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dothwrites · 4 years ago

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15.19--freedom

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose/Nothing, don’t mean nothing if it ain’t free, no, no”--Janis Joplin

---

Freedom.

Dean rolls the word around on the tip of his tongue and tastes how it feels. Freedom.

It’s a strange concept, especially since he always assumed that he was. Ever since Apocalypse Version 1.0 was averted, Michael and Lucifer locked in the cage, thanks very much, he’s always assumed that he was the one calling the shots. No matter how badly he fucked up (and he fucked up a lot), he could at least take comfort in the fact that those were his choices. No one’s hand up Dean Winchester’s ass, no siree.

And then Chuck came and ripped that certainty away from him in one quick motion and then...everything was suspect. Sam, Mom, Jack...Cas. Every word, every action, every emotion... He couldn’t trust anything, so he trusted nothing.

He still wakes up from nightmares with those words echoing in his head: You’re dead to me. He bolts upright, almost puking, because he can’t believe his past self, he can’t believe that those words came out of his mouth, to Cas, to Cas of all people--

He splashes water on his face and notices that his hand is shaking. His stomach churns in warning, but he doesn’t think he’s going to puke. However, he also doesn’t think he’s going back to sleep tonight.

He and Sam are in the bunker, but he knows they won’t stay. It’s too empty now, their voices echoing through the halls and rooms. Maybe once, he would have been all right with that, would have even enjoyed it, but now, he can’t bear it. He remembers all too well how it felt to have Jack’s voice bouncing through the kitchen as he talked about the latest movie they had watched, or how it felt to just feel Cas behind him as he moved through the kitchen.

Every time he makes his breakfast, he’s reminded of what he lost. Every time he and Sam come back to the bunker, there’s the sinking disappointment to find themselves alone once more. Dean ends up spending most of his days in his room because anywhere else freaks him out. He can’t stop whipping his head to look over his shoulder, halfway convinced that he’ll find someone standing behind him. He’s always disappointed when he finds himself alone.

He and Sam are going to leave the bunker behind. He doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know what for, but he knows that it’s going to happen.

He asks Sam one afternoon why he hasn’t left yet. Eileen is waiting for him, biding her time a hell of a lot more patiently than Dean would, and Sam still isn’t going to her and starting the American dream life. And one afternoon, Dean either runs out of fucks and gathers up his last little shreds of courage, and asks him.

“So when are you going to move in with Eileen? I can’t imagine that she’s going to wait for your gigantor ass forever.”

Sam looks at him from across the table. There’s a book open in front of him, but Dean doesn’t think that he’s read a word. He knows that he’s been stuck on the same screen on his phone for several minutes. Without the pressing urgency of saving the world, things just seem so...pointless. Which is not necessarily bad. But it means that he and Sam spend a lot of slow, lingering afternoons like this, with just the two of them wandering through the bunker and occasionally bouncing off of each other like two very faulty pinballs stuck in a malfunctioning machine.

“She’s fine,” Sam says, which isn’t an answer. “She understands what’s happening.”

Dean’s glad that someone understands because he surely has no fucking clue.

---

His life falls into a kind of routine. Wake up, make breakfast. Find pointless chores to do around the bunker. Make lunch. Watch some bullshit shows on TV. Make dinner. Have a beer. Fall asleep.

He feels like the worst kind of retiree, devoid of purpose.

Sure, there are occasional hunts, but he doesn’t feel the need to go on them. The world is turning, same as it always did, and there are other hunters in the world. If that’s one thing that he learned through these past years, it’s that he doesn’t have to do everything.

(Plus, he and Sam literally defeated God, so he thinks they deserve some time off.)

The forced retirement doesn’t make him happy. The bunker is the cleanest that it’s ever been and he doesn’t feel happy about it. There’s a gaping hole in his chest that’s shaped like the rest of his family, and he can’t sleep at night. He makes dinner and all he can think about are the empty places at the table.

Sam sticks his head into Dean’s room. It’s a regular day, though Dean doesn’t bother to note either the actual date or the day of the week anymore. Time blends together in an endless cycle of waking, chores, and sleeping, because without a purpose to hold him together, he’s slowly falling apart.

“I’m going to head out,” Sam says. Dean notices that he doesn’t put a timeline on his departure. “You should get out too.”

Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask the obvious question: Where would he go? Sam, slightly chagrined, scuffs his feet against the floor. “Maybe go see Jody, Donna, and the girls? See if Charlie and Stevie want a third on their hunt? Bobby said something about building up his library here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, with absolutely no intention of following through on any of those suggestions. He’s not quite wallowing in his own grief and filth (every time he tries to crawl back into a bottle, he just remembers the pinched look at the corners of Cas’ eyes whenever he would find Dean halfway through a bender, and that memory effectively nixes any desire he might have had to crawl into the nearest bottle), but he’s not exactly the poster boy for healthy coping strategies either.

“Dean.”

Dean hates that note in Sam’s voice, the oh-so-soft and sensitive tone that could soothe widows and lull children. He hates even more that it’s being turned on him, hates most of all that he derives comfort from it.

“I don’t get it,” Dean finally says, because if Sam is leaving then he might be losing his chance to ask his question aloud. “I don’t get...I mean, Jack could have brought him back. He could have done it. I could have asked him. I was right fucking there, and I didn’t ask.”

He’s dissected those moments in his head until there’s nothing left, and he’s forced to cobble them back together like some Frankenstein of memories just so he can take them apart all over again. Why didn’t he ask Jack to bring Cas back? Why didn’t Jack do it of his own free will? Jack knew how he much he needed Cas; hell, Jack brought him back once before when he wasn’t God. So why couldn’t he do it then, when Dean needed him the most?

“I don’t know,” Sam says, still in that same soft voice. “Maybe...maybe it was like Mom? I mean, Cas made his choice. For better or worse, he made it, and maybe Jack thinks that we need to respect it?”

A thick lump rises in his throat. Cas’ face replays in his nightmares, tear-stricken and yet smiling, peace and grief shining in his eyes. I love you. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to say at that moment. Like it was all he’d ever wanted to say.

“I never...” Dean swallows, but he doesn’t manage to chase away the horrid feeling rising in his chest. “I never said it back to him, Sam. I never...all those times he said it to us, and I never...he died, thinking that no one loved him. The one thing I want, I know I can’t have, is what he said to me.”

Dean doesn’t necessarily have a list of his regrets (there are too many to really list), but if he did, then he knows this would be at the top of it. Cas sacrificed himself, Cas let himself get taken, Cas died, and all to save someone who he believed didn’t love him back.

How could he not know?

Dean knows he’s not necessarily Mr. Subtle; he knows Sam knows. Their enemies damn sure have seemed to figure out through the years exactly where Dean’s heart lies. How could Cas, as brilliant as he was, as insightful, as compassionate as he was, not understand that Dean’s been lost on him, quite possible since the first time he walked through those barn doors?

Sam’s face goes on a journey and it ends up at about the same place that Dean feels. Maybe now Sam understands why it’s so much effort for him to just make it out of his room.

“He thought it was worth it,” Sam finally says. “Even if he thought...At the end, it was still worth it to him.”

You were still worth it, is left unsaid, but Dean hears the echo nonetheless. There’s an accusation there which he doesn’t want to confront, but he has to nonetheless.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Sam finally says. “I can’t...” When he looks at Dean, his eyes are glistening. There’s a plea for understanding in his face. “There’s a whole world out there that I haven’t gotten to see since...since Stanford really. Since ever. I can finally go out there and walk around and not worry that something’s going to come after me. I can finally...” Sam rubs a corner of his shirt between his fingers. “You always said that I wanted a normal life, and I did, for a while. Then, when I figured that it was never going to happen, I stopped myself from wanting it, because what was the point? When everything we had got ripped away from us, what was the point of anything? But now...”

“If you start now, then you can probably make Des Moines by night,” Dean offers. It’s all he can say, but it’s enough.

Sam smiles, his eyes glassy. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it is. It’s the bonds of desperation and codependency snapping and shattering and reforming into something else. Dean doesn’t know how to love his brother in this new world. All he knows is that Sam deserves to live the life he’s deserved.

Dean closes his eyes.

When he opens them, Sam is gone.

---

That night, he goes up on the roof of the bunker. It’s cold, but not unbearable. There’s a light drizzle falling which strengthens to a gentle shower the longer he stays outside.

Dean closes his eyes and looks up at the sky. Out here, the stars shine clearer than ever before, visible even through the rainclouds.

He can’t help but think of Jack. His son. He can say those words now, acknowledge that Jack gave him everything he really wanted; the chance at a family, the chance to erase some of his father’s sins. Jack was gentle, he was kind, he was loving, he was theirs. And then he was gone.

Cas, Jack, Sam...

“What am I supposed to do?” Dean asks the rain, the same wild pain rising up in his throat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

---

He makes it back inside, damp and cold, and strips himself. He should shower, but he can’t be bothered, so he falls into bed naked and shivering. Not like it matters; no one is around to see him anyway. He falls into a fitful doze and is only awakened hours later by the soft sounds of someone moving around his room.

He bolts upright, snatching his gun out from underneath his pillow, because old habits die never. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as his heartbeat catches up with his adrenaline. “Sam?” he asks, and then, more tentatively, “Jack?”

His desk lamp blazes into the life with a soft snap. Dean’s heart leaps into his throat.

Cas smiles at him, the same as always, sadness always lurking in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Dean finally understands why he looks that way.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. The sound of his voice sends shivers down Dean’s spine, but the hair on his arms doesn’t rise. Dean understands then.

“This is a dream.” He lowers the gun. His heart slows to normal and disappointment is bitter in his mouth. “You’re not really here.”

Cas’ mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “It’s as real as you make it.”

“Don’t fucking Dumbledore me,” Dean mutters. He rubs at his temples. Somehow, even lucid dreaming has lost its appeal. Talking to Cas isn’t appealing when he knows that he’s just talking to his own subconscious.

“I fail to see what a fictional wizard of questionable sexuality has to do with this.”

“Good to know that my subconscious has your sense of humor down.” Dean glares at Cas. “Why the fuck are you here, anyway? It’s a dick move, even for my brain.”

“Maybe because I’m the person you want to see? I don’t know. It’s your head, not mine.”

“Yeah. No offense, but I think I’m just going to go back to sleep. Or wake up. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I don’t need to see you anymore. It’s just...It really hurts, all right?”

“I’m not real, so you’re not really hurting my feelings.”

“Good. Well, now that we have that sorted out.” Dean punches his pillow as a punishment for betraying him, before he turns back to Cas. “I miss you,” he says, because he’s weak and always has been.

“Dean.” The sound of Cas’ voice always manages to make Dean stop and now is no different. He turns around and looks at Cas.

Somehow, Cas looks more solid around the edges. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced, and if Dean turns his head at just the right angle, he thinks he can see grey silvering at Cas’ temple.

“Sam was right,” Cas says. “I made a choice. That’s what this was all about, ever since the beginning. Making choices, running our own course, picking our own path.”

“Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in,” Dean mutters. The last thing he needs is his subconscious reminding him that once again, Cas decided that he wasn’t good enough to stay with.

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make a choice as well,” Cas continues, ignoring him. “There’s nothing to stop you. You can make whatever choices you want and take the consequences that come with them. And if you make the right choices, then maybe...” Cas bites his lip, looking almost nervous. “Then maybe I can make some choices too.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue--Cas is dead, the time for making decisions has come and gone--but his subconscious is a dick, and before he can say anything, his dream fades away in a wash of black.

---

Dean wakes up energized. His eyes open into the same room, but it’s different somehow. It’s ridiculous, because the bunker is underground, but it’s almost like he sees the sun shining through his windows. Even the air tastes different. For the first time in weeks, he gets out of bed without dreading every step away from his mattress.

