrogsdo · 7 years

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⛄

A little fic for Day 2 of the @omgcpwinterextravaganza, the prompt being a SMH Snowman Building Competition.

AO3

Holster strode between the entries, clipboard in hand. Chowder suspected that he was only pretending to make notes, but he and Ransom had been so keen to come to Samwell and judge the Annual SMH Snowman Competition, that nobody could turn them down. Despite the fact that Bitty had looked like a shoo-in to win before they even started gathering their snow, simply for the amount of baked goods he had given them, and the announcement that he was going to attempt a Snow Tater.

Holster stopped next to Chowder’s creation. “Snow man, Chowder. What part of man don’t you understand?”

“Also, it’s totes cheating to have your girlfriend help,” Nursey added from where he was trying to patch up the hole he had accidently pushed into his snowman.

“Why would it have to be a man?” Caitlin asked. “Don’t be so sexist, Birkholtz.”

“That would be a great argument, Farms, if you weren’t there building a castle.”

“It’s not just going to be a castle,” Chowder told Holster. “Just wait until we’re done. Cait and I won the Sandcastle Competition at my local beach this summer. We have a plan. The castle is just the kingdom.”

“Well... As long as you don’t get a chisel out or anything.” Holster threw a dirty look at Dex, who scowled back from where he was sat on the porch steps, having already been disqualified.

“It wasn’t a fucking chisel. It was just my pocketknife.”

“No tools, Poindexter! You know the rules.”

“Okay, well what about the help issue? If I’m disqualified, C is definitely disqualified. Cait’s not even on the hockey team!”

“We’ll add it to the rules for next year, but unfortunately, they found a loophole because Farmer’s not on the hockey team,” Ransom explained. Chowder threw Dex a smug grin from behind Holster’s back, and held his fist out for Caitlin to bump.

“TIME!” Holster and Ransom shouted, in unison, an hour later.

“Everyone, step away from your snow people. Oliver Lucas O’Meara, stop that.”

Ollie dropped his hand hastily from his snowman and moved away.

Chowder sat down next to their grass-moat, made from clearing all the snow around their snowcastle. Caitlin snapped a picture of him, with the sculpture, on her phone before joining him, and the two waited as Ransom and Holster looked at each entry in turn.

“Nice and traditional, Whiskey. Good effort. It’s easily the biggest here, so ten points for that, but it has to be a C minus for originality.”

“What’s the scoring system?” Tango asked. Ransom ignored him.

“It’s only biggest height wise,” Caitlin pointed out.

“We’ll get to you two,” Holster said dryly. He cast an eye over their work, rolled his eyes and moved onto Ollie and Wicky. “Now, I have to say, despite the whole, no team members work together rule, you two have somehow managed to end up with identical snowmen and there’s something a little suspect about that.”

“Then there’s the way they’re looking at each other and the gloves are clearly reaching out for a fist bump,” Ransom added. “We couldn’t judge these individually because they work as a joint piece and there’s no way of distinguishing between them, but if we judged them together then they would clearly be in breach of the rules.”

“My fellow judge and I will have to discuss this after seeing all the entries,” Holster decided.

“What do you mean you’ll discuss it later? That’s a disqualification!” Dex grumbled.

They carried on looking at the team’s snowmen in turn, praising Ford for her creativity in dressing an otherwise mundane snowwoman and commiserating with Tango for how his snowman ended up slanted. They were full of advice for the new frogs about what they could do in future years to make their work stand out, and to prepare for the competition beforehand. They laughed in Nursey’s face for his.

“It’s not my fault!” Nursey said, when Holster gently nudged the gaping hole in the snowman’s stomach.

“It’s completely his fault. He fell over. He’s a walking disaster.” Dex punctuated his statement with a snowball, which hit Nursey’s snowman in the nose. The celery stick Nursey had used for the nose snapped in half and fell to the ground.

“Hey! Sabotage!” Nursey ducked down to gather some snow to throw back at Dex.

“You’d already lost, Nurse,” Ransom pointed out. “Dex, stop heckling.”

When they came to stand next to Chowder and Caitlin’s snow sculpture, the two juniors bounced to their feet and grinned at each other. Okay, there were two of them, but they had done the most. Theirs was the most complicated and the most creative and given another half hour they could have finished refining it into perfection. Even how they had left it, their mini snowmen were the only things which didn’t quite have the detail they wanted.

“It’s very nice. A good castle, and wow that shark... But the competition was for building a snowman.”

“We have thirty-two snowmen,” Chowder said.

“Those tiny little balls of snow?” Holster asked.

“They are clearly snowmen!” Caitlin argued. “Two balls of snow on top of each other, that’s what makes a snowman. If we had a bit more time-”

“You didn’t have to build a castle,” Ransom pointed out.

“You said the castle was good.”

“Okay, okay, full marks for originality and creativity and the snow shark, but you’re not in the competition for the best snowman. If it was snow sculpting, you’d win, but your snowmen... How are we supposed to judge them if they’re only two inches tall?”

“Size doesn’t matter,” Chowder said. When Nursey snorted, he grabbed a handful of snow, and chucked it in his direction, but it broke apart in mid-air and ended up showering Nursey with snow instead.

Holster had crouched on the ground to look at the snowmen. “Is this one Pavelski?”

“It is!” Chowder said.

“How did you put the C on his chest?”

“Caitlin used her fingernail.”

“I like the goalie pads, too.”

“Thank-you!”

“You still haven’t won.”

Chowder’s face fell, and he and Caitlin sat back down again while they moved onto Bitty’s Snow Tater - the last to be judged.

“Ours is the best, though,” Caitlin said into his ear, in that stage whisper she used whenever she was trying to be subtle. Chowder had to nod in agreement as he looked at Bitty’s. It was a standard snowman, shorter than Bitty, with a large strawberry for a nose, a blueberry mouth, milk chocolate cookies for eyes, and the number 7 drawn into its back. There was nothing special about it.

“Results are in!” Holster announced. He and Ransom had taken their place on the top of the porch steps to declare the winner, and Dex reluctantly moved out the way, to stand by his own abandoned snowman between Nursey and Chowder. “In third place, we have Whiskey with his traditional Frosty. In second place, Ford, with Mrs Scrooge. And the winner is Bitty for his Snow Tater.”

“It’s a total set-up,” Dex muttered. Chowder hadn’t noticed him or Nursey creep closer to them, but now he looked down as Dex placed a snowball in his gloved hand.

Chowder turned the snowball over and grinned. Caitlin had prepped her own snowball on his other side, and the four of them didn’t need a countdown to aim their shots and fire the snowballs at Ransom and Holster.

“Bros, seriously?” Ransom asked, already scooping up some snow to retaliate.

“That’s for being biased,” Nursey told him.

“Nursey? Are you kidding me? Your snowman is terrible.”

“But Bitty’s is better than Chowder’s?”

“Hey!” Bitty said. “No need to be a sore loser.”

Dex turned and aimed his next snowball at Bitty, who shrieked and ducked behind Tango’s snowman. A well aimed shot from Ford hit him in the back, and the next moment, snowballs were flying all over the yard, as Bitty darted to the Haus.

“Aw, come on Bitty!” Ransom called when Bitty had barricaded himself inside. Five snowballs splattered against the kitchen window, and then Whiskey managed to hit Holster in the back of the head and war broke out.

“No! Fuck. Nursey, stop!”

Chowder turned to see what Dex was yelling about and was greeted by a faceful of snow. He wiped it off and narrowed his eyes at Caitlin. They tumbled to the ground when he tackled her. Her hand slid around his neck and she giggled into his chest.

“It’s like how we first met.”

Chowder grinned back at her. “Except that time we weren’t lying on a castle.”

“Oh no! We ruined it.” She twisted her head back to look in disappointment. “Is SJ Sharkie okay?”

“He’s okay, but I think we’ve massacred the defensemen,” Chowder said, poking at a lump which used to be Brent Burns in miniature.

“That’s so rude, Chow,” Nursey said. Chowder turned to see him and Dex lying in the snow a couple of feet away, both panting heavily. Dex had snow poking out the top of his pants, and Nursey’s jacket had come undone. Nursey’s snowman was also ruined, and its head seemed to have exploded over Dex’s chest.

“Well those lasted long,” Caitlin said dryly. “Maybe Bitty did deserve to win, after all.”

Sure enough, when Chowder sat up he could see that the Snow Tater was the only snowman still standing.

#omgcpwinterextravaganza #omgcp #omgcp fanfic #chris chow #caitlin farmer #derek nurse #william poindexter #check please frogs #justin oluransi #adam birkholtz #eric bittle #smh #check please!#prev; whatwouldlilydo #but still WhatWouldLilyDo on ao3 where i will post this in a bit!#tis the season to be jolly #unedited; unbetad; etc

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years

Text

The Basterds, The Spies, and the Baroness (Archie Hicox x Fem!Reader)

Requested by @mbluxaeterna

I haven't written for Archie before, but I did my best, sorry luv!

Also sorry this took so long!

@owba-chan, @inglourious-imagines @war-obsessed, @tealaquinn

Let me know if you wanna be added to the basterds of OUATIH taglists! :)

____________________

"Now before we meet your contact, John-"

"Archie." Lieutenant Hicox cleared his throat as he attempted to look disinterested, and straightened out his collar.

Aldo nodded, disinterested himself as he went on, "Yeah. Before we get you to that tavern, there's someone we need to introduce you to."

Hugo smiled...

Which scared not only Archie, but everyone else.

Still, it was warranted.

The basterds rushed back into Paris before making their way to the village of Nadine. In the streets of Paris, there was a common street musician. A woman. Perhaps a lost Greek muse, with a talent belonging to a forgotten ancient world, but a heart that would soon belong to Lieutenant Archie Hicox.

A crowd of Parisians dreaming of freedom wandered by, lulled by your song.

A crowd of nazis circled around you, smoking, listening to you, befriending you. They gathered there often, told you their stories, their names, their secrets. They told you about their ambitions, their friends, their homes. They told you about their wives. Most of all, they told you all about their missions.

In fact... they bragged about them to you.

And you listened, and played on. You played your guitar. You played a character. And you played the nazis.

You were just girl to them, who would listen and entertain. To the nazis, you were just a girl with a song to play and a heart to give.

In reality, you were (technically) a soviet spy. With a freelance mission to complete, and information to pass on.

Archie didn't know that.

So when the basterds stood across the street, listening to the nazis chattering to you in slurred French, as you played your guitar and looked up at them with a smile, and spoke amicably, he was more than confused.

It must be a joke...

He looked to the basterds. "She's just some French girl. Probably a damned collaborator from the looks of it."

Donny shook his head, and smirked "She's not French, Hicox. Thought you tommy's were smarter than that."

Archie raised his eyebrow. You certainly had the nazis fooled.

And him.

Aldo made eye contact with you, and your false smile for the nazis illuminated like a distant star for the basterds when you caught sight of your old friends.

You tilted your chin up a little, your notes beginning to slow down.

You excused yourself.

You had an ill aunt to visit.

Perhaps you'd return in a day or two.

And the nazis bought that.

They dispersed, back to their stations, unwittingly as you made your way to their sworn enemies, the basterds.

Archie's question remained unanswered until that moment.

You smiled as you held your arms out, greeting the basterds. "Priviet!" ‘Hi!’

Archie's question was answered.

What were you?

Perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Priviet.....

Archie was an expert on German films, and mastered the language. But he knew a word or two thrown around by allies...

That was Russian...

And judging by the way you carried yourself in front of the nazis, despite having what appeared to be a close relationship with the basterds... Archie concluded you must be a spy.

A Soviet spy.

Though, you wore elegant clothes, and long, diamond earrings. Your guitar was brand new. You drew so much attention. By no means were you what he'd expect from a spy.

And maybe that was perfect.

"Y-you were just talking to all those nazis and you-"

You smiled a little as you pulled your hair onto your left shoulder, "Hearsay is valuable. Lose lips sink ships, as you say. Music makes men far from home feel closer. They talk. I listen." You smirked a little as you glanced at the handsome newcomer, "Then I talk," You chuckled and winked at him.

Archie gulped, and stammered.

Something he hadn't done since he was a school boy.

Aldo smirked a little, "You'll have to excuse Lietenant Hicox. He's a lttle nervous with our mission."

You raised your eyebrow as your eyes grazed over the boys. Those familiar faces...

You smirked, "And so are you."

Donny scoffed, "What? Us?! C'mon!"

You tilted your head, as you looked to the seemingly incredulous sergeant, and Aldo, "No? Then why else would you boys have come to me?"

All the younger basterds turned their attention to their officers.

You were right.

You were an old friend of theirs...

And a last resort.

You knew that, and you went along with them without asking a single detail about this new mission.

Archie didn't know what to make of you. He turned to Aldo, "She hasn't even been briefed... She doesn't know a thing. Why are we bringing her?"

"Because, lieutenant. Y/n is an old soul. She's loyal. She's got a fighter in her. Makes sure everyone we got goin' in, makes it back out. As a lieutenant, that should mean somethin' to you."

Archie nodded as he glanced at you. You were a little ahead, walking with the rest of the basterds, just out of ear shot. "I see..."

You didn't say much along the way. You, by nature, were more of a listener than a talker. And...Hugo liked that about you. And you liked that about him. As the boys gave up with the years of your cryptic and unsatisying answers about being a Soviet spy, you sat by Hugo.