He glances at his phone. There’s a message from Sam along with a picture. In it, Eileen and Sam smile at the camera, their heads pressed together at the temple. There’s still a shadow of sadness in their eyes--they’ve all lost too much to be truly carefree ever again--but they look good. Happy. Whole.

Cas’ words echo back at him, both from the dream and from those last, horrible, terrifying moments.

Everything you did, you did for love.

You can make a choice.

Dean starts towards the library.

---

It takes him three weeks of almost non-stop research to cobble together enough spells to make something that has the potential to work. This isn’t his strength; Sam is much more suited for this type of work, but he won’t bring Sam in on this. If this thing goes really damn badly, then it has the potential to wipe him off the face of the earth, goodbye Dean Winchester. If this thing does what he’s halfway expecting it to, which is nothing, then he’ll have gotten Sam’s hopes up for nothing. He’s not going to expose Sam to either danger or disappointment, not when Sam’s finally managed to get to some kind of happiness.

If everything goes well...

Dean won’t let himself think about that.

He spends two days smoothing out the kinks in the spell, double and triple checking his translations. He gathers his ingredients, and then spends another hour pacing around the library. His stomach is roiling, and his nerves are jittery. He can’t bear to stop, but he can’t bear to move forward.

The memory of Cas’ smile spurs him into action. Cas went to his death a willing martyr for a man who he believed didn’t love him back. He can’t let that stand. If anything else, Cas has to know.

The drive to Pontiac, Illinois takes him the better part of a day. The impala springs forward across the asphalt, almost like she’s eager to eat up the miles after her forced retirement. Dean pushes hard down on the gas pedal, urging her forward. One way or another, this is going to come to an end tonight.

It takes him a while to find the barn. The last time he was here, he wasn’t in his right mind, still reeling from the horrors of Hell and the confusion of finding himself alive. He’d been scared and angry, lost and so very alone. And then an angel had walked through the door and told him that good things happened, that he deserved to be saved. The last little bit might have been a line fed to Cas by a bunch of dickhead superiors, but the sentiment behind it had stayed long after those superiors were all dead.

They replaced the doors which Cas shattered and painted over the walls which Dean and Bobby covered with sigils, but if Dean looks carefully, he can see the shadows of them behind the new coat of whitewash. He touches them gently for a second, remembering Bobby and all of the years which led him back to this place. Then he pulls out his can of spray paint and proceeds to deface the barn all over again.

When he’s done, he sets up the ingredients on the table. The table is where it was all those years ago, facing the doors to the barn. He doesn’t quite believe that Cas is going to pull the same trick, storming through the doors in a shower of sparks, but he can always hope.

“God...Jack,” Dean corrects himself with a wry twist of his mouth, “I really hope this works. Cas, wherever you are, I really hope you have your ears on.”

Dean looks at his translations and begins to speak. He’s hoping that intention counts for something as his tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar words. His heart beats an uncertain pulse in his chest. This has to work. It has to work.

He puts every ounce of belief into his voice, every bit of the faith Cas once accused him of not having. I have faith, he thinks, putting force behind his voice, sending his words rocketing into the dimensions. I believe in us.

What’s real?

We are.

The last syllables roll over his tongue, followed immediately by a peal of thunder. The barn shivers, a ripple rolling through the air to settle over Dean’s skin. Electricity crackles in the air, filling him with potential.

“Castiel?” he calls to the darkness. “Cas?”

There’s no answer, but the spells and research had been unclear on whether or not there should be an answer. He would prefer knowing that Cas was listening, but in absence of certainty, he’ll have to have faith.

“Cas, I really hope you can hear me,” he says. The words bring back the memories of Purgatory and a time when he and Cas could barely look at each other. He pushes those memories away and concentrates on the truth he can feel in his heart, the same truth which has guided him through the years and all the way from Lebanon, Kansas to the small barn where it all began all those years ago.

“I know you made your choice. I know you were happy. But...it’s not the same without you. I’m not the same without you. I wake up and think about you, and you’re the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. Every moment, you’re there because you’re not there. I look at all the places you’re missing and I can’t help but think that everything would be better if you were there.”

Dean swallows. “I miss you,” he confesses to the night. “Cas, I miss you so much. And I want you to come back. Not because I need you or because there’s something to fight against, but just because I miss you and life is better when you’re around.” He thinks of what Sam told him before he went. “There’s a new world out there, and I can’t think of who I would rather explore it with than you, but in order to do that, you’ve got to make a choice, all right?”

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode out of his chest. “I want to share my life with you. I want to figure out this world together. I want to be able to look at you and hold you and experience everything with you. Cas, I want to tell you what I should have told you every single day for years. I’m sorry that I never told you while you were with me. And I’m sorry that the first time I say it, I’m not going to be looking at you, but it wouldn’t be our lives if something about this wasn’t shitty, right?”

Dean takes a deep breath. “I love you, Cas. Not because of what you can do or how useful you are. I love you because of who you are and how hard you try. And I want to say it to you, every single day, for years to come. I’ve made my choice, Cas. Now you just need to make yours.”

Silence overtakes the barn. The only sound is the faint whistling of the wind through the slats of the barn and the quick rasp of his breathing. There’s no flap of wings, no deep voice growling in his ears, no pop of electricity.

“Please, Cas,” Dean whispers, closing his eyes to try and stop the burning behind them. “Please.”

Thunder rolls through the barn, shaking through the wood down to the dirt floor. Dean’s head jerks upright as he scans the barn. “Cas?” he calls, hardly daring to hope. “Castiel?”

A thin, golden thread rips open in the air before him. It looks almost exactly like the rifts between worlds which Jack used to create, but that’s not possible.

It’s not possible, but Dean dares to hope anyway.

“Castiel? Cas?”

A single hand reaches out through the golden tear, and then Dean is moving, he’s practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach the rift. “Cas, Cas, please,” he’s saying, not quite aware of the words which are tumbling from his mouth. “Please.”

Until his fingers grip the hand, he’s not sure that it’s real, but that’s solid flesh and bone underneath his palm. Dean pulls, feeling resistance on the other end. “No,” he grunts, reaching into the rift. His hand touches skin, and his resolve grows. He didn’t come this far only to lose. They haven’t come this far only to fall apart.

“I want you,” he says, as though the force of his words can rip through the veil. “Cas, please, come home, Cas, please--”

With an almighty heave, he pulls once more and then he’s falling backward, another body tumbling against his in an ungainly pile of limbs and bodies. There’s skin and there’s warm, and there’s weight. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees the rift close up, as neatly as if it were never there at all.

He doesn’t care about that. He can’t, not now.

Dean looks down at the body sprawled across his lap. There are miles upon miles of naked skin for him to peruse, and he hopes that he’ll be able to do so later at his leisure, but for now, all he can concentrate on are those two luminous eyes blinking up at him.

“Cas?” Dean asks, hardly daring to believe. His hands cup Castiel’s face, fingers sweeping a few locks of dark hair off of his forehead.

Castiel blinks at him, his dark eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. A slow smile creeps across his face, like the dawn spreading across the horizon. “Dean,” he says, his voice the same as it always was, but this time it’s better, because it’s a voice that Dean never thought he’d hear again.

“Cas.” It’s the only word Dean seems capable of saying, but words don’t seem important anymore, not when he can lean forward and press his lips to Cas’, not when he can taste the small sigh of surprise on Cas’ lips. “Cas, I missed you so much, oh god, Cas, there’s so much I want to tell you, there’s so much I want to do--”

Cas interrupts him with another kiss, his arms threading around Dean’s shoulders to pull him closer. Gentle fingers tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, and Dean thinks that he could live in this moment forever.

But before he does that, there’s something else which needs to happen first. Dean pulls away, ignoring the small whine of protest from Cas.

“Cas, there’s something I need to tell you,” he starts, only to be interrupted.

“I know,” Cas says, his face splitting into a wide, gummy smile. No shadow lurks behind his eyes, no hint of tears glisten in his eyes. There’s just happiness, radiant and absolute, gleaming from his face.

“I heard your prayer.”

Maybe once upon a time, Dean would have been satisfied with that answer, but not anymore.

“I love you,” Dean whispers, pressing the words into Cas’ skin with gentle kisses over his temple and cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m going to tell you every day until you get sick of it.”

“You’ll have to try for a very long time,” Castiel answers, his fingers tracing along Dean’s jaw. “I like hearing those words very much.”

Dean can’t help but kiss him again. As he does so, he feels the lost and scattered pieces of his heart knitting back together until he can finally breathe for the first time in months. “Come on,” he says, once he surfaces for air. “Let’s go.”

It only hits him then that Cas is naked. Apparently rebirth and snagging people out of alternate dimensions results in a distinct lack of clothing. Dean’s eyes want to travel over the skin revealed to him, but he waits. There will be time, he realizes with a tiny thrill of delight. He and Cas have all the time in the world.

He manages to find a blanket to wrap around Cas’ shoulders. It will do until they get out to the car where he has a spare set of clothes. For now, he helps Cas to his feet. Cas looks around him, his eyes wide and huge, as though he’s overwhelmed with the world around him.

“Where are we headed?” Cas asks as they head towards the door. The Impala waits outside, beckoning them forward once more.

Dean grins as the cool night air washes over them. It’s gentle and soft, eternity held in the breeze. There’s a world held within the palm of tonight, a world held within the rest of their lives.

“Wherever we want,” he answers, stepping out of the shadow of the barn and into the world.

As they walk towards the Impala, a light rain begins to fall.

---

“Before, I wanted to say: "I found love!" But now, I want to say: "I found a person. And he belongs to me and I belong to him.”― C. JoyBell C.

#spn spoilers #supernatural #spn15 #15.19 coda #coda fic #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #15x19 inherit the earth #fare thee well spn #dothwrites #not beta'd we die like men here

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years ago

Note

Hey would you be able to write a follow on fic from your hurricane series where Mc gives in and gives Ethan a lap dance infront of her friends? ☺️

Hurricane (Part 6): Alternate Scene

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Rating: M to be safe Warning: lap dance and alcohol and lewd thoughts (kinda) Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston. Edenbrook has been evacuated and some very different doctor’s end up seeking shelter together.

a/n: For @panda9584 💞

_____________________

As the day went on, the trio of residents progressively got more and more inebriated by the hour. Sienna ended up running around the couch as many times as she could in 15 seconds, Elijah was dared to make a cocktail with his eyes closed, and Becca refused to do a dare.

Becca picked a card for her turn.

“Dare.” She announced, a sweat breaking on her forehead in anticipation.

Sienna let out a drunk giggle. “I dare you to go give Ethan a lap dance.”

Ethan’s head perked out of his book at his name in conjunction with the word “lap dance”;

“What are you doing?”

“Truth or Dare,” Sienna informed through her giggle. “Ethan, come play!”

The man pushing forty was quick to repudiate, “Absolutely not. I’m not a child.”

“Suit yourself, fun police.”

“Go play, son. I’m going to make some calls.” Naveen chuckled with a wink. He had spent the whole day watching his residents’ charades, now it was time to go to work and let them enjoy the rare time together. Naveen also hoped his departure would give Ethan the space to lighten up.

Taking the hint his oldest friend so graciously smacked him with, Ethan stood and moved to sit closer to the group of friends.

“I’m not playing,” he huffed as he perched on the cold cushion closest to Becca.

Everyone ignored him.

Elijah brought back the attention to Becca, “Dance or chug, Bec?”

She briefly glanced over her shoulder at Ethan. His features were his signature stoic, yet she could see the glimmer of playfulness hiding within the depths of his irises.

Turning back to her friends, she took a long, dramatic breath. Eventually she proclaimed, “Oh, fuck it!”

Ethan’s eyes went wide and he instinctively leaned back into the cushions. As swiftly as possible, he mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen, what her friends were about to witness. He told himself he had to keep his hands put. Now was not the time to get excited. But, man, he can’t wait to have her so close. The thought itself had his eyes shutting with pleasure. Ethan unfolded his hands from where they hung in the space between his legs and gingerly placed his palms against the paisley cushion.

She eyed her friends, a look Ethan couldn’t see but could feel - the icy daggers soaring their way.

Then she stood, turned towards him with the most impassive of expressions. He couldn’t read her mind nor her features in the dim fireside lighting. Somehow her uncertainty had his leg jittering with wanton anticipation.

A tight smirk rested on Ethan’s lips, so smug and only for her. He was challenging her. And Becca was determined to prove champion.

In the background Sienna and Elijah were huddled over the former’s phone. “No - that one. It has to be.”

A second later Pony started to play.

Becca freed her hair, letting the chestnut locks cascade down her shoulders. Running a hand to mess it up more - unwittingly making sure the signature scent of her shampoo reached his nostrils even from this distance.

Standing in front of him she started to sway her hips to the music. One step, and she’s closer. Another, and her legs are an inch from his. Third step, and she’s within reach, looming over him and his heart is starting to race. He knows there’s at least two other people in this room, but he doesn’t care. The room isn’t lit all that well and anyway all he can see - all he can feel surrounding him and gripping at his being - is her. She doesn’t need to touch him to have him unraveling.

Another half step and Becca’s nudging his legs open with her knee to stand perfectly in between them. She’s still dancing - swaying, rather - in small, reserved motions. Ethan’s midnight eyes are on her intently - roving from her face, to her hips, trailing back up to her hands that he knows can cause so much damage with one simple touch. He’s watching her hands roam her torso and she moves so close - till her legs are pressed firmly against the sofa. Her fingers playing with the hem of her top, giving him just the slightest of glimpses at the pale skin beneath before its gone all too soon.

Ethan swallows past the lump in his throat.

The music picks up. So she did as well; throwing one leg over his, her knees resting on the couch. Becca was hovering over his lap now and Ethan could smell the perfume she wears as she dips with the music, her inner hips all but meeting his thigh. Oh how he wished it did. She’s not touching him and it’s killing him -- Becca hasn’t said a word to him since earlier, either. Now here she was, in one of the places she would tell him she loves most, ignoring the pull of inevitability between them.

Her knee so close to his hand he dared to creep closer - dared to break the cardinal rule of things like this. His thumb and forefinger brushing at the fabric at her knee.

Becca hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the challenge began. Purposefully, he’s sure. His eyes followed her hands as they drew nonsensical patterns, hooded in embarrassment. For a fraction his mind jumps to the strokes of the last work of art she mapped on the canvas of his back.

He felt his jeans become uncomfortably tight.

She dipped her hips again like she knows what lays beneath - the sweet bit of torture she could inflict by just grazing his lap. Her torso rolling forwards with the movement, and now he can smell the peony and apple soap she uses. Her eyes are closed and she’s just moving - moving and keeping her distance.

And if there was a single saint in hell Ethan begins to call on them all. How long left? Not long enough, that’s for sure.

Ethan dared some more, unwritten rules be damned. His hand gingerly trailed up the back of her calf, around to the front of her knee and up her thigh. Stopping just before reaching her hip as she rolled into the three inches of space between their laps. He took a risk. And if she didn’t like it she didn’t give any inclination but a turn of her head. He could see the faint love bite he left last night at the base of her neck - so faint no one but the two of them would know it’s a bruise of passion.

Both her knees found their way to the cushion and now Becca was fully on top of him. So many times she’s been like this. It took everything in Ethan not to lift her into his arms and carry her upstairs that second. It also took a lot of self control not to audibly groan - her friends didn’t need to bear witness to his primitive side.

The strength she used to keep herself upright dwindled away with the new closeness. One hand on his chest, the other digging into the top of the cushion behind his back, his hands still anchored on her thighs. Ethan could hear the lowering beats of the music over the thumping in his ears. Could feel her labored breaths passing across his cheeks.

His thumbs began rubbing circles at her hips. Becca moves back - as upright as she can get. Her hand running through her hair and over her face and Ethan just wants her to look at him. So he doesn’t what you aren’t supposed to do - he trails a hand up her body and cups her cheek. The electricity between them vibrates. Ignites into flames when her entire being leans into him. Runs rampant as his fingers tangle in her hair. His eyes close as Ethan pulls her to him, lips parted and intent on satiating this spurring in his abdomen.

And just when they should have collided his eyes dart open. Becca’s gone. Not within reach anymore. He chances a glance to where her friends must still be loitering.

They’re there. Like they haven’t moved.

So is Becca.

The only move she made was lifting the glass to her lips. And it dawns on him...

Becca chose to chug.

It was all just a daydream of a rakish man.

And Ethan couldn’t believe he was more disappointed than relieved.

_______________________

a/n: potentially garbage? yeah. sensuality isn't my strong suit, i prefer making people’s hearts hurt 😅

@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

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mr-walkingrainbow · 3 years ago

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battle for abimel? i want a power showdown.

BATTLE FIGHT WITH POWER SHUT DOWN HERE WE GO!!

Basically OverWitch + I guess the rest of the charmed ones, face the new demon of the day, the Cancellor, which nullifies any power thrown at them.

They have to really think hard to figure this one out.

But like, mainly gay OverWitch.

“Ugh,” Macy groaned audibly for the fourth time in the past two minutes, “What’s taking her so long!”

“Ok could you tone down the whine today?” Mel replied exasperatingly, “It’s not like Abby lives next door. And she can’t orb like Harry. It takes time to get here.”

“Yeah and by the time she does the DotD will be long gone!” She stated in annoyance.

Maggie rolled her eyes, “I think the demon of the day can wait for a few minutes. I doubt their in a rush for a Appointment at the nail salon.”

The eldest huffed, “Yeah but Abbys just taking forever!”

“You rang?”

Everyone turned to the source of the voice, which oddly, seemed to be nix.

But more understandingly, smoke started to swirl, practically a mini tornado, until it took the form of Mels beloved.

“Abby!” The Latina cheered, running over and giving her girlfriend a hug.

“Hello lovely,” Abigael grinned, before smirking in Macy’s direction, “Now what’s this about me being slow? Shall I remind you how long it took you and Witchbanger to actually bang?”

Macy made a squawk of protest, while Harry looked on in mute surprise.

“Witchbangers new.” He commented, although Mel couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or curious.

Abby gestured towards him with a flourish, then nodded towards Macy, “Well, this pile of nerves is Whitebanger, only fitting we have the other half.”

Harry seemed to nod in numb acceptance, before turning back to the gadget in his hands.

“Now that we’re all here, I introduce, the Cancellor !” He waved his arms dramatically for the reveal, the gadget projecting a hologram of a dark woman in a white suit.

Maggie stared blankly, “the counselor?”

Harry looked a bit miffed, “No, the Cancellor.”

Macy tilted her head, “The chancellor?”

“NO, lovely, the CANCELLOR.”

Mel narrowed her eyes, “Cancer?”

Harry gasped for breath, “-wha- how?? It’s the CAN-CELL-OR.”

Abigael smirked, snickering lightly, “Oh Harold, why didn’t you just say so?”

Everyone offered nods of agreement while Harry sputtered for words.

Macy graciously took this time to step forward.

“As my dear was beginning to, ahem, say?” She broke off to give the sputtering whitelighter a concerned look, “This is apparently, in fact, the Cancellor. They have the power to nullify or ‘Cancel’ any powers used against it.”

“Oh but who needs powers when your in the middle of fighting a bloodthirsty demon!” Abby snarked typically.

Mel would normally scold her for such a comment, but found herself cracking a smile at the humor of it.

Macy looked annoyed, but shrugged it off, “As I was saying, something good to note, the Cancellor takes the form of whatever it nullified last, so it might not look like this. That’s just the last recorded form.”

She gestured to the regal woman in white. To which Abby purred delightfully.

“At least it’s last participant knew how to dress well.”

Mel shot her a glare, giving her a slap to the arm.

“What?!” The Britt squeaked. She just rolled her eyes in response.

“Aww,” Abby cooed, wrapping her arms around Mels smaller frame, “Is someone jealous of a power taking, identity stealing demon of the day?”

The Latina grumbled a bit, embarrassed of the blush that had indeed made its way across her face.

“No.”

“Oh I think you are.” The later whispered, “But don’t worry my love, no matter how amazingly dressed someone is, they cant even manage to come close to your overall beauty.”

Mel blushed again, this time for an entirely different reason. And a bit bashfully, she turned and gave Abby a chaste kiss.

“I hate you.” She stated grumpily.

“Love you too grumpy.”

“Ladies,” everyone turned to harry, who had finally recuperated, holding an Orb, “Will you generously accompany me to fight a fashionable identity stealer?”

“Oh Harold,” Abby sashayed forward dramatically, “I thought you’d never ask!”

Macy growled jealously while Mel shared a secret laugh with Maggie. The two of them had slowly found Abbys wit more humorous then insulting.

Harry threw the orb, the Group proceeding to jump through it into a wide circular stone covered room.

“Where are we?” Maggie questioned, peering around, their seemingly was only one entrance, a small archway carved into the surrounding rock. Leading into another room.

“We’re in the Cancellors Lair, that ark leads to the cancellor.” Harry answered informatively.

Mel was confused, however, “If so, how do people get in?”

“I think I have the answer to that.”

Everyone turned to Macy, who was staring at the ceiling. They followed pursuit, only to find their room was not really a room, but the bottom of a very deep pit.

“What a treacherous trap.” Abby seethed respectively, if possible, “Some loner demon falls down the pit. And if they survive. The Cancellor can steal their powers and harvest their body.”

“No… no that can’t be?” The youngest stated sadly, ever the empath, “Some have to escape. What about the innocent humans who fall?”

“I guess some could escape,” Abigael reasoned blatantly. If they realized where they were before the Cancellor found them. They would have to have some type of powers that could propel them upwards, like smoke phasing. Because no lucky Jim could climb these walls. Their smooth as stone.”

She wasn’t wrong, Mel found herself absentmindedly feeling the slick walls with her hand.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see her girlfriend smiling at her bashully, and hand held out.

“Head in the Clouds my love?”

“Yeah,” the Latina grinned, taking the britts hand, “Thanks for always finding me.”

“Oh why of course!” The hybrid proclaimed, “What else is a loving girlfriend supposed to do?”

“Oh you know, fight demons, slay monsters, make out from time to time.” She monologued coyly.

-“while I’d love to hear this agonizing conversation,” Macy interrupted, “We have a demon destroy.”

Both of them rolled their eyes, but gladly shared secret smiles.

The ragtag group of magical beings entered the room. Nearly immersed in pitch darkness.

Mel felt Abby take her hand, and she tried to send soothing vibes, squeezing it to show she understood.

Abigael wasn’t a fan of the dark, it wasn’t cause she was afraid of it specifically, moreover, it reminded her of being locked in the crate. And mentioned it made her feel quite claustrophobic.

A lot of her fears spiraled from the singular subject of her childhood. It didn’t make them any less valid, however.

“Macy.” Mel whispered in the dark, “A light please?”

“Since when are you afraid of- oh.”

Her sister caught on, a tad second too late. But thankfully, mentioned nothing when the room was engulfed in flames. Just sending Mel a understanding nod.

Abby may get on Macy’s nerves, but she truly did care about her overall well-being.

“Oh thank you Lovely, now we can see where the Cancellors coming from.” Harry commented, subtly driving attention away from Abigael.