And he left you alone.

Both you and Hugo were not the loquacious type.

You were all hiding out in a building across the tavern where the boys were meeting with Archie's contact.

You were strumming lost, calming notes on your guitar. Hugo was by you, sharpening his knife.

Everyone was a little shook up because it turned out...the boys would be in a basement.

You abruptly stopped playing when you heard footsteps, out of instinct. It was only Archie, but he still outranked you... technically they all did.

But they respected the hell out of you.

Hugo looked up in annoyance when Archie said, "Stiglitz, right?"

"That's right sir."

Something about all this didn't feel right. Usually you were up for anything...but something was different.

No...it wasn't just that Archie Hicox was there...and handsome...and had a nice accent...

You shook your head subtly as you tuned your guitar, while Archie made sure Hugo kept his head in the tavern.

"I don't look calm to you?"

"Well...now that you put it like that...I guess you do."

Hugo looked at him for a moment in sheer annoyance, and then went back to sharpening his knife.

You kept your smirk hidden as you looked down at your guitar, and started to play again. You felt a presence in front of you, but you didn't stop playing until he spoke.

You heard Hugo mutter in irritation.

If there was once thing the basterds knew for certain about Hugo Stiglitz, it was that he liked good music.

And...there was a rumor once, long ago, that he may have liked you.

But it was only a rumor...one that he silenced with his own hands... But that was a story for another day...

"And you, miss L/n?

"I'm just a musician, sir."

He smiled a little, his cheeks turning red, "Please, call me Archie."

"Then you must call me Y/n, nothing more." You smiled softly as you looked back down at your guitar.

Hugo smirked, knowing you were once much more.

"Y/n..." Archie couldn't help but smile when he said your name. It just sounded so beautiful to him. "You don't have to come to the tavern. It will be dangerous."

"I'm a Soviet spy, Archie. This is what I do." You smiled reassuringly.

"But you're not a basterd, you've no idea how dangerous this is, y...y/n..." He looked at you with eyes of concern.

You set your guitar down, and smiled a little. "Archie, dorogoi..." 'Archie, darling'

You gestured to the basterds, "These boys only come to me in the worst of it. You've no idea the things these basterds have dragged me into."

Hugo smirked in reminiscence as he continued to sharpen his knife.

Archie nodded, seeing you were dead set on it. "So you'll be posing as the musician?"

"Posing? It’s what I am. They all know that. Simple. Nothing more."

Archie nodded adn softly repeated, "Nothing more..."

That's what you should've been to him...

Nothing more than a contact. A friend of the basterd's. Nothing more than a street musician...

But to him, you were frighteningly becoming so much more.

As he spoke to Aldo in the other room, and you continued to play a nameless song that would never be played again. Hugo interrupted you this time.

He said nothing.

Not with his lips, anyway.

His smirking eyes and contorted eyebrow said it all.

You had spoken more than usual.

"What, Hugo? He's just...just a lieutenant."

He smirked, quietly understanding Archie was more than that as he turned his attention back to his knife and your song.

**** As Archie feared, the night was far more eventful than it should have been...

You winced when he ordered three glasses.

The wrong way...

Even you knew it was wrong. You'd hoped Hellstrom didn't notice. He glanced at you for a moment, the well known abandoned Russian in Parisian streets...

His eyes once full of admiration were then full of evil and realization.

You knew he had noticed.

Because in his eyes he questioned years of stories and secrets that he'd given to you personally... And there you were, among the impostors.

Bridget began to tense up.

You looked at Hugo...

He seemed calm, but his eyes weren't.

Archie had no idea...

Not until you all heard Dieter's gun click. Archie bought a moment of time with a request to go out speaking the King’s...

He glanced at you in what he thought were his final moments... His eyes full of longing and loss, as if saying, ‘Perhaps in another life...’ You wouldn’t let that happen. You had plans. It all felt as if it passed in a millisecond and an eternity all at once.

You let your instincts kick in. They never once let you down...

You shot Dieter in the head, flipped the table over, stopping Hellstrom's bullet from hitting Archie, as you pulled Bridget and Wicki down, saving her from harm, and giving Wicki an edge against the nazis.

You threw a knife from the table into a Eric's eye, just before he shot Hugo. You ran to pick up the dead Hellstrom's gun with your left hand, as you held your own in your right. You stood, out in the open, shooting at the nazis that dared to breathe.

When it was all said and done... You didn't know who was alive and who was hurt...

You took cover behind the overturned table... It wouldn't be long before the rest of the basterds came to help.

All you knew was there was a nazi named Wilhelm attempting to negotiate with Aldo.

You heard Bridget call out, "I'M ALIVE."

Frankly, the rest of the negotiation, and Wilhelm's death were a blur to you. You were more focused trying to figure out what happened to the others...

They weren't in your line of sight, and if you moved too suddenly, that last nazi might shoot you...

It wasn't until you heard unexpected shots being fired that you peered over the table, gun in hand, ready to fire, only to see that Bridget had shot Wilhelm.

You took a breath, as you scurried to the other side of the room. Bridget turned to you, gun aimed at you, but she took a breath as she realized it was you.

You crouched over Hugo and Archie.

You and Bridget heard shuffling behind you.

Wicki was starting to get up... He was limping.

You heard Aldo call down, "VON HAMMERSMARCK? WILHELM? WHAT THE HELL WAS HTAT?! WHERE ARE MY MEN?!"

You called out, as you searched for a pulse in Hugo and Archie. You sighed in relief as you sat back.

Hugo had been shot but was alive...

Archie had only been knocked unconscious.

You called out, “ARCHIE'S OUT COLD, WICKI'S LIMPING, HUGO AND VON HAMMERSMARK ARE HURT."

Archie opened his eyes, "Y/N?"

"Good morning, Spyashaya krasavitsa, [sleeping beauty]" You smiled down at him as you reached your hand out to his, "Time to go. You feel ok?"

He nodded, his hand at the back of his bloody head, "Fine. Fine... The others. What happened to the others?!"

You started pulling Hugo's limp arm around your shoulder. "Help Wicki."

Aldo came down and picked Bridget up. You pulled an injured Hugo along, as Wicki limped, held up by Archie.

You had to make an escape.

Soon.

The nazis would be investigating...

Somehow, through it all, you still gritted a cigarette between your teeth. "Smitty, Omar, hold him up for a second."

They nodded and you hotwired one of the nazi's cars.

The boys looked to you in astonishment.

As the engine sputtered, you turned to them, "What?"

You puffed at a cigarette as you walked to the next nazi's car, "We're gonna need two. Aldo, Donny, take the hurt ones down to this address. We'll follow." You jotted down a local veterinarian's address on a napkin and handed it to Donny.

You stood at the next car, watching as Aldo and Donny drove off with Wicki, Archie, Hugo, and Bridget...

You puffed unconsciously at your cigarette... watching...

The smoke rising into the dark abyss that dared call itself a starry sky...

You'd never seen a darker one.

"Y/n..."

You looked back at the boys.

Omar, Smitty, and Hirschberg looked to you with wide eyes.

You nodded, and softly murmured under your breath, both to comfort them, and yourself with words you'd said to the younger ones so many times before, "Vse korosho... Vse korosho." 'it's ok, it's ok...'

Hirschberg stepped up, "Whoa, whoa, princess."

"Don't call me that." Your voice turned like a violent tide, harsher than you intended.

You had a history...a story, a home...a life, long before you were a Soviet spy. 'Princess' wasn't exactly what you were, but it was something that you were once poised to be.

Still, the boys didn't know that. Except for Hugo, but he'd never tell a soul.

You sighed, about to apologize, but they didn't mind. Everyone was on edge, and they were worried about you.

You were covered in blood.

Whose blood, was unclear.

Your hands were shaking, and your puffs of smoke were inconsistent.

You managed to get the engine going, and just before you hopped in, Omar said, "I'll drive."

"No."

"Y/n..."

You looked to the other two, then down at your hands.

Whose blood...

Yours...Archie's....Hugo's...Wicki's...Bridget's?

You didn't know...

But you nodded. "Ok. Take a left here."

**** As the basterds figured out a back up plan, you remained in the other room, tending to Wicki and Hugo. All the while, stealing glances at Archie.

Hugo and Wicki wouldn't be able to go on with Operation Kino.

But, aside from a headache, Archie would be fine.

You and Archie walked in, just as the next step to Operation Kino was set in stone.

"I don't speak Italian!"

"Like I said, third best. Just keep your fuckin' mouth shut! Matter of fact, why don't you start practicin' now?"

You smiled a little, though you had a bit of a development yourself.

"I believe I can get one more of you in."

Aldo raised an eyebrow and turned to you, "You can fuckin' what?!"

You smirked, "It's only right...after all, an exiled Russian duchess, friendly with the local nazis to be invited to the biggest night in Paris."

Omar narrowed his eyes in disbelief as the basterds stared in astonishment and confusion, "You're a what..."

You giggled a little, "Might not be exactly true, but...true enough."

Aldo leaned against the counter, tired of the long day, but intrigued to high hell.

As a matter of fact, they all were. "You wanna run that by me again, your goddamn highness?"

You sighed and tilted your head side to side as you pieced your words together, "At best, I was 19th in line for the throne. I was more of a baroness, really... The youngest. I didn't have a real shot at the throne. I didn't live in the palaces, but I lived well. I was only a child when the tsar's family....my family... was murdered.... That's revolution for you." You sighed and shook your head. "I hardly remember, but that was when we escaped to France. Now it's just me."

"So..." Donny pressed for the answers that everyone had wanted from you for years.

"So I was far enough in line from the throne to be spared, but close enough to claim something the Krauts would believe."

Smitty was utterly shocked, "They bought that?"

You nodded as you reached in your shirt. You pulled a chain over your collar. It was golden, and bloodstained. At the end was an emerald pendant lined with diamonds.

A piece of a misfortune that was left of the once grand past.

And all that you cared to carry with you of it.

"True enough for them." You winked at Archie.

He didn't know if it was you or the hit to the head that made him dizzy at that point.

Aldo nodded. If you'd kept that a secret from them for so long, he knew you were absolutely the best person he could have turned to for the job.

He was convinced you were the reason any of his men made it out of that tavern, though you'd never admit it personally.

He nodded, trusting you once again. "Alright. You take Archie as your escort. He says he's a kraut captain, just as planned. You're an exiled royal, they like you, they won't question you. Right?"

You nodded, with a slight smirk that somehow always brought the basterds relief. "Verno..." 'Right."

The next night, the basterds were hanging around your apartment. It was in a more expensive, and elegant side of Paris. Of course, you were still am exiled baroness. It was to be expected. Still, the inside was not overly lavish and gaudy, save for a portrait or two that was salvaged from the empire that once was, along with their original frames, older than a monarchy.

You all sat around, getting ready for the long, and perhaps final night ahead of you.

Your dog, a blind samoyed, abandoned by the streets of Paris, played with and comforted the nervous basterds for a while. Donny petted your dog, "What's it's name?"

You smiled and giggled a little, unsure whether or not they'd be able to repeat it, "Solnishko. It means little sun."

Archie narrowed his eyes... "Sol....solkneescoh....So-" Your dog barked happily and followed Archie’s voice, jumped on him and licked his face playfully as he chuckled, "Alright boy, alright."

Some of the younger basterds were standing around one of the portraits. There were nineteen people in it. All around the tsar, all in line for the throne, and all a family.

A family you only had one memory left of: That same portrait.

Omar turned to look at you, "Where are you?"

You smiled softly as you pointed to a woman in a cheery yellow dress, with a green emerald pendant hanging around her neck. Her husband rested a careful arm around her, a general covered in medals, ribbons, and scars from the ongoing war.

In their arms, was a baby, wrapped in royal purple silk.

"That's me."

Smitty cleared his throat, "So...Y/n... this may or may not be the our last chance to ask this...So we know you're a spy...but everyone knows your story now...How does this all work?....is Y/n your real name?"

You'd lost your home, your family, and your history. Your name was all you had left of it. You nodded. You held your name with pride, and used it against the nazis.

Hirschberg was still confused, "Just to clarify...Soviets kicked you out, cause you were royal?"

"Basically."

"And then France took you in?"

"Da." You nodded.

"And the fucken Krauts think you have a grudge against the Soviets, beause of all that, so they tell you anything."

"Yes."

"But you're really helping the allies and soviets all along?"

You nodded again, "That about sums it up, kid."

Omar frowned, "But if the Soviets killed your family...why are you helping them?"

"Ah, Soviets..." You sighed, "It's not the Russia I know."

The boys looked to each other, and then back at you.

"I knew Russia. Not the Soviet Union. Krauts think I hate the motherland. But land is land, the people are still my own. I want to go home. And the Soviets promised me full pardon for the crime of the blood in my veins, if I cooperated with the allies, which I'd already been doing for years."

"So you want to go back to Russia?"

"Russia, yes. Soviet Union, no."

Hirschberg asked "So why would you make the deal?"

You sighed, "Just to see it one last time..."

Then, Archie walked in, wearing a tuxedo, ready for the premiere. "Now, now boys, don't tire out a Russian noble with all the questions."

You laughed and rolled your eyes, "No more a Russian noble now than you are, Archie."

He smiled a little, then gestured down at his suit, "I look alright?"