The Latina still could see the flush on her girlfriends face. And squeezed her hand again. Trying to say it was ok through touch.

Annoyingly, even with Macy’s flame, the room was not very bright. And from what Mel could see, it was another circular room, but with a domed ceiling, and vine-snaked walls.

Everyone sorta teetered around, peering closely at the cylinder wall, some parts holding ritualistic type carvings underneath the vines.

“How interesting.” Abby mused lightly, tracing a line finger in the indentions.

Mel winced slightly, as the light behind her got abruptly brighter.

“Hey Mace, good job with the light! Didn’t know you were practicing.”

��Mel…” Macy’s voice sounded nervous and halted, “Mel that isn’t me.”

“What do you mean who else would it-“

She cut off, as everyone turned to the center of the room.

Somehow, submerged in the darkness, a middle platform was completely unseen.

But now, from a spotlight coming from nowhere, it was illuminated in a ghostly, nearly theatrical glow.

And on top of that platform, posing dramatically, was the Cancellor.

Maggie scrunched her nose, “Wait… is that-“

-“LIL NAS X?!?” Mel exclaimed abnormally loud.

Her brain was completely shot. How could this be possible. This shouldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

But yet, it was, no one else rocked Red dreads, tiny black & white boxers, and thigh high leather boots then the number 1 black gay pop artist.

Macy looked thoroughly confused, “Who..? And are you sure that’s him?”

“I thought he looked familiar.” Maggie mumbled to herself.

Harry’s eyes were bugging out of his head, caught between staring and trying to give the Cancellor some privacy. The bulge in his CK boxers leaving nothing to imagination.

“No that’s definitely him,” Abby purred, practically hypnotized, “No one wears those raunchy underwear but him.”

Mel blushed jealously, “He’s gay Abby. As in into penis.”

Abigael jerked her head, trance broken as she gazed at her pouting girlfriend.

“Aww,” she cooed once again, leaning in close, “Is someone jealous of a LilNausex clone?”

The lesbian flushed, hating how adorable Abbys mispronunciation of his name sounded in her accent.

“It’s Lil Nas X.” She stated huffily.

Abby frowned, just a tad, “Oh come on Lovely.”

“Don’t lovely me!” Mel denied stubbornly.

It was a bit childish, yes, but right now the Demon straddling a chair from literally nowhere was undeniably hot for the Men lovers in the room. And she was green with envy.

“Oh you should know by now,” Abby whispered, her tone seductive and lovely, “Your the only one I want to see in those flamboyant boxers.”

Mel hated how much she was turned on right now.

“Also,” her girlfriends voice was now soft, “No matter how much I may ogle or tease, you really are my one and only love.”

Ok, now she could love her again.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

“Not to break up this repetitive conversation,” Macy once again interrupted, “But how is ‘Lil Nas X’ in the room?”

“Yeah,” Harry piped up finally, “He’s human. And it’s not like he’s killed and stolen the crown, and powers of some random leader.”

“OH MY GOD.” Mel screeched, going straight back to mortified.

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST IN THE VIDEO!?”

Everyone turned to her for an explanation, while she blushed from the heavy gaze, and sexual nature of the rationale.

“I-In his recent music video,” she whispered meekly, “he kills satan and steals his power.”

Her blushed increased dramatically at the implication.

“Not that I’ve watched it or something.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Abby whispered with a devilish attitude, “I’ve watched it plenty enough for the both of us.”

“Basically he stripper poles his way down to hell, does a Lap dance for Satan himself, and then proceeds to kill him in the middle of the throws of it. Ergo stealing his crown. And then his powers. We avid fans all assumed it was apart of gay pride and acceptance and sticking it to the homophobes. Turns out it’s that, and becoming all powerful.”

True to their personality. Mel loves what Abby says, Maggie nods appreciatively and nonchalantly, while Macy and Harry look seconds away from dying of pure awkwardness.

“Um, why isn’t he saying anything?” Maggie points out. The sexy demon staring at them all unblinkingly, thoroughly creeping them out.

“Maybe the voices doesn’t carry when he takes the form?” Macy suggests, “So he tries to hide it by not talking? False sense of security?”

Lil N’as Cloné then opened his mouth, revealing a large jagged set of teeth, jaw unhinging slightly.

“Or!” Maggie says with a state of panic, “He was just waiting to eat us alive!”

The demon crouches low, nearly spider like. Swaying from side to side.

“Ladies! Backs to the wall!” Harry announces, “And make sure to show some type of power, we don’t know how long the transformation takes, so we need to keep track on who still possesses them.”

Mel needs no second affirmation, grabbing Abbys wrist and yanking her back.

“Mel?” She looks outraged, “We need to fight it!”

“Yeah we’ll I can’t fight it if your powers are stolen and need someone to protect you!”

Abigael huffs, “I can take care of myself Melanie. See?”

She holds her hand up as if to summon a flame.

Head jerking when none appears.

Her expression changes to one filled with fear and confusion, “Bloody hell??”

Abby continued to unsuccessfully summon a flame, hand whirring to a blur.

“Mel!” She exclaimed in a frenzy, “Mel, it’s not working, why isn’t it working? To hell with this!”

“Hey! Hey,” the Latina soothed, rushing to place a hand on her arm in a calming motion, “Carino it’s ok. Don’t panic. The lil n’as dude just took your powers assumingly.”

“Are you sure?!?”

It seemed kinda like a controversial question to ask; considering she couldn’t activate her fire powers, but Mel understood it was from fear rather then logic.

“Well, try to smoke phase.”

Abby nodded tentatively. Raising her hands once again.

The very tips of her fingers produced ashy whisps, but aside from that, their was nothing.

“Your smoking.” Maggie unhelpfully stated, as she edged towards them.

“Why thank you Captain obvious!” Abby snarked bitterly.

The brunette looked concerned, glancing at the Latina instead, “Mel, what’s wrong?”

Abby was outraged, “Mel?! I am RIGHT HERE y’a know, if your just gonna stand their like a blathering idiot you might as well-“

-“She’s been cancelled,” Mel interrupted blatantly, witch just a tad of irritation at her raving girlfriend, “Her powers aren’t working and she’s lashing out.”

Maggie shrugged, “Naturally.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NATURALLY?! I have a RIGHT to be upset I-“

-“So you sure their fully gone?” Her sister continued, “I never saw the Cancellor do anything? And he still looks like Lil N’as!”

Mel turned back to the center, brows furrowing at the now empty stage.

“Where’d he go?”

The dead silence, and lack of demon, filled the room with an eerie unsettling vibe.

“Mel, I don’t like this.” The empath warned.

She didn’t either.

“MACY!” The Latina called out, “WHERED HE GO?”

Macy looked just as panicked, probably even more, “I DONT KNOW! HE WAS JUST HERE?!”

“Oh for gods sake! We should rejoice for all I care! I’m the one with my powers gone and if you would STOP bloody ignoring me id-“

Mel whirled around, placing one finger in front of Abbys lips, the other hand firmly around her waist.

“Abby. I love you. I know your freaking out right now. But please, can you refrain from ranting till we leave?”

Abbys eyes were both murderous and loving, and softly, Mel kissed her until it changed to a lightly irritated.

“Better?” She puffed quietly.

The Britt nodded silently, blushing lightly at the affection showed.

Mel scrunched her eyebrows, briefly seeing the abrupt look of horror sweep it’s way across her girlfriends face.

“What’s wr-“

-“MEL LOOK OUT!”

Abby had shoved her aside roughly, the witch groaning as she hit the ground, but enough adrenaline rushing through to allow her to roll to her elbows.

She glanced up, Just in time to see a dark shadow drag Abigail to the the darkest parts of the room.

“ABBY!” She screamed, arm outreached and terror in her eyes.

“MACY!” Mel barked, “MORE LIGHT.”

Her sister didn’t have to be told twice, “ON IT!”

Immediately, the softly glow from Macy’s flame turned into a raging fire, illuminating all that it could without burning something.

Dead silence followed.

Maggie gasped, “Oh no.”

Standing before them, with the shadows gone and dust settled, was two identical Abigael Jameson-Caines. Each with matching clothes and injuries.

“By all things science.” Macy blanched.

“The Cancellor has taken Abbys form!” Harry informed quickly, “Ready yourself for an attack from either one.”

Mel rose to her feet on shaky limbs, reading an icicle from the air particles around her.

“Alright,” her voice was steady, although she wasn’t calm in the slightest, “One of you is the hot pain in my ass who I love dearly. And the other is a cannibalistic identity stealer. So. Who’s who.”

Immediately both of them rushed to ensure her trust, voices perfectly identical.

“I’m the real Abby!” The one on the right said.

“No!” Lefty said, “Don’t listen to them I’m the real Abby!”

[Authors note - Right side Abby will be in bold.

Left side Abby is in Italics.]

“Their perfectly identical,” Macy stressed, “How are we gonna tell them apart?!”

“Their must be a logical way to solve this.” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Come on guys, really?” Maggie shot them a glare, Mel seemed to catch on, “It’s easy really.”

“We quiz them.”

After a quick group huddle, and their bearings regain, they were ready to give a life or death quiz.

“Alright Abby clones,” Maggie narrated, “We’ve each prepared a question, something only the real Abby should know. Based on your answers, we will decide if your truthful or not.”

“Great just don’t dose me with truth serum while your at it.” Both Abbys snarked in complete unison, before shooting matching scowls at the other.

Maggie looked drastically discouraged but the display, voice wavering.

“U-uh, um, y-yes. Questions. H-Harry your up.”

The man walked up a few feet, nervously wiping his palms against his button up.

“Alright, ladies,” he gave his habitual gentlemen nod to the two of them, “When one of you invited me over for dinner, what was the main course?”

“Duck!” Righty said immediately. Grinning proudly.

“Hey! That one was too easy!” Lefty argued, “Duck is the best meat for a date! Everyone knows that! Not to mention I gave Harold a massage beforehand.”

“Of course it’s the best! What else would you eat, bloody chicken like an uncultured heathen?!”

Righty paused to glance at Harry, “Uh, I get the point for that one right?”

Harry looked overwhelmed, panic evident on his face.

“Uh, um. Undecided!” He then quickly scampered to the back of the pack, face flushed while doing so.

“Completely identical.” The Whitelighter whispered to no one.

Macy shrugged, “Guess I’m up.”

She approached the twins glancing at either with an impassive face.

“Let’s see, what’s Abbys favorite nickname for me?”

“Whitebanger.” The two answer in synchronized perfection. Shooting yet another glare at each other.

Macy looked tired, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Of course that one was too easy. Any Abby could apparently answer that in her sleep. Let me think of a harder question.”

It wasn’t long before her poker face soon returned. Leveling them up once again.

“When You fake poisoned yourself, what was that one question that was actually subserviently a dig on me?”

“To spoon!” Left jolted, “I asked you to spoon!”

“Actually! I asked her if she was the big spoon or little spoon.”

“Well excuse me for messing up one tiny detail! At least I got the spoon part before you!” Left rolled her eyesz

“Well mine was actually accurate, so yours doesn’t count!”

“Yeah it does!”

“Does not!” Right argued.

“ENOUGH!”

Macy had both hands out, face strained, “You two need to stop arguing so I can think!”

The clones shut up, as she stormed back towards the group, shaking her head.

“They share a freaking mind.” The eldest stated bitterly.

A few minutes passed as they waited for Maggie to step up. Who looked severely intimidated by the task at hand.

Mel coughed, “Maggie it’s-“

“I KNOW!” The Latina shrieked, “GIVE ME A SECOND!”

“Okayyy!”

The youngest took a couple very hesitant feet forward.

“Hello!” She waved awkwardly, “I’m Maggie -wait ugh, Abby already knows that of course! Gosh stop talking to yourself and think of a damn question!”