You clenched your teeth, and turned a bit red. You didn't quite want to look at him, for that exact reason.

He did look alright.

And more than that.

You nodded, "Korosho..." ‘Good...’ You cleared your throat and moved on, keeping the level headedness of a baroness.

You let the boys wander around your apartment, and play with the dog as you looked over the balcony, smoking one last cigarette, watching the sun set in the west.

You wore a ruby red dress, a stunning evening gown, with the emerald pendant around your neck. A phonograph played a song you'd listened to since you were a child. On the Hills of Manchuria.

Your eyes sauntered to the east. To the hills of Manchuria you vaguely remembered...

Then back over the red horizon...

"Beautiful sunset, isn't it?"

You turned around, and saw Archie standing politely by the door. "May I?"

You nodded and smiled, "Please."

He stepped out, and stood by you, leaning over the balcony where vines were entwined. "I'd no idea you'd lived through the revolution."

"I was about three when it happened. Five when my mother and I escaped. I don't remember much."

"And you're at it again."

You shrugged, "My father was a general in the first war. That was our only saving grace then. This seems to be my own saving grace now. War is in my blood, apparently."

"You don't have to...." He trailed off.

He'd only known you for a few days, but he couldn't let any harm pass you. Still, it was more of the basterd's mission at that point, and he had to let Aldo handle it.

"Don't have to what?"

"N-nothiing... Just...A-Aldo wanted to speak to you."

You exhaled a puff of smoke into the greying sky, and scoffed a little. "I'm not an infant, lieutenant. This is my war too."

"Please?"

You turned to him with a resilient sigh, but you couldn't say no to his pleading, wide eyes.

You nodded, and walked in, only to chuckle a little when you saw Aldo.

"What?"

"I never thought I'd see Aldo Raine in a smoking white jacket."

Aldo frowned, and muttered, "Yeah, yeah...anyway kid..." He sighed and cleared his thoat as he straightened out his bowtie, "You done me a solid more times than I care to admit, and you uh, you always made sure my men made it out." He glanced back to your livingroom, at the injured Wicki and Hugo, resting and taking shelter on two burgundy divans. "Maybe not always in one piece," you both chuckled a little as Aldo went on, "But you always done looked out for us."

"You're my friends. What else would I do?"

Aldo shook his head, as Archie stood by him. "This time's different."

"I know. This is the end." You nodded.

All you knew was that the basterds were taking down the nazis' high command, but not the means in which it was going to happen.

Archie shook his head. "No, Y/n. This isn't like an ambush. This is..."

Aldo nodded, "It's a suicide mission. And whoever falls behind, stays behind."

You looked at all of them. Donny was taking a shot by the counter. Bridget was adjusting her dress over her cast and softly petting your dog that was laying on her lap. Hugo and Wicki, barely kicking. The youngest basterds, with barely a chance.

"There won't be no gettin' my men out. Not this time... Not again." Aldo sighed, in reminiscence and gratitude at all you'd done for them through the years. "This ain't your mission. You go on, git, after you get us in."

"But-"

Archie didn't let you finish your thought. It was unnegotiable. "Aldo's right. You get me in, then..then you slip away during the beginning of the movie. No one's the wiser."

"But."

Aldo looked at you. Stern, and commanding, "Save yourself. Just this once. Do me this one last favor."

Archie looked to you, his eyes gentle, and his voice lower, "This is not your war to fight, Y/n."

You turned to them, "No? Seems it was my war to fight to every single side of it. It's all I've done for the past nine years. You'd better believe this is my war. They've murdered people all around me. They've taken over the world. Your world. My world. How is this not my war?"

Aldo rebuked you, "This mission wasn't santioned to you."

You scoffed, "And yet you came to me."

They were silent.

It was true.

You weren't a soldier, but this sure as hell was still your war.

"You trusted me before, boys." You looked into a mirror with a golden frame hanging over a fireplace, as you put your earrings in, "Don't stop now."

***** About an hour later, you were all approaching the line to enter the premier. Aldo muttered, "If you're not outside the theater by 9:45, Smitty and Hirschberg gon' get you, and you'll compromise us."

You didn't know if Aldo was strategizing, or had lost his mind, but he looked serious.

You sighed, and nodded, "Fine."

So you made your way past the guards with your genuine invitations: A German starlet. An Italian stuntman, a camerman, and his assistant, followed by an exiled Russian noble, and her escort, a highly decorate German captain.

Or, quite simply, a few basterds, a couple of spies, and a baroness.

You sat with Archie, just a row behind Donny and Omar. You could see them starting to leave their seats.

Aldo and Bridget were nowhere in sight.

"It's 9:40, darling."

You looked at Archie, stunned for a moment, then watched as he shrunk down a little, "Sorry, I-"

You shook your head a little, as you smiled at him, "Don't be sorry, darling... Not now..."

He smiled down at you, but caught himself looking into your eyes. He turned away, and whispered, a twinge of somberness and loss in his voice, "You should go..."

You shook your head again, with a soft denial and plea... "Nyet..." You held his cheek gently, and turned his face towards yours, as you whispered, "No regrets...Not tonight. Not for you."

His lips parted, his heart skipped a beat, and you leaned in and kissed him, as the roars of guns and a crowd echoed around you, drowning out the echoes of war and propoganda.

You pulled away from Archie after about a minute...

All of it was ending that night. The war, the salutes, the basterds...it was all going to be nothing more than an ashy memory of that night.

All left behind...

He nodded at you reassuringly, and you left your seat.

Soon, he'd follow suit, and join Donny and Omar...

Your heels echoed down the dark, silent street. The night was damp, the air was heavy. The stars seemed solemn.

Smitty looked down at his watch, with a smirk, "It's 9:44. You just made it."

You sighed, "I see."

Hirschberg, patted your back, "You did the right thing, Y/n."

You nodded, but you began to narrow your eyes as you looked down the dark street.

Smitty squinted, trying to follow your gaze. "What?"

You murmured, as you looked into nothingness. "You see that?"

"See what?" Hirschberg cupped his hands around his eyes as he squinted.

You started to silently slip off your high heels, leaving them abandoned on the sidewalk.

"Over there! Just after that shop!"

When they were distracted, you slipped away, back into the theater.

"FUCK. Y/N?!" Smitty started running after you, but Hirschberg grabbed onto his shirt, shaking his head, smiling softly, "No..."

"BUT ALDO SAID-"

"Let her go, Uti...Let her go."

Utivich sighed and nodded. He'd noticed it too...

It would've been cruel to keep you from Archie, and make you watch it all burn down and blow away in the wind.

Smitty shook his head and sighed in defeat and admiration, "Basterd..."

You looked for Aldo and Bridget. They should've been there...

You looked through the rooms...and you found Bridget, and broke your heart. You remembered Aldo’s words. Whoever fell behind, stayed behind. You didn’t find a sign of Aldo, but you spotted a broken champagne glass in the middle of the lobby. It was odd that it hadn’t been cleaned... You made your way upstairs, and found Hitler's guards dead.

You could hear the war's chaotic finale just behind the door.

You opened the door and found them pulling off perhaps the most important kill of the war.

"OMAR. DONNY."Omar turned to look at you.Donny kept gunning at Hitler's already unrecognizable face. "DONNY."

He stopped and looked at Omar then you in confusion, fury in his eyes still blurring his future.

You had one mission of your own. Make sure those basterds made it out to see the world they saved. So.... Naturally...

You tackled Donny.

He fell on his back, and you tore off the explosives from his ankle, and threw it down into the fiery sea of nazis.

You looked at Omar.

He held his hands up and stepped back a little.

If you could take down the Bear Jew...there was no telling what you could do to him..

He quickly untied his explosives and threw them down.

"Go. Now."

Omar shook his head, "Aldo?"

You were silent for a moment then said, "Not here."

"And Von Hammersmarck?" You ushered them through the door, "She fell behind."

You turned back and across the theater you saw Archie still unleashing hellfire onto the nazis. You looked to Omar and Donny and said, "I'll meet you outside. Find Aldo. I’ll get Archie."

They nodded, and vanished beyond the smoke.

You turned around, and met Archie's eye as your lungs burned with smoke.

He nodded once... He understood...

He threw his gun down, onto the opera box, and his explosives over the edge. He started running through the opera boxes to meet you in the middle...

As you both passed each opera box, you looked to each other.

About half way there...he couldn't see you anymore.

There was only smoke.

"Y/N?!"

He ran through the ash and haze, trying to find you.

There you were... sprawled on your back, helplessly under the axphyxiating smoke, like a bloody chalk outline.

"Y/n?!" Archie coughed...the smoke beginning to make him drowsy. He covered his mouth with his arm, trying to hold out for a minute or two longer.

He shook his head in disbelief as he reached for you. He took you in his arms, and made his way through the collapsing theater, and made it out with only seconds to spare.

He walked through the street with you in his arms.

Hirschberg was sitting there, his hand on the back of his head, covered in blood. He'd been knocked down while Smitty and Aldo were taken away.

Omar and Donny were with him, watching the cinema burn down, the rise smoke, and Archie emerge with you in his arms...

Omar murmured "We did it..."

The basterds looked at you with heavy hearts fearing the worst...

Archie set you down on the curb just across the street as the cinema exploded. He held your hand, and waited...

It was all he could do.

He moved some hair away from your face, and tilted your head up, and cradled you in his arms.

Donny asked, "Is she...."

Archie shook his head, "No...not yet..."

You'd run into the depths of hell for an infinitesimal chance to save them. You'd run around so much looking for Aldo and Briget you'd inhaled too much smoke. Staying to pull Omar and Donny out didn’t do you any favors...

His hand rested on your back, and he could feel your ribs moving, a struggle to breathe that you were losing.

Omar spoke up, his voice soft, unsure of where to go, "Hirschberg says the nazis took Aldo and Smitty that way."

Archie didn't dare tear his eyes away from you. He spoke lowly, almost harshly, "I'm not leaving her. Go."

Donny shook his head, "Look, if nazis come by-"

"Go. Tell them I fell behind." He took a breath, "We both did..."

Donny shook his head. "She didn't leave us behind. She never would have."

"I'm not leaving her behind. You're leaving me behind. Go, now."

Donny sighed, seeing the broken love in Archie's eyes and nodded. He tapped Omar and Hirschberg on the shoulder, beginning one last mission: Find Aldo and Smitty...

"Let's go."

Omar sighed as he looked back at you. It didn't feel right.

But, he knew it was only right to leave Archie alone...

He nodded and pulled Hirschberg up, "Come on, kid... Let's go."

He and Donny held Hirschberg up as they made their way down the street.

Just as they were out of sight, Archie felt you shift a little. He turned to you, as you began to cough a little.

His heart skipped a beat with a twinge of hope.

"Darling, just breathe! That's all, just breathe!" He lifted you a little higher in his right arm, and held your hand with his left hand.

You opened your eyes, and looked up at him, the red light of the fire raining down on both of you.

Your mind was blank with only the knowledge that you'd done all you set out to do.

You kissed Archie...

He pulled away for a moment, laughing, "What happened to just breathing?"

You laughed and pulled him back.

You kissed.

You kissed through the smoke, through the end of the war, in spite of the inferno just meters away, in favor of the inferno between your hearts.

Just then, you heard ann exapserated bostonian echo from the dark street, "OH. OK. FUCK. FUCK. A. DUCK."

You smiled into each other's lips.

With the end of the war, you had all the time in the world.

Archie picked you up, and held onto you as you walked down the street.

Donny was arguing, "FUCK IF I KNOW HOW!"

Hirschberg was leaning against the hood of a nazi's volkswagen, pressing his hands against his aching head, for obvious reasons.

Omar shook his head "WELL I DONT FUCKING KNOW EITHER. DO I LOOK LIKE Y/N TO YOU?!" His voice was breaking out of desparation, and loss. You had been a good friend to them, from the night they dropped into France.

Donny grunted, "DON'T YOU FUCKIN' DARE! Y/N WAS A FUCKING ANGEL AND..." He trailed off as he squinted into the dark. "YN?!"

Omar rolled his eyes, "Oh very funny, how are you gonna....Y/N?!"

You smiled a little, "Boys..." You nodded slightly, and they stepped aside in shock, unable to distinguish between ghosts of hope and reality.

It also worked so you could hotwire the car while they collected themselves.

And when you did, you all piled into the car, in search of Aldo and Smitty.

As you all cruised down the newly freed France, you looked to your right, due east, to the land you'd always wanted to see once more.

Your eyes focused on something you wanted just a bit more, in the near and distant future.

Archie Hicox...

For nearly ten years, you did and went wherever you were needed.

But now that it was all over, there was one place you needed to be.

In the Soviet Union, or in France, or in England, in war or in peace, you had a place to be...

Right there, by Archie's side.

#Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #Donny Donowitz #aldo raine #hugo stiglitz #Wilhelm Wicki #Omar Ulmer #smithson utivich #gerold hirschberg #archie hicox #archie hicox x reader

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years

Text

Dead Man Walking (DonnyxFem! Reader)

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines

Let me know if you want to be tagged in these/have any requests :)

(Sorry it’s a bit long :/ )

Donny couldn't see anything in the room. The musty damp air of the abandoned inn wafted around, and was heavy after the rain, and the long day.

"Fuck you, Donny." You muttered, as he heard you storm up to your bunk.

He laid back on his bunk. He was pissed...

He didn't care enough to answer back...actually...he cared too much.

You, on the other hand, had enough.

You knew it had been your fault. You didn't need constant reminders and glares from everyone.

You and Omar were on a mission alone, together, which Donny didn't like to begin with. He tried to convince Aldo that letting 'the Russkie,' and 'one of the kids' alone was a bad idea.

It wasn't because you were trained as a Soviet spy. It wasn't because Omar was one of his closest friends, and one of the youngest....

In fact, he thought highly of both your skills as basterds.

That was just it...he thought too highly of you. He wanted it to stop.

He needed an excuse to stop loving you.

And when Omar got hurt on your watch, Donny took it as an opportunity to hide his heart away.

The basterds didn't take it too lightly either. Not even you were on your own side. You didn't try to defend yourself.

Only Omar did.

He constantly made jokes out of it. He tried to make you feel beter, because even though in the basterds eyes you seemed remorseless, Omar looked long enough to see the truth.

He was there when it happened. "They weren't there when it happened, it's ok."

"It shouldn't have happened." You had walked away from him after he'd been bandaged up, and made your way to your bunk. That was when you had enough of Donny's muttering, and told him to fuck off. You'd just had enough of the war.

In the span of three years, you had lost your family, your country, and one of your greatest gifts. You used to be a sharpshooter...

Donny muttered, "Fucken rookie."

You were no rookie to war, or to the double life. You were still a rookie to the basterd life. Although the basterds had only just gotten a hold of sergeant Hugo Stiglitz months before your arrival, and had all been 'rookies' themselves, some of then were not sure as to why the OSS sent you to them. You, despite your ability to speak a variety of languages, and a frighteningly profound knowledge about the enemy...you were a bit rusty when it came to shooting.

In fact, you were a terrible shot.

And the shot you missed that morning meant a nazi made his, and it almost cost Omar his life. You looked down at your knuckles. The skin was raw, practically shredded off. Your firsts were the only reason either of you made it out at all. Not that it mattered to them, given how badly Omar was hurt... In fact, you didn’t even let it matter to you. Your friend was hurting, and you really were convinced it was your fault. You snuck out, hoping to get some air without one of them being an absolute basterd to you... Donny didn't notice you leave your bunk.

Donny stayed up thinking about the incident half the night. On one hand, the basterds couldn't afford to lose anyone, and one mistake like that made him livid. How could you miss that fucking shot? ...On the other hand, he just never seemed to be able to get you off his mind to begin with.

"And another thing! I'm still your fucken sergeant, don't fucking talk to me like th...." He looked over to your bunk, and squinted. He was unable to make out the usual mass under the sheets.

"Y/n?"

You didn't respond.

Donny realized you were not in your bed, and got up to look for you. It wasn't normal...

He knew you were a light sleeper.

Spies usually were...

And although your espionage days were technically behind you, and you had the OSS' seal of approval, the basterds couldn't seem to bring themselves to trust you.

They didn't know you.

Apart from Hugo, you may have been just the biggest mystery among them.

All they knew for certain was your name, your rank, and that you were a Soviet spy that had been enlisted by the OSS and sent to fight with the basterds.

Why exactly, was never revealed to them.

If what they knew was really your name or one given to you for the sake of international security, they didn't know.

So really, all they knew for certain about you was that you were a former spy, a terrible shot, and a private.

Whenever they'd approach Hugo, he'd glare at them, and sit in silence.

When they appraoched you, and asked you about Russia, you at least smiled softly.

But you could never bring yourself to explain what happened to you...

Aldo knew just a bit more than the others. It was information given to him by his own general when you were first sent to the basterds.

Aldo himself didn't know the full story, but just enough to understand you.

He understood that as a trained spy, you were not an open book, and probably never would be...but he also understood you were not a person of many words because of what happened to you... What exactly happened was not revealed to him either.

The basterds had all gathered around Omar, talking about what happened earlier that day.

Donny walked toward them, hoping you'd be there. "Anyone see-"

"Sh."

He was almost stunned that Hugo had directed any sound toward him.

"What?"

"Aldo's telling us what he knows."

Donny asked, "About the russkie?"

Aldo overhead, and looked around, realizing the basterds were all gathered, "Russkies are on our side now, Donny-boy."

Hirschberg mutterd, "Barely..."

Omar rolled his eyes. "I told you. It's not a big deal. Y/n's trying her best!"

Smitty shook his head, "You almost died. It's a huge deal!"

Aldo grunted as he sat down. "You wanna hear the story I got, or not?"

Wicki hushed everyone and Aldo sighed and nodded, "Ok. Kid used to be a spy. You all know that. She speaks couple different languages. Some better than others."

Some of the basterds chuckled. Donny found himself giggling a bit, remembering how nice he thought your accent was.

"She was just a kid. Good at making and breaking codes, Soviets used her. Dropped her behind enemy lines three years ago, bout eighteen eyars old, used her since she can speak German bout as good as them two boys."

Wicki and Hugo nodded. They'd been stunned when she interjected on one of their brief conversations once, without a trace of an accent.

"Somewhere along the lines, communication got muddled, someone was a traitor, she got double crossed, and caught by the SS. They took that little girl as a POW, got her marked up."

Donny narrowed his eyes as his heart fell... He thought he saw something on your arm the day you joined them. You had made brief eye contact with him as you quickly pulled a jacket over yourself.

He then realized he'd never seen you without long sleeves on... You never wanted any of them to ask questions, and you never wanted a nazi to know what their brothers in arms had managed to do to you, or to recognize you.

Hugo looked up...he was once in a prison. He knew the extent of the nazi's cruelty...

It wasn't a wonder that you rarely spoke after that.

Aldo went on, "There was an operation run by the French. They were able to help some of 'em poor fuckers escape, she was with em. Soviets let the OSS take her since the nazis knew too much. Sent her to us."

Simon shook his head, still not understanding, "Why us..."

Aldo shrugged, "Story is she was a good shot, and a good ass kicker. Good at hand to hand combat."

Omar nodded as he rested his hand against his bandaged chest, "She fought that kraut to the ground. It was crazy...like...like watching the craziest bar fight you ever saw!"

Aldo chuckled a little, "Decent shot at point blank, though. Don’t know why she can’t make a regular shot. Them krauts did something to her."

Wicki nodded, deep in though, "So whatever changed her had to have happened at the camp..."

Smitty asked, "Yeah, but what happened? If she used to be such a good sharp-shooter, what the fuck happened? You can't lose your mojo that bad for so long..."

All the basterds had practical heart attacks when they heard your voice behind them. "What happened was I was shot point blank. Right here."

They turned around, and saw you tapping your right temple. Their eyes inevitably trailed up your arms. Your sleeves were rolled up. It was a humid night, and you never wore anything but long sleeves. A series of bold, black numbers permanently etched into your skin stunned them.

You raised your hand up, and pulled hair away from your face. For once, you would be giving them a full explanation, something a spy flike you was not accustomed to.

"I'm blind in my right eye. Deaf in my right ear, too."

"What?" Omar was shocked. They all were, looking to you for a better explanation.

"I'm half deaf and half blind. I lost my depth perception. I was a sharpshooter over a year ago. The only shots I can make now are point blank. I can't hear the things I used to, but I can read lips in five languages, which comes in handy more often than you'd think. I've also become skilled at throwing grenades, and hand to hand combat. No, I didn't let Omar get hurt, no I didn't miss the shot on purpose."

Omar smirked a little, "What doesn't kill you makes you a basterd."

You smiled a little, though you still wished he hadn't gotten hurt at all.

The basterds understood after that, but they started to call you a jinx for a while, as a joke, of course.

Until...the basterds sort of jinxed themselves. Months passed.

You and Omar once again found yourselves at the hands of the nazis...This time, Donny was tagging along.

They couldn't say you didn't warn them.

The three of you had been walking.

You recognized a man walking by.

He was the same one that tortured you day in and day out when you were a prisoner.

You froze for a moment. You didn’t need more than that to make sure it was him. You could never forget his face. You reached for your gun.

Donny nudged you, "C'mon kid, we're gonna be late."

"That one."

"What?" He looked at you in confusion, waiting for an answer.

You half turned, and Donny glanced up, and watched the man walk down the street. "What about him?"

The man was in civilian's clothes, so to Donny, he looked as just that. A civilian. He frowned and pulled you aside, "What's goin' on?"

You looked up, and Donny looked into your icy, angry eyes as you glared at the man, and muttered "Dead man walking." Donny knew what that meant. All the basterds did. When you knew someone was undercover and an enemy, you would mutter it. It happened to have been the very first thing you learned in English...

Omar looked over, and stopped.

He trusted you.

It was then that Donny understood why he could practically see the rage through your eyes, when you usually kept your temper in dangerous situations. He clenched his jaw, eyeing your covered forearm, then glancing at the nazi.

But it was too late by then... The nazi had recognized you, too. He never could forget your face either. You were ‘the one that got away’. You were surrounded, and had no escape.

It turned into a Mexican stand-off.

Most of the guns were aimed at you: All the nazis wanted to get rid of the basterds, of course, but this one in particular had a vendetta against you.

His whole team knew your story.

The spy that should have been dead turned basterd, and was a menace at close range.

After your escape from the camp, there were orders that you were to be killed on sight.

Still, the men in that post had unfinished business with you. "Drop the weapons, or we kill the girl."

Six guns on you, one on Donny, and one on Omar.

Omar looked to his sergeant, Donny looked at you, eyes begging for mercy as he dropped his gun. "I'm sorry, Y/n.”

He knew you'd never forgive him for sparing you.

"Donny...no..."

He looked at you, and for the frst time you saw sincerity in his eyes. Usually he was cynical and indifferent toward you... But his eyes were soft as he murmured, "I'm sorry..."

The three of you were tied up, and forced onto a jeep, and thrown out somewhere in the forest.

The nazis moved away from you, and plotted it all out.

The night came, and you had all been silent for hours.... Until Donny muttered, "What're the fucken krauts talking about anyway?"

You sat and looked up at the stars, knowing what was to come, "How they're going to torture and kill us..." You had known for hours. And you had known exactly what they were going to do. And you knew exactly what it felt like. It wasn't anything you'd ever want Donny or Omar to feel...and you didn't want them to spend their last few hours in silent anxiety and hopelessness, so you didn't tell them everything you knew.

Donny looked at you, then the ground at your feet, at the earth that you should have been buried under long before.

He couldn't let you go through it again.

He couldn't let you die.

He knew what you lost, he knew you were young, and he couldn't let you lose it all.

He couldn't lose you.

You, on the other hand, were not willing to be a jinx. You were not willing to let the basterds lose Omar and Donny in one night...

You were a spy. Or, had been.

That's how you had learned to see yourself, a has-been.

You thought the world, the basterds, and the OSS could stand to lose you, but not them...

And as a fomer spy, you quite literally had a trick up your sleeve.

You used a small razor to cut through Omar's ropes, and then got halfway through Donny's before you heard the nazi's laughter get closer...

"Omar, go!"

"What?!"

You looked him in the eyes, "I'll run toward them. They want me, not you."

"We're basterds, we're bounty hunters dream ri-"

"They want me, Omar. He couldn't get me a year ago. He wants to kill me first." "But-" You didn't dare look in their eyes. "They're gonna take their time with me. Go."

Donny shook his head, "We stay together, y/n. This isn't a fucking debate. What are you fucking crazy?!"

Omar stared right back at you until you looked at him, "I'm not running without you."

"You're not running, you're giving Donny a chance." You started walking towards the clearing,

"But-"

You looked back at him. You pointed to his chest, over the scarring from an evitable bullet. "I owe you."

"Y/n. Y/n, come back! You don’t owe me shit!"

You gulped, shook your head, and looked Omar in the eyes, "Don't let this go to waste." You hesitated for a moment. And one moment only.

You looked at Donny one last time as he tried to break the ropes with his brute strength, trying to give you a fighting chance. "Y/n...y/n don't do this! Don't go! Don't fucking do it! That's an order!" You looked at Omar, ignoring Donny, and nodded once, encouraging him.

Omar started running, understanding that if the nazis came any closer, all three of you would die. He ran away as fast as he could to get help.

"Y/N, IT'S A FUCKING ORDER, I SWEAR!"

You looked to him, your soft eyes begged, "I'm sorry, sarge." You left him speechless as you left him alone. You turned and ran, to distract the nazis, give Omar a headstart, and Donny a fighting chance.

You heard Donny's voice behind you as the nazi's came into view.

"Y/N!"

They grabbed onto you, just as you planned, and never bothered to go check up on the basterds. It was you they wanted to kill. It was you they got.

They mocked you, "Dead man walking, Private L/N?"

They threw you down onto your knees, "Where are the others?"

"What others?" You looked up at your murderers.

You were struck with the gun. "The basterds. We have the Bear Jew, and Ulmer. Where are the others?"

"Fuck you."

"Where is your lieutenant, Aldo the Apache!? Hugo Stiglitz?! Where is The Little Man?"

"Who?" you were genuinely confused that time.

He barked at you, like a rabid dog...Some things never changed. "SMITHSON UTIVICH, THE LITTLE MAN, WHERE IS HE?!"

You smirked a little, unable to believe that that was his nickname. You composed yourself in a split second, "I don't know him."

"Do you want me to bring out the Bear Jew and Private Ulmer? Maybe seeing their blood and brains smeared on these fucking trees will jog your memory! I'm sure you're acquainted with them, after all."