She bit her lip nervously, looking at them with a fearful expression.

“Ok, um. Let’s see. What’s some things Abby likes to do?”

“Oh that’s easy, Alcohol, Mel, making Macymorts life miserable!” Righty laughed to herself.

Mel ignored the fierce blush that rose to her face at the implication.

“But that’s easy,” Lefty sneered meanly, “I like to do many things, all which someone could easily guess.”

“Pray tell, tell me how you could ‘guess’ I like those things?”

“Well I-“

-“Ok!” Maggie squeaked, “Another question then!”

She then proceeded to flounder for a few moments. Hands waving rapidly in anxiety.

“Um, ok then. Who’d you save my life from?”

“My brother.”

“My half-brother, Parker.”

The answers seemed to be the same, yet lefty seemed to be happy with how specific she was.

Maggie, however, had paused. Eyes narrowed at the two, caught in a thought.

“Maggie?” Mel whispered, “What did you see?”

The Brunette jolted, plastering a fake smile on her face, “Oh nothing! Just a trick of the light!”

Mel grabbed her arm once she returned closer to the group, “Pfft, trick of the light my ass, you saw something? What was it?”

“I honestly don’t know,” her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, “It was something about how they said it. They said the some thing, yet one sounded right, and the other wrong?”

“But how is that possible?” Macy interject lowly, ever the logical person.

“I don’t know!” Maggie whined, arms flailing, “It just was!”

“We’ll don’t stress,” Mel soothed, “We definitely have something by now from other questions.”

“We definitely, do not, have something from any of these questions.” Harry muttered a few minutes later in a group huddle.

“Maggie,” he glanced at the youngest, “Were you able to get anything, you know, empath wise?”

Her gaze snapped to his, a bit of fire in her pupils, “Don’t you think I would have said something if I did?! It’s hard enough that their identical, but their emotions are too! The Cancellor apparently has the ability to copy someone completely! They know everything about the other, because they know it themselves!”

Mel gasped, realization hitting her in a flash, “Oh my god Mags, that’s it!”

Maggie looked confused, as did the rest of them, “What’s it? What did I say?”

“I can’t be something Abby already knows,” she explained carefully, in a deep whisper, “If it’s something she already knows, the Cancellor can immediately pick up on it. He has a copy of all her memories! It’s gotta be something she doesn’t know, or, Moreover, something we know that can get a honest reaction she doesn’t know she makes.”

“But that’s practically impossible!”

“Don’t say that Macy, it’s not impossible if your the girlfriend of Abigael Jameson-Caine!”

Mel pulled from the group, walking up to the two with a confident swagger.

Both, of course, seemed a bit taken aback by her bold demeanor.

“Ok Siamese freak from hell,” she grinned, cracking her knuckles, “Your in my court now, It’s my turn to ask the questions.”

“One of you is the woman I love, and the fact she’s currently having to take a quiz for her life is sickening, so that stokes the fire of hate I have for whoever is causing this. And once I find out who is it, I promise you will regret ever messing with us, and mi Cariño!”

Mel let her monologue be a distraction, gradually advancing forward as she spoke. Until she was directly in front of them.

“Now, it’s time for your final question.”

She stared them in their chocolate orbs, lingering over the right one. Mel couldn’t understand it, but she felt as if the righty was the true Abby. Even with no proof. Their was just something in her eyes.

“Can you kindly hold you hands like this?”

The Latina then proceeded to hold one hand up, baring the wrist, the other slightly bellow, pressing on a very specific patch of skin.

The two were confused, both tilting their heads to the side slightly, in a way Abby would commonly do when she was thinking.

Mel let her hands drop to her sides, watching like a hawk as the complied. She could feel the groups eyes on her, and was desperately praying that this worked.

A few seconds passed. Nothing happened. Perfectly identical.

Then, it happened. The Abby on the right legs swiftly crumpled.

Mel rushed in, and in one move, caught Abby with one arm. The other, which had been hidden from sight, stabbing the duplicate with a quickly formed air icicle.

The demon gave a feral screech from the weapon embedded in its chest, clawing at it weakly.

The group watched in awe as it switched between numerous forms, one which of was lil n’as, the others it’s countless victims.

“How?” It gasped hoarsely, “I’m completely identical.”

“That’s where your wrong!” Mel smiled proudly, “You see, in a way, you were identical. You knew everything Abby did because you could copy her mind! But what about something she didn’t even know of? Like the fact that from years of being put in shock cuffs consequently damaged the nerve in her right wrist? That when pressed, would cause her to pass out?”

“But how?” It wailed, “She would have known!”

“Except she didn’t!” The Latina cradled the unconscious body gently, kissing Abbys crown lightly, “I only found out by accident. And she didn’t remember a thing about it when waking up. I didn’t want to worry her, so I just stayed quiet. I soon understood why it happened due to her trial. But as a demon who can only copy what the person knows, you wouldn’t have.”

The creature let out a few more pitiful whines before crumpling to ash and dust.

“MEL!” Maggie shrieked in happiness, giving her a gigantic hug, “That was AMAZING! How did you figure it out?!”

“Just by what you said,” she answered honestly,” Their emotions were the same, and physically they were too. But the body is an amazing thing, and it does many things were not even aware of!”

“That is factually correct!” Macy complimented with a smile.

“I suppose this calls for a celebration when we get home, err, when do you think she’ll wake up?” Harry gestured to the peacefully resting girl.

The lesbian grinned softly, “Oh, any moment now. It only knocks her out for a minute or two.”

“Oh!” Maggie perked up, “I just remembered what I noticed about her response!”

Everyone stared with great interest.

The youngest smiled, “Abby called Parker ‘Brother’. Even though he’s only half related, she always adressed him as her brother. I guess the clone thought we wanted more specific.”

“She truly is just that amazing.” Mel noted warmly, lips parting when she felt Abby starting to stir.

The group took this as their key to leave, telling Mel to meet them back in the other room.

She nodded, expression soft when Abigaels eyes fluttered open.

“W-what happened? D-id we do it? Is it gone?”

“Gone Cariño,” Mel cooed, smoothing the stray hairs off her face and stroking her forehead just the way she liked, “All thanks to you my love.”

“Me?” Abigael questioned, “What did I do? All I remember is, ugh, I have a killer headache, I just remember doing some weird hand signs and then darkness?”

“Oh my love, you were yourself! Undeniably, and amazingly yourself. And no Lil N’as, fancy identity stealer could ever imitate you perfectly. For theirs only one of you. And for that, I am greatful.”

“Why?” Abby arched an eyebrow, smiling erotically, “Because I’m too hot to handle?”

Mel scoffed, chuckling despite herself, nearly dropping her girlfriend in the process.

“More like because i can barely tolerate one of your personality!”

The Britt pouted slightly, “Your mean.”

“Oh am I?” She leaned in and kissed her pouty lips, “No but actually? It’s because I’m reminded to never take you for granted. I only get one of you. And it be the worst mistake of my life to waste it.”

Abbys lips turned to a fond smile, “And their you go again, making me feel things and generally be a better happier person.”

“Oh the audacity of myself!” The witch smirked.

“Ugh, I hate you!”

She grinned, “Love you too.”

42 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years ago

Text

Hospitals & Hellos

A JSE Fanfic

Consider this a follow-up to the action of the previous part. A lot happened, including a cliffhanger that really left you dangling >:)c Sorry about that, but also not sorry. Anyway since it’s so closely related, I’m having trouble summarizing it. Basically, Chase and Marvin get some good news, there’s a brief intermission when something else happens, and then we cut back to those in more danger. That may sound confusing but I don’t want to get too spoilery. Read for yourself =)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

Chase woke up to the sound of his ringtone, the sensation of someone shaking his shoulder, and the pain in your back and neck that develops when you fall asleep somewhere you’re not supposed to. He groaned, and opened his eyes. Where...? Ah, right. Jack’s hospital room. He fell asleep? For how long? Visiting hours must be almost over by now.

Marvin shook him again, leaning over from his chair next to him. “You keep getting a call,” he said. “You should probably pick it up now.”

“Right.” Chase stretched, wincing a bit at the ache in his body, then dug his phone out of his pocket just as the ringtone ended and the call dropped. But looking at his lock screen, he had three missed calls from one Detective Nix. “Oh shit!” He was immediately awake. “I gotta call back—”

Before he could do that, his phone rang yet again as it received another call from the detective. This time, Chase picked it up instantly. “Hello?”

“Mr. Brody?” asked the somewhat-familiar voice of Detective Nix.

“That’s me. Sorry about all the missed calls, I-I fell asleep.”

“Ah, I see.” Nix sounded amused. “I suppose I have to plan for calling you several times.”

Chase laughed nervously, glancing over at the others. He’d fallen asleep to Marvin teaching Jack the beginnings of BSL, but now both of them were staring at him, listening in to the conversation. Jack was sitting straight up, without leaning against the bed. Marvin kept bouncing his leg. The two of them were clearly anxious. “So...wh-what’s the situation?”

“Well, there’s good news, bad news, and good news,” Nix said. “Which would you like to hear?”

Chase inhaled sharply. “Bad news first.”

“We couldn’t find your friend Henrik. Or the other one who’d been taken a month ago, Jameson.”

“Oh.” Chase’s heart sank. “What’s the good news, then?”

“First things first: your friends’ tips were extremely helpful. We managed to find the house they were talking about,” Nix said. “We didn’t recover many things from the location, but we found something else. Or rather, someone else. Jackie Donovan.”

If his heart sank before, it now rocketed upward into his throat, rendering him speechless. Finally, he managed to get out a strangled, “What?”

“He was in one of the house’s bedrooms, badly injured and tied to a chair, but alive,” Nix continued. “He’s at the hospital now.”

“Which hospital?” Chase asked.

“Southpoint General, in the—”

“Holy shit, we’re literally there right now!” Chase stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “Where is he?! Can we see him?!”

“He’s recovering in what is, I believe, the emergency ward,” Nix said calmly. “Don’t worry, he’s stable, but as I said, badly injured. Unconscious, actually. Visiting hours are basically over, but if you’re already here, and you insist, you could probably hurry if the staff lets you—”

“That’s what we’ll do, then. We’ll be there as soon as possible!” Chase hung up without saying goodbye, and turned to face the other two.

“What was that all about?” Marvin asked, confused but hopeful.

“They found Jackie!” Chase shouted, unable to contain his overflowing joy and relief. “They got him back, he’s here, at this hospital right now!”

“What?!” Marvin shot to his feet. “We gotta see him!”

“That’s what I said! If we run, we might be able to squeeze in just before visiting hours end.” Chase started to head towards the door, then stopped, and looked back at Jack. “Oh, uh, sorry, you probably want—”

“Go!” Jack waved at the two of them, pointing at the room’s doorway. “Gogogogogo!”

Chase laughed. “Alright, we’re going! I’ll see you in a couple days, probably!”

“Go!”

“Okay, bye!” Chase hurried out the door.

“Bye, Jack!” Marvin added, following Chase.

Jack waved at the two of them as they left.

From there, the two of them hurried to the nurses’ station so they could ask where Jackie was. Once the nurse confirmed he was in the emergency ward and gave them the room number, they practically sprinted to the right wing, desperate to make it before visiting hours were over. They ended up making it just in time, and both skidded to a halt outside the right door, breathing hard.

The door to the hospital room was ajar. An older man leaned over and peered through the doorway. “Ah, hello Mr. Brody.”

“Hello, Detective,” Chase said. He paused for a moment to breathe, then added, “We’re here.”

“I can see that,” Nix replied, smiling a bit. “Well, you and your friend come in. It’s Mr. Maher, isn’t it?”

Marvin nodded. “Yeah. Weren’t you at the trial? You talked about the case?”