You narrowed your eyes, "Who says 'acquainted' anymore?"

He lost his temper, and growled, "I'll take that as a yes."

You laughed in the nazi's face, eyeing the gun's barrel aimed directly at your face.

He laughed right back at you.

It was just like last time.

You were insolent, and defiant. You had been a thorn in his side for nearly two years. First because you never gave in to the interrogations, then because you refused to die. It seemed you had been the 'dead man walking' all along.

This time, he would make sure you wouldn't come back to haunt him.

He struck you again with the back of his gun until you struggled to stay on your knees.

Still, you looked him in the eyes.

He would never win, you knew that.

He could take your life, and a thousand more, but he would never win the war.

That was what made you smile, as blood trickled down your nose, and down your face from a gash on your forehead.

You looked him in the eyes, and it scared him.

He was horrified.

Only an unholy demon could face someone like him the way you did.

"That all you got?" You looked up, smirking as you caught your breath.

He spat, "Fuck you."

"Creative, I like it."

He growled as he took his knife, and tentatively slashed you across your abdomen "WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS?!"

"The girls? Moscow, probably. The boys are on the eastern front. I'll send them your regards!"

"Geh zum Teufel! I will send you to hell!"

"Fun. Imeyte v etom." You smirked. It was something you'd say to him every time the interrogation turned into torture. You would never tell them what they wanted to know, and you knew the nazi's cruelty knew no end. Therefore, you didn't know your end. Those had been your chosen last words. Russian, your language... and cynical, your specialty. Imeyte v etom: Have at it.

He shrieked in frustration, and pulled out his gun. "I WILL KILL YOU IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO."

You glanced down for a momrnt as you chuckled, and saw that blood was pooling throufh your shirt. "Do better this time." He glared at you, nostril flaring like a bull's, his eyes soulless and cruel like only a nazi's could be.

Blood was also dripping into your good eye.

This was no way to die...far from home, alone, and in the face of the enemy.

But, you smirked, knowing you never lost your dignity.

You pressed your forehead against the barel with a foreceful push, you spat some blood at him, "Finish the job, Herman. Imeyte v etom."

He clenched his jaw, and cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, "I will, this time, dead man."

You smirked a little, looking up at him.

It was only fair for the last words he ever heard to be in his native language, you thought.

"Leiche."

'Corpse.'

His face contorted, puzzled over what your final words were supposed to mean. He knew that wasn't what you said every time you expected to die. He expected you to give one final denial, or one final dare. A protest. He expected you to say it in Russian, just as you always did. He expected you to silent defiance, just as you did the last time he 'killed' you.

Instead, you called him a corpse.

He didn't understand...

It delayed his kill, just for an instant.

And in that instant, you smirked a little, taunting him in his final moments, as he was filled with confusion.

That instant, that infinitesimal instant, changed your fate.

Just as he pulled the trigger, a baseball bat swung as his skull full force, the gun fell, and the bullet barely missed you.

Still, you had been dealt quite a few blows, and the deep gash across your abdomen wasn't much help. You had your life and your dignity, a strong temperance, but you were hurt... It was in the blink of an eye. The basterds emerged from the trees and bushes. In the blink of an eye, each nazi was either dead or screaming for mercy. A few basterds were already in the process of taking scalps...they had a debt to pay, after all. You looked up, your one good eye beginning to swell over in dull pain, blood still trickling down your forehead and nose, your wound stinging and burning. You stood up, and held your head up high. Once again, you had cheated death. You had laughed right in her face. Your soul had been salvaged once more. And yet, you wondered why, as you held onto your bleeding torso... The blunt thud of Donny's bat suddenly ceased, which snapped you back to the world around you. He wiped some of his sweat away with his forearm as he grinned at you, "Congratulations, kid. Takes a helluva a basterd and balls to do what you did. You're one lucky basterd." You looked at him... That was your answer. Donny Donowitz was the reason you were still alive...

Aside from the fact that he'd literally beaten your would-be-murderer to death...there was more to it. You saw it but denied it, after every single lingering glance, every unexplained smile... Sometimes he spoke a little softer when you were around. You'd noticed that, but you refused to take it into account. Donny...may not have been the brightest basterd, but he knew a thing or two. He knew your sharp tongue was a double edged sword. You spoke rarely, but when you did, you seemed to push him away at every chance. Sometimes, he did the same. Eyes could never lie, though.

There was something there... And it was the reason you didn't die in any of your lucrative missions, or in the POW camp, or that night. You found love...

Or maybe, love found you... Love was in Donny's eyes. His smirking pride vanished when he rezlies it hadn't been just a few hits. When he saw you stumble, your knees shaking, when the blood seeped through your clutching arm. "Oh, fuck! Y/n!" He let go of his bat, something he'd never done before, and held you up. "Is it bad? It's bad." "Not too bad." You shook your head...definitely having seen worse before. "You're bleeding, y/n! Aldo! Guys?! She's hurt!" You winced a little, but shook your head, "It's ok, Donny." "What?" He looked at you as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Your blood was smeared on his arms, something that would never leave his mind. "It's not o-fucken-kay!" You smiled a little, looking up at him, "I've had worse. I'm not dead, am I?" Sometimes, he thought you were too easy going for your own good. "You're hurt, doll. You're bleeding. And I'm not leaving till I know you're ok. I'm not leaving, you hear that?" You nodded once and smiled softly, "I hear you...kind of." He rolled his eyes, helping you down until help came... "Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, kid." He wanted to help you himself, but he didn't know much about medical things, and sometimes he didn't know his own strenght. He didn't want to risk hurting you even more. You looked up at him... Maybe you'd underestimated your wound...you realized that as the adrenaline died down, but looking up at Donny, you knew everything would be alright. It had to be. You had a reason to be alive, and he was looking right down at you. "What'cha smiling at?" He couldn't help but smile a bit himself. "Thank you, sarge." "Me? What did I do?" "I'm only alive because of you and Omar." He shook his head, "We're only alive cause of you." "Thanks, Don..." He looked down at you, and realized it all... "Hey...hey kid?" "Yeah?" You realized something too....before that, he never called you anything other than 'the russkie' or 'the spy.' He'd been calling you 'kid,' and even if you were half deaf, and half dead, you could've sworn you heard him call you doll at some point. Donny, at that moment, realized he loved you... As Andy and Hirschberg arrived to help you, he stood back. But he never let you out of his sight. Not again. Life gave you a second chance, he didn't want to risk losing you. As much as you both loved ridding the world of nazis, and fighting side by side, and living a basterd's life... a wave of relief washed over Donny the night the basterds ended the war. A nazi's bullet would never be near either or you again. There was no need for a bloody baseball bat. There was no need for you to be close range to nazis day in and day out. There was no need to ever be apart. And you never were again. A former spy, and a basterd: Two undisputed war heroes, who did the impossible to stay alive and stay together, somehow stayed in love after years of denial and danger. Somehow, your second chance to live became Donny's chance to love.

#Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #Quentin Tarantino #aldo raine #donny donowitz x reader #Donny Donowitz #the bear jew #Omar Ulmer #Wilhelm Wicki #hugo stiglitz #smithson utivich

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years

Text

Hell-Bent (DonnyxReader)

Continuation of The Traitor and the Bear Jew & Home for the Holidays

Requested by @svonschroeder

@inglourious-imagines @war-obsessed @owba-chan

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in these! :)

Donny was straightening out his bow-tie, lost in his own repetitive scenarios and worries. He was scared. It wasn't the prospect of walking into the theater and never coming back out that scared him. It was that something much worse would happen to you. "But what if this Landa guy recognizes you?!" "He won't." You had enough of this war. You once wanted to start a new life, with Donny, far away from the ruins of your home. Then you got Operation Kino. In no scenario was Donny making it out of the war alive...and you decided to go with him. Donny groaned in frustration, "They ran your face in the papers all over the place when they found out you weren't dead. How is he not going to recognize you?!" Hugo peered from the bed of the makeshift infirmiry. He and Wicki had survived...but barely. Hicox wasn’t so lucky... Hugo managed to mutter, “Donny hat recht. Bleib hier.” "Donny's right. Stay here." You shook your head, “Nein, ich gehe.” “No. I’m going.” You looked to Bridget for help. She was pulling on her heels, and looked at the boys. "I need at least one other person there who can actually speak Italian."

Aldo sighed...He was originally going to put either Hirschberg or Smitty in your place, but he knew one thing for sure. Everyone carrying out a part of Operation Kino inside the cinema was never coming back home. Donny was the first to volunteer for it. He wanted to be the one to kill Hitler. That was a given... But Aldo knew something else: You couldn't live without Donny, and Donny wouldn't be at peace knowng you were miserable without him. Besides, Bridget was right. They needed you to make their act more convincing. Then you would be 'Catia Barbarino,' stylist to Bridget von Hammersmark. A final card from the Basterds, and once again, a traitor to the nazis.

You looked into the mirror, and swiped on a copper-red lipstick, and wore a long, emerald green dress, covering the sticks of dynamite around your ankles. Bridget lent you a ring to make it more convincing. Everyone was in the next room, having one last drink. Donny came up behind you. "Are you sure you want to do this, doll?" "Are you?" He sighed and looked down. "I'm not going home until Hitler's dead. I'm gonna do it myself." "Then I'm going with you." His head tilted a little, and his eyes grew soft when he saw that your love for him matched his hatred for the enemy.

"Donny, I can't live without you. Don’t ask me to stay here again." "Don't do this...Don't go. I-" "You’re not the only one with a vendetta. Remember that." He smirked a little as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him. He nodded in surrender, and sighed as he looked down at you. “You look beautiful, doll.” He pretended he was ok with everything, but...he was still worried you'd be recognized. Still, there was no one else he wanted by his side when he took down the nazi regime. A few hours later, his world seemed to collapse when Landa approached them. Still, somehow it all seemed alright. "MARGHERITIIIII!!!!!"

Landa looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, you couldn't read someone. He asked for your name. "E il tuo nome?" "Catia Barbarino." He nodded. Landa gave the impression that he believed you. In reality, he was just impressed you'd made it this far. He also enjoyed tracking your fake names through the years. All six of you stopped talking for a tense moment, wondering what the next few hours would entail. Not everyone was going to make it out alive, everyone had that clear. Bridget quickly broke the silence, fearing that any more contact with Landa would cost them all dearly. "Lei è la sua fidanzata." She told Landa you were Donny's fiancee. It was not true...But Donny did make a certain face, Omar did smirk, and Aldo did smile a little.

Bridget had noticed Landa looking at the ring around your gloved left ring-finger. It was really Bridget’s ring. And given that you were her ‘stylist’ a bit too grand for someone of your occupation. Bridget heard Hugo tell Wicki in German that Donny wanted to propose to you, until the basterds were assigned to Operation Kino...there would be no point then... It sort of slipped. Bridget panicked, trying to keep Landa from asking too many questions. Landa congratulated you and Donny. Then, realizing Donny and Omar were choking on their Italian, Bridget managed to get Landa to allow you, Donny, and Omar to take your seats in the cinema.

0023 0024 0025... You sat in seat 0025, beside Donny. Your hands were entwined, much like your fates had been for two years. His hands were steady. His heart was set on Operation Kino. His eyes were set on you, one last time... You would have gladly sat there until it all ended, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. You looked at the two emty seats following yours. Aldo and Bridget should have been there by then... Donny followed your gaze. You turned to him, and whispered softly, "Donny?" He sighed, looking back at the seats again, then at your eyes. He nodded with certainty, and you smiled broken-heartedly. Something told you that things would never be the same again. You rested your hands on his cheeks, as your eyes became teary and he smiled at you, one last time. He kissed you. And you were gone... As you passed Omar, you saw he was smiling widely, as he repeated under his breath "sua fidanzata"

You chuckled a little, though your heart felt heavy. You looked through the lobby, it was mostly empty, save for Aldo standing in the middle, with a glass of champagne in his hand. You were halfway up the stairs then, and Aldo turned around, hearing the click of high heels, thinking it might be Bridget. He was confused when he saw you, but then he glanced at the room where Landa had taken Bridget, and nodded at you. You nodded once to your lieutenant, and made your way to the door. Your excuse for retrieving her would be to touch up her makeup for the cameras... You stood at the door, and heard Landa give an order, "The guy in the white smoking jacket." He opened the door unexpectedly, and found you as you looked back to see a group of nazis attack Aldo and take his weapons from him. "ALDO!"

In the middle of his insults, he glanced up at you, with another reasuring nod, then resumed his shouting as the nazis dragged him away. You were reaching for your purse, where you'd hidden a gun. Landa reached for your wrist, "Now, now, Private L/N, don't be rash." You clenched your jaw. So he did recognize you... He was right. A gunshot would alert all the guards... You’d end Operation Kino before it even began. He pulled you into the room. You saw her shoes on the ground...your could hear your heart beat in your ears as you braved a glance across the room. There, you found Bridget von Hammersmark, lifeless. She was lost in the hands of an unforgiving fate. Landa’s hands, to be precise.

Not unlike you. You whispered, "Bridget..." She was not supposed to die... Not like that. Not that night.

Landa was cool and collected as he paced in front of you.."Well, well, well. If it isn't the traitorous Y/n L/n." "Villains really need to get a better spiel, you know." He looked shocked, as if he were truly offended by your words. "I am most certainly not a villain, liebling. I resent that!"

"You are the Jew-Hunter, aren't you?" "I'm a detective. I do my job. And I do it right." He gestured to the corpse, and a wave of rage ran a chill down your spine, and boiled your blood as he looked at you, "We're very much alike, you and I, liebling." "Don't call me that. We are nothing alike." "No? You're German. I'm German. You're a killer. I'm a killer. We both look at the possible outcomes of our decisions: Yours was to be a traitor, and mine was to stay loyal to the third reich. And here we are, looking at the possible outcomes of killing each other...and in your case and of your friends: yourselves." "I kill nazis. You kill people." He chuckled, "Jews are no more than rod-" You took a step forward. Your fists were clenched. You didn't need a gun. You were a basterd. "Watch your words, Landa." He countered like a child on a playground, and sneered, "Watch yours, private!" There was a knock at the door, and as you were face to face, he remarked, "Ah... we find ourselves in a compromising position. I advise you to stay quiet, and still. No tricks."

You clenched your teeth and nodded. You heard him utter 'clever' outside, and come back in with Aldo's knife, his explosives, and jacket. "Scheisse..." Your mind raced with all the possible horrible things that could be happening to Aldo at that moment. You were a traitor. You once had eyes on the inside...you knew the extent of the enemy’s inhumanity. Your rage was hardly contained at that point, "You're a coward, Landa." He smirked a little as he poured himself a glass of champagne, "Why do you say that?" You glared at him, "You killed her. She was a good woman. A fucking civilian. She's not a soldier, she's not a-" "She was a spy and a traitor, much like yourself, Private L/n." He took a menacing step forward, Aldo's knife in hand, as you stared at each other, hell-bent on getting revenge. He laughed a little, like a madman "Is it such a sin?" "She was innocent." Landa slammed his fist on the table, "A liar and traitor just like you!" he turned back around, and you were both aiming guns at each other. He smiled again. "Kill me, they'll look for a gunman. They know about Aldo, they saw you with him. They saw your fiance a...Oh he's not really your fiance is he? Shame...Thought you made a handsom pair and all...Disgraceful as it is, for a German like you and a Jew, well I must admit young Mr. Donowitz is a fine looking young man, good match for you...Shame, really, all this." You had your gun aimed between Landa’s eyes. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak. "They find him and your friend Omar. Your mission is kaput. And their fate is much worse than what you planned." "So you want us to stand like this until it’s all over?" “It's a possibility..." He sighed “not a practical one, mind you.” He lowered his gun...and you did too. "My disappearance and yours will raise suspicions. You know that, colonel." He paced around, thumb at his chin, as if in deep thought, "I have a better idea, private..." he turned, disarmed you, and stabbed you with Aldo's knife before you could even take a breath.

You were stunned for a moment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You were supposed to die alongside Omar and Donny, destroying the third reich, and avenging millions. There you stood, so close to them, yet so far from your destiny. The searing pain, the uncertainty of the mission... The tides had turned for the blade used against so many nazis before... You couldn't say a word... Blood pooled through your dress. You grew cold and numb. Your knees buckled, and Landa crouched by you as you kneeled weakly. He leaned in and murmured, "Do me a favor, liebling. Don't die now. You may just be useful to me just yet..." He pulled the knife out slowly, and left you there. He took your gun and Aldo's things, and left the room. You were sprawled out on the ground, the opposite side of the room as Bridget. Your eyes burned with agony and rage as you looked up. "So endet es also ..." 'So this is how it ends...' **** The theater was full, the movie had started, and neither the lieutenant, the spy, or the traitor came back. Donny and Omar were in the bathroom, about to carry on with their mission. Donny was pushing for some hope, "You sure you didn't see her in the theater? Maybe she forgot where we were sitting." Omar shook his head slowly, "She didn't forget...She didn't come back."

Donny nodded. That could only mean one of two things: You were either dead or once again, a traitor. He knew you wouldn't betray the basterds.

And his heart shattered knowing what that meant, He nodded slowly, numb, but with a mission. "Mission goes on, Omar..." Orders from high command were that they were to carry out Operation Kino at all costs. Omar shook his head. "No. No, Aldo and the woman didn't come back either. Something's going on." Donny turned his back on Omar, and leaned onto the sink, looking down. "Operation Kino goes on. It's what they would have wanted." Omar caught a glimpse of Donny's eyes in the mirror. They were filled with rage and sorrow. The rage wanted vengeance for everything and everyone the nazis had taken from the world. The sorrow was the realization it didn’t matter if you weren’t there with him... The sorrow was the realization that as of now, you were one of the millions lost at the nazis’ hands. Donny was now more than willing to die in that cinema for his lieutenant, for Hicox, for the spy, and most of all, for you... Omar rested his hand on Donny's shoulder, "We said we'd die together, or we don't die at all. Something happened to them, but we don't know that they're dead. I'm not dying unless I know what really happened to them."

Donny stayed silent, still looking down at the sink. "Donny....I know you want to see her one last time." If Donny had you by his side when it all happened, there would be no hesitation... And even if the only logical explanation was that you were captured and killed, somehow he felt you were still close. "I owe it to her, kid. Hugo and Wicki almost died last night. England lost a good soldier there." His voice was low, but vengeful. You were the closest thing Hugo had to family, and Donny knew that. "We need to get this right. For Y/n.... For everyone. We have to do this, Omar, means we have to die too... We have our orders." Omar’s voice was soft, "Donny?" Donny sighed, "Yeah, kid?" "You love her. I know you don't wanna do this without her." "This is our mission. It always has been." Donny shook his head, trying to block out Omar’s logic. "But-" "Ulmer." Donny took on the tone of a sergeant. It was a warning to Omar.

Omar wasn't scared anymore. Not when they were so close to ending it all. "With all due respect, sarge-" "We have orders, Ulmer. If someone falls behind tonight they...they stay behind." Those orders came directly from the brass, Omar knew that. Orders are orders... "Then fuck the rules." "Ulmer-" "You can't follow orders if you needa follow your heart...Just this once... Donny, you love her. You got a heart, sarge. That's what sets you apart from those nazis in there." Donny was silent again. "Look. We kill Hitler, and the high command in there, throw the dynamite, then find the others. There's a chance, Donny..." Donny nodded slowly and sighed. He looked through the doorway then back at Omar. He took off his jacket. "When I kill that guy, you got thirty seconds to kill that guard. Can you do it?" Omar smirked a little, but they were back in busines... And business was a'boomin'. "I have to."

****** Aldo and Smitty were thrown in the back of a truck. "Utivich?" "Is that you lieutenant?" Smitty was audibly afraid. He was supposed to keep watch on the roof of the tavern across the street from the cinema. He saw the nazis drag Aldo out of the cinema. By the time he turned around, he was cornered and outnumbered himself. "Yeah." "Do you know what happened to Donny? Omar? The woman? Y/n?" Aldo had his theories, but Utivich's voice already sounded unsteady. He just said, "No I do not." The truck came to a sudden stop. They heard nazis struggling against someone, and then the sound of a body being flung into the truck. "Boys? Y/n?" Utivich was trying not to cry. He was so certain that they would end the war that night... He was holding out for some hope. As long as the nazis didn't have you or the boys, the basterds still had a slight chance. "Miss von Hammersmark?" There was a half-second delay. "It's me..." Your voice shattered them. They'd never heard you sound like that. So broken, so lost...so weak.... Aldo had almost lost you once. And that was the closest he ever your heard sound like that. "Y/n? Y/n, they hurt you?!" He started to stand up, but a guard pulled his down. Aldo struggled against him, but got nowhere. "Come on, kid. Speak to me." You coughed a little. You wiped away the blood that dribbled from the corner of your mouth. "He got von Hammersmarck." You were thankful Aldo and Uti couldn’t see you then. "He what?" You took a breath. "He killed her." The world around you spun, and seemed to burn with the embers of what could have been... Maybe Donny was right. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone... Maybe then, Landa wouldn’t have caught on. Everything would have gone according to plan... Smitty asked, "You....Y/n, what about you? Wh-why do you sound like that?" "Don't...Don’t worry about me, Smitty." They noticed you were forcing your voice to sound more put together, and a bit louder. Aldo wanted to know how bad it was, without having to force it out of you. "They put a hood on you and cuff you too?" "No, sir." That answered his question. They didn't even bother to handcuff you because they knew you weren't going to make it very far anyway. After losing your wits, your blood, and Donny, you didn’t realize Aldo was able to deduce that from your answer. "Don't worry about me, Aldo..." "Don't tell me not to wory about my goddamn boys. I'm gon' worry bout em kids till we're gone.” Aldo took a breath... the way it looked, they’d all be gone sooner than he thought. “What the fuck they do to you, soldier? How do you feel?" "He got me Aldo, he got me good. Use-used y-your knife..." You started to shiver, and struggled to keep your eyes open. Smitty leaned his head against the side of the truck, clenching his jaw, and the knot in his throat. There was nothing he or Aldo could do...not even hold your hand. Aldo's mind raced with the image of his knife, digging into countless scalps. That knife, paired with a merciless nazi meant no hope for you. "I'm sorry, Y/n... I shoulda known Operation Kino was too risky..." Your eyes rested on the roof of the truck. One arm across the wound, drenched in your own blood. The other arm at your side, cold and numb. You shook your head, eyes never abandoning the ceiling. "We're soldiers, sir. We follow orders." You were all silent for some time. Roughly five minutes. But with the hoods, and your impending last breath, Aldo got worried. It was too quiet. "Y/n? How're you holdin' up, kid?" "Cold..." Was all you could manage to mumble... Aldo and Smitty could barely hear you at that point. Smitty's voice was broken as he uttered, "Fuck..." Hopeless, forgotten tears streamed down his hooded face. Aldo struggled against his handcuffs in vain, trying to get to you, and offer you any comfort he could. Operation Kino was a failure, and most, if not all, the basterds would be killed before sunrise. The war would go on. It all would have been for nothing... The truck slowed down and stopped, and the nazis started pulling Aldo and Smitty down. Both of them struggled against the enemy for years... It seemed so cruel for it to end like this. You were most likely going to die cold, alone, and in a pool of your own blood in that truck. Something Aldo and Smitty couldn't abide by... They managed to drag Aldo away, though he looked back one last time, "Y/n?! Listen to me, listen to me, kid! Everything’s gon ' be ok! Ya hear?!” He looked down at the blod, then turned away as his voice lowered in heartbreak, “Y-ya hear..." Even he didn't believe himself... Smitty managed to kneel by your side for a moment, "Y/n? I'm sorry...I'm sorry we have to go..." You nodded, even if he couldn't see. You felt his warm knee at your forearm. Your cold, shaking hands reached out to his shoulder... The blood on your hands soaked his shirt, though you couldn't feel it anymore. "Y/n..." "It's ok, Smitty...We tried." "I c...I can't leave you alone..." You shook your head. "There are worse ways to die, love..." You thought of Omar and Donny. They were probably going to be tortured and then shot against a wall. If they weren't already being tortured... You watched as the nazis dragged Aldo and Smitty away... You tried to get up, you wanted more than anything to fight them and get freedom for your boys, and a fighting chance for Donny and Omar... But you could barely keep your eyes open at that point. A tear streamed down your cheek, thinking perhaps it was all your fault... ******* Aldo eyed the glass of wine in front of him...which he couldn't reach. In no scenario would Donny and Omar survive: They'd either carry out the mission, and die as planned. Or die in the hands of nazis... Aldo looked at a clock, and sighed. You barely had any time left, if you weren't already dead. It wouldn't be long before the nazis zeroed in on Hirschberg. It wouldn't be to hard for them to find Wicki and Hugo, and finish the job. He and Smitty would most likely be killed by Hans Landa himself. Still, Aldo, much like you, couldn't quite read Landa. "But I digress...where were we? Ja. Make a deal." He gestured behind Aldo and Smitty, "Over there is a very capable two-way radio. And sitting behind it is a more than capable radio operator named...Herman..." He looked as if he had uncovered the secrets of the universe, "Get me someone on the other end of that radio to authorize my...let's call terms of my conditional surrender." Aldo was silent. "Get me someone on the other end of that radio I spare Hugo, Wilhelm, Gerold, Smithson, and yourself, and I'll call for someone to save your friend. That traitor....I suppose my ally now, if all goes well.” Utivich turned to look at Aldo. The last thing any soldier would want is to die alone... Both of them knew that. Utivich looked to Aldo, eyes pleading.

*******

Donny and Omar were covered in drops of blood, but their hands and consciences were clean. Hitler, Bormann, Goerring, and Goebbels were dead.