“So I did.” Nix nodded.

“Huh. So you’re handling the whole thing?”

“Indeed. It’s turning out to be a complex beast of clues and crime. Anyway.” Nix stepped back, and Chase and Marvin entered the room.

Most of the emergency ward was large rooms with multiple beds, but there must have been certain circumstances in place to let Jackie have his own room to himself. It was small, but a bit more homey than Jack’s room in the ICU, with cushioned chairs and a couple small tables, even a TV in a cubby in a wall. The hospital bed didn’t have as much medical equipment surrounding it. But Jackie wasn’t awake to appreciate any of this.

Chase stopped short, just staring. It was eleven months since he’d last seen Jackie. He hadn’t always been that pale, had he? His collarbone and cheeks hadn’t always jutted out like that, had they? His hair was a shoulder-length mess, having grown out, and his eyes had deep purple bags under them. He was wearing a hospital gown, but there were scars visible on his arms that certainly hadn’t been there before, as well as some bandages wrapped tightly around his right arm above the elbow. Despite all this, he looked rather peaceful in sleep, breathing steadily.

Marvin made a choked sound, unable to say anything else.

“He’s...fine, right?” Chase asked, glancing at Detective Nix.

“The doctors say so,” Nix assured him. “He was injured when we found him, but they say it’s not life-threatening.”

“H-how? How was he injured?” Chase asked hesitantly.

“Well...you can see his arm. His legs are bad, looked like someone used a knife to slash them up. And there was a stab wound in his stomach. But he hadn’t lost too much blood. They say his main problem is malnutrition. He’ll be okay.”

Chase let out a long breath. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. Good to hear.”

Marvin stayed silent. He walked up to the bed and, after a moment, gently took Jackie’s hand.

“I’ll let you two have a moment.” Nix slid out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment passed in silence.

——————

The car ride back was silent as well. A lot had happened that day, and the two of them sat, quietly processing everything. They lost Schneep, but found Jackie, each within a few hours of each other. Who knew what would happen tomorrow?

Chase pulled onto the street where Marvin’s house sat, and noticed something odd. “Is there someone outside your house?”

“Hmm?” Marvin, previously spacing out, snapped back to reality. “Why would someone be at my house?”

“I dunno, I assumed you would. Not expecting anyone?” Chase shrugged. “Maybe they’re in front of the neighbors.”

“No.” Marvin narrowed his eyes, staring down the road. “There’s someone at my door. A car in front, too. Who is that? I can’t see them.” He shook his head. “Too dark. The city needs to work on installing stronger street lamps in the area.”

Chase chuckled a bit. As he approached Marvin’s house, he pulled to the side of the road, right behind the strange car that was already there, and tried to get a good look at whoever was at the doorway. A woman. Dark-haired, wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans. She was facing the door, her back to the road, but when the car pulled up she heard the sound and turned to look. Odd...Chase recognized her. But he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. “You know her?”

“Uh...I don’t think so?” Marvin shook his head, looking confused. “But I think I do? She kinda looks familiar.”

“I was thinking the same thing, actually.” Chase parked the car and opened the door. “C’mon, I want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, let’s ask her what she’s doing at my house at like ten o’clock,” Marvin said, opening his as well and heading out.

The two of them walked up the short path to the door. The woman, noticing them, waved. “Hello! I’m very sorry, ah—one of you is Marvin, right? Actually, you both look—maybe you could both help me? I’m looking for Henrik.”

That voice made Marvin stop in his tracks. “Mina?!”

Chase visibly started as the pieces clicked into place and he remembered who this woman was. Mina von Schneeplestein—or rather, Mina Pfeiffer, as last he heard she was going by her maiden name again. What was Schneep’s ex-wife doing here?!

“Ah, you recognize me, so I have the right address.” Mina nodded, satisfied. “You are Marvin? I saw you on television, I recognize your hair. Though it’s longer than I remember. But to be fair, my memories of faces are vague.”

“You saw me on TV?” Marvin repeated, looking even more confused now that he realized who the woman was.

“Um, hi.” Chase waved awkwardly. “I’m Chase, I’m a friend of Schneep’s. What are you...It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, were you out of town or something?”

“Oh, Chase! I remember you. Yes, I went back home and stayed with family for some time,” Mina said.

“Why are you at my house?” Marvin blurted out.

“Well, ah—sorry about that. It was the only address I could think of.” Mina sounded fairly embarrassed. “I thought you would be home. I am looking for Henrik.”

“Why? We haven’t seen you for more than a year!” Marvin pointed out.

“Yes, I know. It is...a complicated situation.” Mina glanced back at the door behind her. “Should we go inside and sit down?”

“No, I’m fine,” Marvin said. “We can talk about this while standing.”

“...oh. Okay.” Looking even more embarrassed, Mina stepped away from the door, walking a bit closer to the two men. “I suppose this wouldn’t take too long.”

“So you’re looking for Schneep?” Chase asked.

Mina nodded. “Yes. I received some phone messages and mail from this hospital they said he was staying at. But I threw them out. Shortsighted, it would seem.”

“I think I know what you’re referring to,” Chase said. He recalled a conversation he had with Dr. Laurens, where she said they were trying to contact Mina but getting no response. “Did you think they were spam or something?”

“Ah...no, not exactly.” Mina grimaced. “It is really a long story, and it is cold and dark out, so I would prefer if we could step inside—”

“No, tell it quick,” Marvin interrupted.

Mina bristled a bit. “Well!”

“Marv, c’mon,” Chase pleaded.

“Look, no one disappears for a year without a reason,” Marvin insisted. “And something about this seems fishy, so I want to hear the story before I let her into my house with my pets.”

Mina sighed. “I do not see why you are so concerned. Henrik and I are married.”

“You’re divorced.”

“No, they’re separated,” Chase added. “It’s a different thing.” But personally, he still considered them exes, even if the separation had been friendly enough. The pair of them had rushed into marriage, likely due to some family pressure, and later agreed that they needed some time apart to sort their own lives out. That was about three or four years ago, and shortly afterwards Schneep had been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. As far as he knew, they hadn’t gotten back together since the separation.

“It’s just weird that you’re showing up looking for him now,” Marvin said, crossing his arms. “Where were you when he first went into Silver Hills?”

“I was out of the country,” Mina repeated.

“On purpose?”

“What?”

“Were you avoiding him?”

Mina looked like she wanted to protest, but then straightened, adjusted her jacket, and said, “If you must know, then yes.”

“Ha!” Marvin barked.

“You must be missing so much of what happened,” Mina said, leveling him with a stare. She was about equal height with the two men, so it wasn’t hard to do. “Henrik and I...were starting to try again. But then his behavior became erratic, and the next thing I knew, he put his friend in a coma and started killing strangers.”

“He wasn’t the one killing them,” Chase corrected gently—mostly to prevent Marvin from saying the same thing, much louder.

“Well I know that now, but at the time, it seemed fairly obvious,” Mina pointed out. “So I left for some time. I returned a couple months ago, but only now heard the news about the truth of the situation. I saw clips from the filmed hearing between you, Marvin, and that doctor. I saw them on television, and realized something was off. So I looked it up, and now I know, and now that I do, I have to talk to Henrik about something.”

“You know...it seems a bit sketchy that you immediately thought he must be the killer,” Marvin said. “Because he was, what, ‘erratic’?”

“Yes,” Mina said firmly.

“You should have realized he would never do anything like that!”

“I wasn’t about to stick around and have blind faith! That is how serial killers draw in women, it has happened in the past!”

“Schneep would never—”

“I did not know that! He was being very strange, and with his condition—”

“Get off my property.”

Mina blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Marvin leaned close to her. “Get off my property.”

“No, you do not understand, I really must know how to talk to Henrik,” Mina said, tone shifting from defensive anger to a strange desperation. “There is an important matter—”

“Find that mail you threw out and get the address from there. Google it, I don’t care. Though really, if you keep talking like that, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near Henrik.” Marvin growled. “If you stay here one second longer, I’m calling the police. Leave.”

Mina looked like she wanted to protest more, but thought better of it. She walked around Marvin and Chase, staring at the two of them as she did, and then hurried down the path to the street. She got inside the strange car Chase had parked behind, started it, and drove off.

“You could’ve handled that better,” Chase said.

“You didn’t say anything,” Marvin replied, facing him.

“No, I know. You’re right, something about that seemed...weird.” Chase couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the way Mina was acting was...strange. Not in a bad way. But it felt like there was something more she wasn’t saying.

“I don’t like people talking about people’s ‘conditions,’” Marvin muttered.

“Yeah, that was a bit...Just, the way she said it, like it was a given, y’know?” Chase shook his head. “But you really went off there.”

Immediately, all the fire drained out of Marvin’s body. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m just...tired.”

“I don’t blame you. I feel it too.” Chase nodded. “You, uh...want to go see Jackie sometime soon?”

Marvin nodded. Day after tomorrow? he asked, signing.

“That could work. We’d have to be quick, though, Stacy will be dropping off the kids in the evening for the weekend.”

Oh, you sure? I can go tomorrow, or even after the weekend.

“No, it’s fine, I...I really want to see him.” Chase swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’ll pick you up. How about around two?”

Marvin nodded again. That would work.

“Great. See you then.” Chase retreated to his car, turning back before getting inside to wave at Marvin one last time. Marvin waved back, then turned around and went through the front door to his house. Once he was gone, Chase got in his car and drove away.

This day just kept getting longer. He really needed to get home and go to bed.

——————

Two days later, Chase picked Marvin up and the two of them drove back to the hospital around two o’clock, when visiting hours started. They remembered the way to Jackie’s room, and found it quickly. Nobody else was there. Chase half-expected Detective Nix to still be here, doing some sort of police stuff, but no, the room was empty. Jackie was lying in bed, eyes open, hands folded on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t moving at all, except for the up-and-down of his chest as he breathed. Chase hovered in the doorway, Marvin nearby, feeling uneasy. This sight was a bit...worrying. Was Jackie okay?

Marvin leaned over and whispered, “Is he awake?”

“I don’t know,” Chase replied in the same hushed tone. “His eyes are open.”

“Maybe it’s like with Jack? How he was before?”

“God, I hope not. I don’t want anyone else to go through that.”

At that moment, Jackie’s head turned, and he looked at the two of them. He must have heard them, despite the whispering. Chase gasped a bit before coughing to clear his throat. “Hey, Jackie,” he said awkwardly. “It’s uh...it’s us.”

Jackie didn’t respond, just kept looking at them. His eyes darted up and down as he took in their appearances. Self-consciously, Chase tried to brush some nonexistent dirt off his jacket. He should have worn a newer one instead of the old one with the first merch design for his channel.

Marvin waved. “Hi. We’re here now.”

“Yeah, hi.” Chase waved again. “Uh...how are you feeling?”

Still no response. Though Jackie looked a bit confused now.

“Uh...can you hear us, bro?” Chase stepped forward until he was standing next to the bed, then put a hand on the non-bandaged part of Jackie’s arm.

“Holy shit!” Jackie jerked his arm away and bolted upright. “You’re really here!”

“Wh—yeah?!” Chase said.

Marvin laughed.

Chase glanced back at him. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Sorry, sorry, I-I dunno what that was about, nervous reflex,” Marvin waved away Chase’s look. “It was just a bit funny, cause he jumped up like that.”

“I—I wasn’t expecting that,” Jackie said, sounding a bit dazed.

“You...weren’t expecting us to actually be here?” Chase clarified.

“Yeah, I-I-I thought that—it’s all a bit—never thought I’d—” Jackie paused, gathering his words. “I thought that maybe...I was just daydreaming a bit. To make myself feel better. This whole place, actually.” He gestured around the hospital room. “I guess it was all so surreal, and I...I was kind of out of it, a-anyway, so I thought this was just more of that.”