The war was over. They threw the dynamite down when they still had time, and ran through the cinema, searching for a sign from you, Aldo, or Bridget. They searched every supply closet, every opera box. "Donny!" Doonny turned around, smiling, holding out for a some hope. Instead, he saw the grave expression on Omar's face. He peered into the room. There, they saw Bridget von Hammersmarck, dead in a corner. On the other side, they saw the glint of your gun on the ground, and the ring Bridget convinced Landa was your engagement ring. It was stained in red. A dark pool of blood streamed through the floor boards, extending in every direction of the room. Donny knelt by the blood, picked up your gun, and glanced up at Bridget. It wasn’t hers, she didn’t have any wounds or blood on her. It had to be yours... His eyes widened at that realization. He shakily rose to his feet, and dropped your gun. ”Donny...Look...” Omar pointed at the red smears, like masses of rose petals strewn violently by the wind. Donny nodded... You’d been dragged out. "They have to be here somewhere." Donny ran out of the room, and started frantically racing around the cinema, his mind blank, his heart racing, sweating from the heat and the fear. "Y/N?! ALDO! Y/N?! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!" But Donny and Omar were out of time. Omar grabbed onto Donny, "DONNY, LET'S GO, THEY'RE NOT HERE." "I HAVE TO FIND THEM." "THEY'RE NOT HERE. THEY DRAGGED HER OUT, THEY WOULDN’T STAY HERE. COME ON!" Donny looked intently at the young private. Omar was right... Omar managed to pull Donny outside. Donny was fuming as they stood outside the cinema. He was deciding whether or not to go back into the cinema. “Someone hurt her, Omar. Someone fucking killed Bridget, and hurt her, and probably Aldo too. What if they’re still in there?!”

Omar shook his head. he was a bit more clear headed than his sergeant at the moment, "They're not here. They must've been taken away. They had to, if they were going to interrogate them." "Why didn't they get us too?!" Omar shook his head, lost for words, and without an answer...."I don't know..." At that moment, Donny entertained the idea that maybe you were killed...maybe they took you out of that room, and didn’t have time to get Bridget out.

He looked at the cinema. His eyes were bound to the cinema as they once were to you. His voice was steady, and low. “I should’ve stayed in there...” Omar shook his head, “There’s still a chance-” “What? That they’re torturing her and they’ll kill her before we even figure out where she is? I know...” Omar knew Donny was right this time. Still he said, “I was gonna say alive...” Donny shook his head, “No...not after this.” His eyes were set on the theater. If he lost you, he’d never feel alive again... They watched the cinema implode, fire burst through the shattering glass and splintering pillars devoured by hellfire. The cinema was destroyed, dragged down to depths of hell, and the nazis’ power went along with it.

Donny fell to his knees... "Where is she...Omar? Where is she?" Donny’s voice trembling with the tears and rage that came with the irony: He won the war but he lost you. Omar put his hand on Donny’s shoulder...glanced up at the rooftop across the street, searching for an answer... He realized that was where Smitty should have been posted for something like this. He was gone... "Donny...Smitty's gone." Donny turned around, and saw the empty roof. He and Omar looked at each other... If Smitty was gone, then there really was a chance he was with you and Aldo, outside of the theater. Omar held out his hand, and pulled Donny up. They marveled at their work. The vengeful inferno that ended the war by their hands, and avenged millions. "For Y/n..." Donny picked a flower and tossed it into the fire, uncertain what to believe anymore. ********** Aldo and Smitty were put in the back of the same truck they came in. Aldo and Smitty eyed the blood stains on the ground, sloppily and carelessly wiped away, leaving red footprints on the ground. It looked like the inside of a slaughterhouse... It was no wonder the nazis didn't bother to cover your eyes and tie you like them... "I'm not leavin' without my man, Landa. You know the deal."

Landa sighed, "It appears you are correct, Lieutenant Raine." He looked back at the guards and barked out an order in German. Someone, presumably a medic, appeared in a few moment, and helped you up. You were handcuffed. And you were set between Aldo and Smitty. There words seemed distant, you could hardly hold your own, and they knew it. "What about the cinema..." Smitty shook his head, misunderstanding the brokenness in your eyes. You didn't know about the deal. "No...they did it. Hitler, Goerring, everyone of them is gone. It's over, we won!" Aldo knew the real reason you were like that. "They're gone, kid...I'm sorry." "I should've been there with them." Aldo understood. He nodded slowly, "I'm sorry kid. For everything." You bit the inside of your lip, not wanting to let the nazis see you cry. The war may have been over, but that didn't change who they were to you, "Thats...that's war." War... War was what brought you together. It was what brought the world to its knees. It was what drove you away from your home. War made you a traitor. It made you a basterd. War gave you Donny. It was what taught you what love was. It brought you the basterds, and taught you what family was. War gave Hugo back to you, and showed you what redemption was. And war was what took it all away again. You were ready to die with Donny and Omar in that cinema. But you would never be ready to live without them... Now all that was left of them was probably their dog tags... A part of you condemned Aldo and Smitty for making your salvation a part of their deal with the devil called Hans Landa. As soon as you crossed back in allied lines in the forest, you were all freed from handcuffs. Aldo and Smitty pulled your arms around their shoulders and kept you standing tall. Aldo eyed the bloody truck once more, then looked to you, “How you doin', kid?" You glanced at Landa, then to Aldo. Your voice was hoarse, and hopeless. "He's gonna get away with it, Aldo..." Aldo sighed, and nodded, " ‘Fraid so..." Aldo said something about you needing to be in the infirmiry with Hugo and Wicki, you weren't listening. The truth was, even thought the war was over, he wasn't done worrying about you. You and Donny were hell-bent on taking down the third reich and dying together. The war may have ended, but without Donny, yours was just beginning. Now that the basterds were going home, Aldo was afraid for you. Hugo said something about moving to America once... He hoped you'd tag along, then there wouldn't be much to worry about. Hugo would never let a thing happen to you. Smitty held on to you as Landa and Aldo carried out the deal. Landa held out his tiny blade, "I'm officially surrendering myself over to you, Lieutenant Raine. We're your prisoners." Aldo forced a smile, "How 'bout my knife?" Landa chuckled as he pulled out the machete and handed it over. "Thank you very much, colonel." Aldo eyed the blade that was used against you. The blood still drying... Aldo took your arm, then said, "Utivich, cuff the colonel's arms behind his back." "Oh is that really necessary?" Aldo's ears burned with your words, 'He's gonna get away with it, Aldo...' He glanced at his knife, safely around his waist, then back at you. You were neither dead, or alive. You were victorious, but heart broken. He couldn't abide by that. Not one damn bit. Aldo smirked a little, and admitted something every basterd knew him to be guilty of: "I'm a slave to appearances." He shot Herman. He gave Landa's knife to Utivich. "Scalp Herman." Landa used Aldo's knife against you, he was using Landa's knife against his man. Utivich smirked as he took the knife, and gently set you down against a tree. "ARE YOU MAD? I MADE A DEAL WITH YOU FOR THAT MAN'S LIFE!" As he and Aldo went back and forth about the deal, you saw something in the distance. For a moment, you thought you were dead. You thought it was the spirits of those you left behind. Donny and Omar. Donny and Omar. Donny and Omar. Their names repeated in your mind. Their voices seemed to get closer and closer... Closer, and closer, and closer... Your eyes widened..."Donny and Omar?!" Smitty thought you'd snapped. He glanced up, expecting to see nothing. Instead, he saw everything his heart could ever desire. His two brothers running out of the woods, towards them, just as Aldo declared this final marking his masterpiece. His eyes followed Utivich's and he saw it too. Donny ran past them, directly to you. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you. He was covered in soot, and smelled like ash and victory, covered in the blood of his enemy. You were covered in your own blood. He held you gently, his hand resting at the side of your face. "Are you ok? Tell me you're ok, Y/n. Tell me you're fine." His voice was desparate. A man faced with glory and fire. Love and death. You and oblivion, only hours before. You touched his hand and nodded, "I'm ok..." He took a breath, seemingly for the first time in a long time and he smiled. "Hugo woulda killed me if you weren't..." You giggled as much as your wound would allow, and he kissed you again... You whispered, “I’m sorry...I’m sorry, Donny, I-” He shook his head, “Sh, it’s ok, doll! Everything’s ok! Just...save your breath, I need you to get better, ok doll? I need you around.” He smiled as he looked at you, and you smiled back. You just couldn’t believe it. Seething through his pain, Landa taunted "Oh, private L/n and sergeant Donowitz, so it's true! How sweet...a traitor and the Bear Jew." Donny saw you clenching your side. He glanced at the smirk in Landa's eyes. He knew who hurt you. Landa went on, "Nantucket Island isn't too far from Boston, is it sergeant?" Donny shook his head. His voice was low. For a moment, you realized that if Landa went free, he'd only be a few miles form you and Donny... Donny knew that too. "No. No it isn't, colonel." He raised his gun, aimed it at Landa and smirked, "But hell is."

One last bullet.

Then, the war really was over, for all of you. The general was definitely going to chew everyone out for it, but that was ok. It was more than ok. Donny laughed a little as he remarked, "Told you he'd recognize you, doll." Covered in ash, a steady heart, and loving eyes, Donny looked back at you. After that night, after everything you'd ever been through together, you were everything to him. The war may be over, the basterds may be splitting up, but he couldn't imagine his life without you, and you knew that. He slipped his hand around yours, just like he did in the theater. He was willing to die with you hours before. Now he was willing to live for you, and spend the rest of his life with you. Your eyes wandered east. The Germany you once knew was gone. There was nothing to go back to. You and Hugo knew that. He made you swear once, that you were truly happy with Donny, and that you loved him. When you admitted it, Hugo smiled and said he'd move to America, only if you promised to visit him. You agreed. And so your eyes wandered west, beyond France, beyond the Atlatntic, was America. And on the coast was a place named Boston. A place you never knew. A place you'd never seen, not even in pictures. Only stories. What's more, they were Donny's stories. That was where your home was. Donny looked west, beyond the horizon, toward his home. He looked back at his life, at you. It all would have been nothing without you. He thought about the night before for a moment... "Lei è la sua fidanzata."

He didn't have a ring on him, but he had his heart. And his dog tag...

"Y/n... will you-" It was then that another truck passed by....recklessly... honking like there was no tomorrow. Hirschberg was driving, of course. Wicki and Hugo trying to get him to drive without getting them killed. Aldo turned around, "KILL THE ENGINE." "What?!" "KILL THE ENGINE." Hugo swiped the keys from Hirschberg, the engine shut off, and the three arrivals peered out the windows. Aldo shushed them, "KEEP YOUR FUCKEN MOUTHS SHUT!" He stood with Omar and Smitty as Hirschebrg, Wicki and Hugo wandered to them, watching. You and Donny laughed a little as he collected himself. He cleared his throat, and tried again, "Y/n..." He held out his dog tag. "Will you marry me?" You smiled, "Yes!." He kissed you, and held on to you, the only reason he was still alive. He put his dog tag around your neck, as the basterds cheered and joked with both of you. One last time. For the first time in a long time, everything was fine. You, Hugo, and Wicki may have been knocking on death's door hours earlier, but there was no answer. And that was fine. For the first time in years, you and Hugo had a place to call home, and a family. For the first tim in years, there was peace. And for the first time in his life, Donny was satisfied. He paid off his debt to Aldo the Apache. He avenged every name on his bat. He killed Hitler. He ended the war. He looked at you...his “fidanzata” and smiled. Now that there was a world worth living in, Donny had the girl he loved to share it all with.

#Inglourious Basterds #Donny Donowitz #donny donowitz x reader #the bear jew #aldo the apache #aldo raine #smithson utivich #hugo stiglitz #Wilhelm Wicki #gerold hirschberg #Omar Ulmer #Quentin Tarantino #bridget von hammersmarck

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years

Text

Across the Hudson (Smithson Utivich x Fem!Reader)

Postwar AU: The war just ended. And Private Smithson Utivich has a hard time saying goodbye, especially to you... And the basterds have a hard time holding up the brass's deal with Hans Landa.

@inglourious-imagines @owba-chan @war-obsessed

Let me know if you wanna be tagged on these!

Happy New Year!!! <3

It was the basterds' final night in Paris. After that, they'd be transported to a base in England, debriefed, and sent home.

They had another day or two ahead of them, but this was the last time you could all drink and celebrate together.

It was goodbye.

After a long war, a long mission, and a long friendship, you were more than an elite squadron of basterds. You were family. Getting drunk and living one last time together was the only way you knew to say goodbye.

The only problem was, you weren't alone.

One Colonel Hans Landa of the SS managed to finesse his way out of war crime charges.

Not only that, he intended on making your lives impossible as long as he could.

All he had to do, was sit with you basterds, and he knew it.

The Basterd's stopped laughing. The table became uneasy and silent...

You looked at the boys, who were all grimacing, scowling, and frowning, while puffing up a storm of smoke in silence, only interrupting the still tension with an occasional grunt. Donny's knuckles were white as he gripped his glass beer stein. Hugo clenched his jaw and stared square at Landa. Of course, it made Landa uneasy, but after the war, killing Landa would be considered first degree murder. And given that he conjured a false place as a 'war hero,' it would probably be considered a war crime. Still...not many things detered Hugo, after all, to him, a nazi was a nazi. Wicki tapped his leg, resisting to urge to even look at his enemy. The moment he laid eyes on Landa, there was no telling what he'd do. Aldo tried to inhale as much tobacco as possible to be able to keep the peace. Being the boys' lieutenant, he was responsible for everyone at the table. Omar and Hirschberg glanced at each other, knowing what everyone else was thinking. Then there was Smitty... Smitty was looking at you through star-struck, misty eyes of wonder. He loved you from the moment his eyes first fell upon yours, just as you were lined up before Lieutenant Aldo Raine, years ago. He had the heart and courage of a lion, never once thinking twice, running in and out of firefights. He was a war hero. He always had been. But despite all of that, he never was able to conjure up the courage to tell you his truth. His one and only unspoken truth: He loved you.