“Oh. Well, no, we’re here.” Chase squeezed Jackie’s arm. “You’re really in the hospital. Southpoint General, actually, the same place Jack is.”

“Really?” Jackie laughed a bit. “Cool, I could go visit him.”

“Well he’s in a different, um, ward, or whatever,” Chase said. “But yeah, technically you could.”

Jackie smiled, but then the grin slowly faded from his face. His eyes glazed over a bit.

“So...” Marvin jumped in, walking over to stand next to Chase. “What do you remember?”

“Huh?” Jackie blinked, and looked over at him. “Remember about what? You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“I mean about the whole rescue operation,” Marvin explained. “How did the police find you?”

“Oh. Uhhhh yeah like I said I was really out of it, so...” Jackie shrugged. “Not that much. I remember them appearing, I think. There were, like, footsteps, and then a bunch of strangers appeared in the doorway.”

“Did they have to kick it down?” Marvin asked, sounding a little too excited at the idea.

“No, it was already open. I dunno why. Maybe he forgot to close it all the way, he was in a hurry.” Jackie mumbled that last part under his breath, but Chase and Marvin heard it easily enough. “Anyway, they picked me up, and I’m sort of assuming there was a ride to the hospital of some kind, but I completely zoned that out. I kinda vaguely remember a bunch of doctors and some bright lights? But, uh...yeah. Otherwise, I just woke up here, in the bed, and thought I was daydreaming it all.”

“You must have some vivid daydreams, bro,” Chase muttered.

“Yeah.” Jackie nodded.

Marvin gave Jackie an odd look. “I don’t know if having daydreams that strong is normal.”

“No, probably not, but it doesn’t matter, really,” Jackie dismissed.

Marvin looked like he was ready to push the issue, but Chase put a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head. This wasn’t the time. “Well, we’re...we’re just really glad you’re okay, Jackie,” he said softly. “We were so fucking worried. You—you’re alright, right?”

Jackie patted himself over, wincing a bit as he pressed on his chest. “Mostly, yeah.”

“Yeah. We’re so happy you’re back,” Marvin added. “What...what happened?” Chase gave him a sharp look, but it was too late, the question was out.

“What happened?” Jackie looked at Marvin incredulously. “I got fucking kidnapped, that’s what happened. And then—a-and then—I was—we—” He stopped, taking a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I...I can’t talk about it.”

Marvin winced. “Sorry. Th-that was—that was rude. It just sort of came out. You don’t have to talk about it. Like Chase said, we were just...really worried, and we—we want to know you’re okay.”

“It’s fine, just be careful,” Jackie said quietly. “I’m okay. Except for the obvious.” In the moment of silence that followed, his eyes drifted down, attention drawn by the bandages on his upper arm. Frowning in strange concentration, he reached up and started pulling at them.

“Whoa, dude, what’re you doing?” Chase almost reached out to grab his wrist, but stopped, thinking that wouldn’t be well-received. “You need those!”

“I just wanna confirm something,” Jackie muttered, managing to loosen the tight bandages enough to start unwinding them. “They can be put back on.”

“I—you’re not wrong, but—what if there’s—I don’t know, a lot of blood, or something?” Chase speculated.

“I don’t think so. Not if I’m remembering right.” Jackie slowly removed the bandages, unwinding and pulling them off. Until, eventually, the wounds underneath were visible.

All three of them stiffened in unison. Jackie’s arm was cut up, but not in a random or accidental way. Instead, the word WARNING was carved into his skin, in bleeding capital letters, going from his shoulder, all down his arm, reaching his elbow.

“What the fuck...?” Chase said, unable to say anything else. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. Stuff like that didn’t happen in real life, only in crime dramas. Who would actually do that?

Jackie’s face shifted as he covered up his distress with a blank expression. “So I was right,” he said tonelessly, attempting to rewrap the bandages one-handedly. Chase pulled himself out of his stunned stupor to bend over and help him with them.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Huh?” Chase stopped, looking back over at Marvin.

“Anti. I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Marvin repeated through gritted teeth. His posture was stiff, unmoving, his fists clenched. “He takes our friends—JJ, Schneep, Jackie—and does this? I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take a fucking knife or a gun or rope or whatever I can find and I’m going to kill him and watch the fucking life drain from his eyes—”

“Jesus, Marv, calm down!” Chase cried. “You gotta think this through.”

Jackie nodded. “Yeah. You’re not a killer.”

“I could be,” Marvin said bluntly.

“No!” Chase straightened, grabbing Marvin by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. “Marvin, I get it, you’re upset by recent events and clearly filled with rage. For good reason, I’ll say. But you can’t just walk up to a professional assassin and attack him, you’ll just get killed! Besides, JJ and Schneep wouldn’t want you to do that, even for their sake. Just...take a step back. Go walk around and get it out of your system, if you have to. Don’t do anything stupid.”

For a moment, Chase’s words only seemed to anger Marvin more. But then, he broke away, letting out one long, single breath. He pressed his hands to his eyes, breathed some more, then let out a shout and hit himself in the chest a couple times. Chase jumped in surprise, instinctively reaching forward to stop him, but Marvin was already done. “Alright, fine, you have a point. That’d be a dumb move. Impossible and not worth it. But fuck, we gotta do something.”

Chase nodded. “Yeah. I know how you feel, bro.” Even though common sense would say to leave this to the professionals, he couldn’t just sit by while his friends were in danger.

“Um...” Jackie waved a bit, drawing the other two’s attention back to him. “What do you mean ‘professional assassin’?”

“Oh. Do you not...know?” Chase asked. “I mean, I thought you would, but...I guess maybe there wasn’t an opportunity. That’s, uh...kind of what Anti does. I think what he’s done with Schneep and whatever he has planned now is just...a side thing, maybe. We actually found his website—oh shit!” His eyes widened in remembrance, and he whirled back to face Marvin. “Marv, you’re not gonna believe this, and you probably don’t need any more reason to hate this guy, but he might be the one who stabbed you.”

Marvin gasped. “Shit, really?!”

“The one who what?!” Jackie repeated.

“Oh, right you were...gone by the time that happened.” Marvin grimaced, then quickly filled in Jackie with what happened at the boutique he used to work for. Finding out it was a front, having someone stab him on his way home one night, getting home and patching up just barely in time, then figuring the owners of the front tried to kill him and heading back to Ireland for a few months to let things calm down. “How’d you figure out it was Anti, Chase?”

“I checked his website. He has reviews from past, uhhh…’clients,’ and one left one talking about a failed hit on a guy who sounded like you,” Chase explained.

“Well, shit.” Marvin folded his arms, face grim. “That’s not good. Well, I’m not gonna leave again until this whole thing is cleared up. Fuckers try to kill me again.”

“Y’know I really don’t think you should tempt fate like that,” Jackie pointed out.

“Fate doesn’t exist, only karma. They’ll get what’s coming to them thricefold, I’m not leaving.”

“I guess...you don’t have to,” Chase said skeptically. “But be careful. We’re not losing anyone else.”

Marvin nodded, expression finally softening. He grabbed Chase’s hand and squeezed it. “I will be.”

“Good.” Chase sighed. “Well, Jackie. This has been a lot of excitement. We should probably let you get some rest.”

“No no no!” Jackie protested. “I-it’s fine, I don’t want you guys to go yet. I...it’s been...so long. You know?”

Chase nodded sadly. “Almost a year.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Jackie grabbed the edge of the hospital blanket, twisting it. “So...you have a lot to catch me up on, then. I-it’s gonna take a while. You should sit down.”

Marvin and Chase glanced at each other. Then Marvin shrugged. “There are better chairs in this room than in Jack’s,” he said.

Chase laughed. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it—”

“You were thinking it, though?”

“Exactly.”

“Glad to hear my chairs are superior,” Jackie said, smiling a bit. “Pull one up.”

“Alright, Jackieboy Man, we have some time,” Chase grinned. “There’s a lot you’ve missed.”

The three of them sat, talking for hours about things that mattered a lot, and things that didn’t matter at all.

——————

“—can’t believe they—how did they know about—probably figured out about the others too—”

Jameson wasn’t paying much attention to Anti’s muttering, but every so often, he caught random snatches as Anti paced back and forth. Every time he passed by the doorway, more angry phrases passed through into the bedroom beyond. Something really had him upset, didn’t it? From what little he heard, someone had found something, and that was a big problem. Well...he had wondered if the police found Anti’s previous hideout, and if that was the reason he had to drag them out of there. Whatever the case, good. If Anti had a problem, he deserved it.

“—three fucking people in this tiny—gotta find out what’s still—somewhere new? Maybe?—”

Lying on the bed, Jameson saw Anti’s shadow pass to the left...then the right...then the left...then the right.... It kept cutting across the light that was shining into the dim bedroom from the room outside. The living room, to be exact. The living room of the apartment he was now trapped in, to be precise. Though, Anti did seem to be distracted. The bedroom door was wide open, if he wanted he could run out and—No, it probably wouldn’t work. Anti told him the front door was locked, and he probably still had the key on him. Jameson couldn’t take it from him; Anti was much stronger. Besides, even if the key had been sitting out on the table, Jameson wasn’t the only person who needed to get out.

Speaking of which...

He rolled over to his side, now facing the bedroom wall. There was a window on this side, but the shutters were closed, and actually had a padlock making sure they couldn’t be moved. Anti probably had that key, too. There was a wardrobe in one corner and a dresser in the other, the former having its doors ajar to show it was empty inside. Or...empty of clothes, at least. A figure was pressed against one wall, huddled up, indistinct in the shadows. When Jameson had woken up a few hours ago, there had been faint mumbling and sobbing coming from that direction. Now, there was nothing.

After a moment of listless staring, Jameson sat up, glanced out the doorway to make sure Anti was still occupied in his pacing, then stood and walked over to the wardrobe. He pushed the door farther open and stared down at the figure. A man. Knees pulled up and arms covering face, the classic defensive position. A moment more passed before Jameson sat down on the wardrobe floor next to the shadowy huddle.

“Ah!” The man gasped a bit, then looked up. Wide blue eyes reflected the little light in the dim room. He stared at Jameson, then asked, “Jackie?”

Jameson shook his head.

“No, no. Of course not. I’m sorry, I am just confused.” The man’s eyes squinted a bit. “Do I...know you?”

Jameson shook his head again.

“Oh. Good. I was worried for a moment there.” The man uncurled a bit, taking his arms away from his face. He reached down to his ankles, slightly adjusting the cuffs around them, binding them together. Then he glanced around. “I do not recognize this place, either. Do you?” When Jameson shook his head for a third time, the man tilted his head. “Can you...not speak?”

Faintly surprised, Jameson nodded. Most people would ask why he was quiet or demand that he talk. Only a few caught on to the reality without him somehow cuing them with signs or writing.

“Ah, I’m sorry, then. Can you hear me?”

A nod.

“I see.” The man glanced out at the room again. “My name—my name is Henrik.” So Jameson’s guess was right. This was the Dr. Schneeplestein he’d heard so much about, and had one brief meeting with, a meeting that had ended badly. “What is your—what do I call you?”

Thinking for a moment, Jameson reached out and gently took one of Schneep’s hands. He stiffened a bit, but allowed him to do so. Jameson then drew out the letter J twice on the surface of his palm.

“JJ? Oh, that is very nice.” Schneep smiled faintly. “I understand some sign language, you know. But I am afraid I am very rusty. I do not think I could hold a conversation.” His smile fell. “Do you...know why we are here?”

Jameson nodded sadly. He gestured out towards the room, in the direction of the doorway Anti was pacing and muttering in front of.