Through the years you survived behind enemy lines, covered in gunpowder, bruises, and blood, there were countless times he promised you the war would end, and that everything would be alright.

He was right. The war was over.

But he looked into your eyes in that tavern, and he realized it wasn't alright.

You spent so many years together. Day in and day out, your eyes wishfully wandering towards his, silently hoping one of you would be brave enough to love the other out loud... Waiting for a chance in the world without a war. But when that world finally emerged, you weren't looking back at Smitty. No. You were glaring at the nazi that got away with it. Your eyes full of scorn and hellfire. One more moment, and you would have become an assassin. So.. you stood up, and muttered something about getting a drink.

You came back, glaring at the back of Landa's head, a bottle of champagne in your hand.... One hit. One hit was all it would take. You could just hear Donny's voice, echoing back from the war, "I hit you, you hit the ground!"

You were so intent on that one last hit that you didn't even realize Aldo leave the booth and pull you away from the table, "Whooaaa, easy there, private."

You tried to push against Aldo, but he was still your lieutenant. An order was a goddamn order. "Stand. Down."

He lowered his voice trying to keep it lowkey as he talked you through it,

You kept glaring at Landa, half ignoring Aldo's southern wisdom.

Aldo pulled you all the way to the bar, hoping to have your full attention. "Stand down, Y/N. That's an order."

You sighed, and shook your head. "This is so unfair...He...so many nazis...so many of those motherfuckers got away with so much..."

Aldo understood how you felt. Hell every single one of them did. But he couldn't let you throw it all away... Aldo had his orders too: Landa was not to be harmed any more...

"War's over, kid... you needa understand that." Aldo rested his hand on your back, like he had all throughout the war when he was worried you'd go too far too soon. Usually it was enough.

You glanced at the table then back at your lieutenant. "But Aldo-"

Donny had also left the table. He didn't know what was happening but he saw Aldo pulling you away, and heard enough to form his own opinion. "The kid wants to get rid of one last nazi, let her."

Aldo sighed, "Donny."

"What? I don't want that fucken piece of shit over there livin on Nan-fucking-tucket Island! That's too close to home."

You nodded, "See, Donny agrees."

Aldo crossed his arms, "I'd love to get rid of him as much as you, trust me... but you both paid your debts to me. A long time ago. And...the war's over. This isn't killing a nazi anymore. They'd arrest you for murder. The brass wouldn't have it. No more talk about this....lets go back and have our drinks. Say our goodbyes..."

"But."

Aldo sighed as he looked at you. He was tired. Tired of war and injustice. He'd come to realize the world may never truly be free. And he wasn't willing to let you pay the price for a dying hope of revenge. "That's an order, soldier. You're all still under my command until....until..." he looked down...he wasn't so sure he was ready to day goodbye either.

Smitty had appeared between you and Donny, and mumbled, "Till we say goodbye, sir." He brought his drink down on the counter more harshly than usual, and asked the bartender for a double.

Aldo nodded, "Yeah...yeah..." he made it seem as if he was sniffing tobacco but it was really an attempt to hold back any signs of sadness. "Come on, boys. One last time." He patted Donny on the back and guided him back to the table.

Aldo looked back at you, "Y/n? We got a deal?"

"Yeah yeah, you got it, chief."

Donny glanced at you, then Smitty... he’d always been convinced there was something between you and Smitty, but he'd never been able to prove anything.

He smirked at Smitty who simply looked back at him in confusion.

You leaned against the counter and Smitty sat in the bar stool by you.

He downed his drink and looked at you, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Your hair was still tied back with the same bandana it had been tied with for the past few years. Your hair was a color he'd only ever seen under the red sky of nazi-occupied France, but would remember for the rest of his days. Your eyes as wondrous, deep, and mystifying as the farthest stars of the galaxy, as the deepest point of the sea, as the smallest peak in the horizon.

"You coming back to the table?" Your voice tended to be low, years of cover and fear tended to do that. But tonight, your voice was loud and true. A spark he'd only heard on rare nights off, when there were no enemies around, no blood stains on any basterds, and no need to rise with the sun. He'd only heard you so free four or five times in the years he'd known you.

He noticed you were smirking the same way you did we've you had a devilishly brilliant plot... mostly in strikes against the enemies.

He knew you had something up your sleeves. Then again, when didn't you? "Orders are orders, Y/n. Don't forget that."

You smiled at him, and rested your hand against his face, "I won't, don't worry Uti. Come on, let's get back."

He smiled at you and walked with you back to the table, where Aldo was begrudgingly passing on a message from the brass to Landa. "You gotta follow em orders exactly, to a t, ya understand? Be at the debriefing, report to the general, six AM sharp. You fuck any o'that up, anything at all. You so much as a minute late, or take a step anywheres you ain't 'sposed to be, and the deal is off." Aldo set his drink down and leaned his forearm against the table, lowered his voice and cautioned, "And cousin, it'll be open season on your sorry nazi ass."

You smirked..."A minute late, huh?"

Landa took a sip of his wine, grinning as if he had nothing to worry about, as if he truly were innocent of crimes against millions. "I understand completely, Aldo." He set his wine glass down and stood up, "I think I'll retire now. Us basterds are never late," he smirked knowing he had just caused everyone to shift and glare in revolt.

It was fairly early in the night though. You and your boys wouldn't let him ruin your last night together.

The rest of you stayed up till the bar closed, and walked up to your hotel rooms together.

Yours was across Smitty's... he lingered a glance at you as he opened his door.

You smiled softly, "Goodnight Uti...see you tomorrow."

He smiled back, though you could tell he was holding something back. His voice was soft, as he sighed sweetly, dreamily, though he wasn't tired, he could dance the night away with you, if given the chance. All he could say though was, "Goodnight, Y/n."

The next morning, Smitty was pacing around. You were all on the boat heading to England for one meeting, then fly out to DC for the medals of honor, and a debriefing and then one last goodbye.

You had a long flowing green dress on. Your hair was down, and you were free.

Smitty managed to stutter, "You look cute...I-I mean... You always did...do! But...but-" Hirschberg and Omar glanced at each other, smirked, and stared Smitty down. Being the youngest four basterds, the four of you acted much like annoying brothers. This was no exception.

You giggled, and blushed as you glanced shyly toward the sea, as Donny decided to put Smitty out of his misery. "Anybody seen Landa around?"

Hirschberg shrugged, annoyed that Donny had taken pity on Smitty and ended the fun. "Who cares. Maybe he'll catch up in England."

Hugo smirked silently as he saw your face. He knew you were planning something.

And he kept quiet about it, just as he always had.

Aldo narrowed his eyes. Landa had orders to stay with the basterds, or the deal was off. And Landa was set on getting his immunnity, his medal, his money, and his property on Nantucket Island.

Something wasn't right.

There was no sign of Landa in the meeting in England, on the flight to DC, or in the debriefing, the interviews, or even when you all received the medal of honor.

You and the boys were lined up just before the ceremony.

Aldo sighed, his hands at his hips as he looked up the stage. "Wonder what the fuck happened to Landa."

Smitty saw Hugo smirk. "Oh god Hugo no...After war??? They'll get you for fucking murder!"

"I did nothing to him."

He glanced at you, and all the basterds turned their heads to you in unison, like sunflowers following the sun.

"Ok, ok..." you sighed, "Sometimes...Melatonin pills find their way into drinks... sometimes one too many keep you down for a while... And sometimes alarms don't go off." And sometimes, just every so often, the basterds get the last laugh.

Donny shook his head and laughed, "You fucken basterd, come here, kid!" He threw an arm around you as he laughed "You always were a smart fucken kid."

They heard their names called from the stage. "These brave, selfless heroes gave it their all and ended the war. They were known as "the basterds" overseas. Lieutenant Aldo Raine. Sergeant Donovan Donowitz-"

The basterds started to chuckle and stifle their laughs as Donny sneered as the rest of you tried to compose yourselves as your names were called, and you approached the stage.

When it was over, there was a reception. You were mixed up with congressmen, senators, generals, celebrities, and the president himself.

You didn't bother going to a club to drink together. DC was teeming with reporters as well as cynics. Paris was enough...It had been a long war. It was time to rest.

It was time to say goodbye...

The next morning, you all stood together one last time at the airport, promising to call and write and meet up as soon as possible.

One last goodbye.

Aldo was going back up the Smoky Mountains, no more bootlegging. Donny was going home to Boston, swearing he'd be working his dad's barbershop the next morning. Hirschberg was going home to Chicago, back to his fiancee, with a box full of letters and his heart. Wicki was going home to Florida. Everyone joked he liked it there because that was where old people retired to. Hugo was hoping to find a better life in Seattle than he did in Germany. Omar was moving back home to Brooklyn, and hoping to finish studying. Smitty was going back to his parents in Manhattan, and getting his job back with the paper.

You were going home to Jersey. You hated the idea of taking back your old job as a secretary... You knew there was so much more to the world, to life... You looked back at Smitty. Part of life was falling in love, and fighting for what you believed in. But you were done fighting. You knew there would be plenty of fighting for jobs, boys coming home, demanding you go home. A part of you was done dreaming. Done fighting... You sighed, as you thought "Back to Jersey..." It used to be a joke between Omar and Smitty. They were the New York big-shots...and you were from Jersey... The basterds had split up. Everything was said and done... At last, everyone had gone their separate ways. You lived about a half hour away from Smitty, but your flight was in a completely different terminal. Smitty and Omar were standing at the gate together. Omar looked at Smitty, "You really gonna let her go, just like that?" "There's nothing between us....There never was." Smitty sighed as he watched you walk away. Through the crowd and distance, he never lost sight of you. Your bright, cheery yellow dress drew his eyes to you... "Oh, buddy, ok. Listen..." Omar took a breath, trying to get it through Smitty's head, "Literally everyone but you two knew something was goin' on between you." "W...what?" Omar buried his face in his palm in frustration, "Look...Go say goodbye, but the right way." "Right way?" "Fuck's sake, Smitty. Go fucking tell her you love her already!" Omar nudged Smitty forward...and Smitty had never been so terrified in his life. Not during Kino...

The only time that came close was when he first met you... "N-no...I can't, Omar, I-" Omar rolled his eyes. He cupped his hands around his lips, and called out your name, "Y/N!!! HEY, Y/N!" You turned around, and Smitty fell in love all over again. Omar nudged him again, took his duffel bag, and said "I'll give you some space, lover-boy. See you onboard." He started walking away, but turned around again, smirking, as you were just out of earshot, "And I want details, so make this good!" You stood in front of Smitty, your hands clasped in front of you, holding a coin purse. You had just about the right amount of change you needed to get from the airport in Jersey to your home in Union City. "Everything ok? Or is Omar being stupid again?" Smitty laughed a little, and you two just stood in a moment of awkward but knowing silence, You glanced away, and brushed some hair behind your ear. "W-well I guess I better get going...and you better make sure Omar doesn't get in any trouble." "Y/n...wait..." You turned back to look at him, "Yeah?" "Don't go..."

You raised your eyebrow, and tilted your head. You could tell something was going on, "Everything ok, Smitty?" He sighed, "I just...I didn't think the war would ever end...It's just been such a long time, I don't know what the rest of the world is like anymore." You nodded, "Yeah, I know..." He held his breath and blurted out, "I didn't think we'd ever have to say goodbye, Y/n." Your heart felt heavy. You'd been in denial. Every time one of the boys talked about going home, and ending the war, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Smitty, wondering what would become of the two of you. Unforgettable nights that never happened, dreams that never ended, and memories you wanted to make some day... You just never seemed the have the time. "You ok, Smitty?" He looked up. You could see the heartbreak in his eyes. His voice was soft, and sincere. Not something you'd expect from a New Yorker, but still... "I'm gonna miss you, Y/n, that's all..." He looked down as if he'd just said the most ridiculous thing. You smiled, and reached out for his hands, "Union City's just across the Hudson, you know." He smiled a little, but the look in his eyes told you everything on his mind. "It's not the same without you..." You smiled back at him. Your heart fluttered. This was your one and only chance. You ended the war, it was time to start something that was worth all you fought for. Goodbye didn't have to mean forever. You held Smitty by the lapel of his coat, and you kissed him. He smiled, his eyes full of love and wonder, as if he questioned whether or not that really just happened.

You whispered, "Meet me Friday night on Coney Island?" "F-Friday?" "Friday." You smiled, and he snapped out of it, smiling and nodding, in a daze as he managed to ask, "Seven work for you?" "Seven's just fine, Smitty." You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and made his heart skip a beat. He sighed with a smile, fully in love with you. More than ever. "See you there..." You winked at him, "Goodbye, Smitty..." He watched you walk away again. Walk away from war, and walking back into his life.

Things were different... but they were going for the better for him. He heard Omar's pressing, almost panicky voice from the gate, "UTI COME ON, WE'RE BOARDING, YOU BASTERD!" Smitty chuckled to himself a little, 'some things never change...' He sighed as Omar bombarded him with questions as they walked to their seats. Through it all, Smitty couldn't help but smile. Especially when he looked out the window as the plane descended, and spotted the Hudson River... New starts weren't so bad after all.

#smithson utivich #smitty #Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #Quentin Tarantino #Omar Ulmer #hugo stiglitz #Donny Donowitz #aldo raine #Wilhelm Wicki

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