Schneep shuddered. “Yes, I—I have—he has—I have been in this situation. Before.”

Jameson pointed at himself, then made the sign for also by pointing his fingers and touching his hands together.

“I know that one. You...you know him, too?” Schneep’s voice held a combination of horror, sympathy, and strangely, hope. Hope that he wasn’t alone. “I suppose I don’t have to explain, then.”

Letting out a huff of dark laughter, Jameson shook his head.

“Hmm. That is good.” Schneep scanned Jameson, taking in as many details he could in the faint light. “I...something about this time is...different. Than when he last took me.” He suppressed another shiver as he looked up towards the shadow passing back and forth on the ceiling. “I...am sorry you are here.”

Jameson scooted closer to him. He put one hand on Schneep’s shoulder and signed Sorry with his other. Neither of them should be here. Anti should never have interfered in their lives again.

Schneep let out a shaky breath, and leaned closer to Jameson until he was resting his weight against him. Jameson pressed his head against his. And together, they listened to the sound of their nightmare pacing and muttering, wondering what was next for them.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #jameson jackson #dr schneeplestein #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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majestyrising · 3 years ago

Text

Missing

Notes: At 2:32am, Pandemonium is pulled into a black truck and taken away at high speed; Walter Chrome P.D follows but loses the trail and with it, someone important to him.

Morgan finds him slumped in his desk chair papers scattered as if a sharp wind has thrown them to the ground. Walter sits with one knee drawn up, the other leg tossed out, and a nearly empty glass of scotch hanging loosely from one hand.

“Walter,” Morgan says, swallowing thickly as if speaking might break the delicate balance of the room, “I came as soon as I heard.”

Walter scoffs, raising his head from where it has lulled to his chest. He clucks his tongue for emphasis, staring up at Morgan with a defiant eye.

“Did you now?” he drawls out, “Too late, toots. He’s long gone.”

Morgan’s frown deepens. He eyes the chair but decides against it, instead simply walking over to the desk and standing opposite.

“That can’t be right,” Morgan insists, “There’s still time-“

Walter’s fist slams onto the desk so hard the entire thing shakes, the old wood splintering. Blood immediately presses out from underneath his palm, his tightly curled fingers and the rings underneath them.

“Are you deaf?” he snaps, leaping out of his chair to grab Morgan’s collar with his bloodied hand, “I made a busted flush out it! He’s gone! I followed the tire tracks but they lost me, there’s no cameras, no nothing, no witnesses, nix!”

Walter’s throat bobs and his jaw tightens.

He releases Morgan and sinks back down to his chair, filling up his glass to knock it back in one go.

“There must be a lead,” Morgan says, his voice calm but quietly compassionate, the frown on his face severe as his chest stutters; he can’t deny that he’s upset by this news too.

“No,” Walter says simply, before he raises his bloodied hand to his face and lets out a quiet, miserable croak, “There isn’t.”

Morgan closes his eyes, swallowing that bitter pill as best he can manage. A splatter of tears drip onto the desk, trailing down the gaps in Walter’s fingers.

Morgan can’t remember the last time he saw him cry.

He wracks his brain, but no- he’s always the soft hearted one. The ever smooth, ever sombre, and always collected private detective has stood with solemn eyes over many a tragic event; not made of stone, but aware that Neo Necropolis breeds unfairness.

Morgan reaches out a hand to touch Walter’s shoulder only to have it snatched away immediately.

“Leave,” Walter barks. His eyes- his good eye, at least- burn with open malice. Morgan knows better than to think it aimed at him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaving it at that even when Walter scoffs again, though this time his teeth pin the side of his bottom lip.

“Go,” Walter manages, waving his free hand, “Go home, kid.”

Morgan obeys this time, bowing his head and closing the door on his way out.

Walter pours himself another drink, squeezing his injuring hand shut until the pain wipes out the stranglehold of misery on his neck, even if it’s only momentary.

He doesn’t know why he even looks behind him where his messy bed is nestled up against the wall next to the TV.

There’s still two glasses on the floor, a carton of LUCKY ST4R noodles empty next to them. The mess on the bed is now one of only two solid testaments to a man who he knows he will not see again.

He hurls the glass at the wall, showering the sheets in a fine rain of shards and scotch.

It doesn’t help.

The other testament is the sharpie heart Panda drew on his arm last night, already a little faded by the sweat that collected during the desperate car chase he embarked on to follow him.

Now there’s nothing else. No second chance. It’s just like he said. They were after him, and they weren’t about to stop.

He swallows hard, leaning back in his chair until his eyes fix onto the slowly spinning fan on the ceiling, the whirr of old electronics filling the room. There will be no voices tonight, no quiet confessions he’s too scared to answer. There won’t be anything ever again.

The silence is deafening.

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #clan lore #my lore #neo necropolis #lucky star #not really but meh #walter chrome #morgan #panda makes me sad part 838738273

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

Text

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Two)

Ron Speirs x Reader

When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initally thought.

WARNINGS: Some overthinking handsome deathwish prince, some potty words, he makes you nakey but it’s to save your life so NOT SMUT YET KIDS BUT SOON

The shot the doc had given you only confirmed what the SS prisoner had tried to communicate to Bull in broken English- the nazi’s were giving their footsoldiers amphetamines as stimulants and aggression boosters.

Ron supposed that he should feel some comfort in that- that it hadn’t truly been poison or some aneurysm of some kind that had left you this trembling and sick mess on the mattress before them.

But you still were hurting, still sick and trembling and miserable despite Doc insisting that the drugs he’d given you ensured that you weren’t in any discomfort. He knew better than to fully believe that- sure, you may not be getting violently ill at his feet anymore, but that didn’t mean you were anywhere near okay.

When you’d stumbled from the building he’d thought at first you were drunk, your steps staggering and your knees buckling like some crumpling marionette. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so pale, and the haunted, terrified look on your face made his heart turn to stone in his chest when he’d caught it.

He may not have known you and been your friend as long as Bull or Nix or Grant or even that squirrelly kid Christenson, but the idea of something taking you away from the world had become unacceptable somewhere between New York and Normandy.

Your friendliness with Grant and Nix had brought you existence out of Ron’s peripheral and into his direct line of sight, and when you’d masterfully articulated the most effective way to refit the Allies-issued rifle with stolen parts from the German’s more advanced weaponry, you’d made it clear that you were not to be looked over just because you were easy on the eyes.

Which you were, and as much as Ron hated to admit it he had caught himself admiring you from across a classroom a time or ten while in Georgia. He just was better at hiding it than all of the other idiots who you would catch gaping at you.

You were easy to like, even for someone as prickly as Ron knew himself to be- strong and sincere and friendly and so fiercely loyal to the group of idiots you affectionately called ‘your boys’ that, even when he actively tried to dislike you, he couldn’t seem to manage it.

Not that he’d ever told you as much. Obviously. That wouldn’t do.

Or, it wouldn’t have done— to be more accurate.

Until now, he was fine with your strange friendship of comfortable silences and shared looks of reassurance and private jokes followed by even more private grins. You just seemed to fit, not like you’d filled a missing space, but more like you just seemed to...complement him.

And he was content to just remain that way— a dark and brooding shadow to your beautiful, blinding light.

But now, having had a taste of what it would feel like to have your brilliant light nearly snuffed out? He felt ….threatened, something you had once teased was the most dangerous weapon the battalion had at its disposal.

“God help the son of a bitch who ever cuts you off in traffic, Ron Speirs. If science can ever figure out what makes you tick, they should bottle it and sell it for profit….”

The memory seemed horribly ironic now.

You, you’re what makes me tick.

Even as you’d laid there shaking like a leaf, he’d been unable to see you as anything other than beautiful- a wounded Nike in army green.

Well, you had been in green— after about an hour of rest you’d sweat through your jumpsuit and in order to cool you off Ron and Roe had had to cut your layers away until you were left in your sweat-soaked undershirt and underpants.

Of course, the perspiration on your skin had instantly cooled and sent you into a violent fit of shivers that only ceased after Ron got sick of watching you suffer and he’d forced the young man to help him carry you to the closest source of hot water and clumsily held you in a warm bath until your shivering subsided to an occasional twitch of your hand or foot.

Ron had never sat in a bathtub with another person before, but he figured that if he were going to it, it may as well have been for you.

Your head had been heavy on his shoulder has he’d held you against him, the only sign of your wakefulness being your occasional grumble of Is it raining? or if you’re going to kill me just do it already or Ron I’m sorry I fucked up.

Roe had said nothing about how Ron rocked you in his arms whenever you tensed or shivered, nor did the medic seem to give off the impression that he found your symptoms surprising for someone in your situation, which filled Ron with relief.

“Y/n’s body hasn’t come into contact with methamphetamine before, if i had to guess. A lot of what we saw was her body doing what it’s supposed to do in order to get it out of her system….doesn’t look good, but it all this means everything’s doing exactly what it’s meant to….”

At least you weren’t dying.

Each day that passed brought them one day closer to going home, closer to getting to go home where he didn’t have to worry about his friends and brothers getting killed the moment he let his guard down. Ron wasn’t sure if he believed in destiny, but he’d decided long ago that you and he were going to survive this whether you wanted to or not.

You were fucking with his plans, getting yourself hurt like this.

If he didn’t know how badly you were going to beat yourself up about making such a mistake, he probably would've been angrier about the whole thing.

But here, now? Ron couldn’t find it in himself to feel anger, not for you.

Never for you.

Roe had left him to watch you after your temperature had stabilized and the two of them had dressed you in some of Bull Randleman’s cleanest boxers and undershirt. You’d only stirred a few times since the initial injection and when you did Roe had made it clear that you were to be hydrated.

So there you were, back on the lumpy mattress in between Ron’s legs with your back against his chest, sipping from his water canteen while you apologized for maybe the hundredth time for something that wasn’t your fault (and even if it had been, he wouldn’t have blamed you for).

He watched you with soft eyes as you lowered the canteen and took a deep breath, another wave of something unpleasant washing over you that he couldn’t see, couldn’t ease for you.

“Do you need to get sick?” he asks quietly, but you’re shaking your head before he can finish.

“No, no. Just dizzy.”

Your tired gaze finds his face over your shoulder and you seem to study him for a moment, chapped lips parting a few times as if you want to say something, but the words seem to die on your tongue.

He lets your eyes trail over his face, taking a moment to take in your closeness as well.

“They’re gonna think we’re sleeping together.”

Your words surprise him, the amount of apology in your tone making his chest ache. You sigh again, looking at his canteen in your hands and working your jaw.

“The replacements, no matter what company…..they said it about Nix in Toccoa and Bull and Grant since Normandy. It’s….I’ve gotten used to it, but—”

“Let them.”

You freeze at that, and when he whispers your name he swears he’s never seen you look so shy.

Ah hell, he’d done stupider things than tell a girl he liked her.

And if anyone deserved his honesty, it was you.

He shrugged casually, taking the canteen from your hands and leaning over to set it on the floor. The action brought his face closer to yours, and when you didn’t flinch away or look unhappy he gave you a look he knew you’d be able to see as genuine, even if to anyone else his stern expression hadn’t changed.

“Ron,”

“Y/n.”

You look as if you’re about to argue more, but with one more look at him you nod slightly.

He’s not sure what you’re nodding for,and he isn’t sure that you know either, but it feels as if you’re agreeing to something he’d been hoping you’d say yes to.

“I’m scared I won’t wake up.” you admit quietly, and when he pulls you back against him you follow so beautifully he almost kisses you. Almost.

He settles for tucking your head under his chin, and when you relax against him he feels privileged.

“I won’t let that happen. You’ll wake up—”

“Why?” you ask softly, and Ron hopes that this is the final wave of exhaustion your body has to endure.

He knows you aren’t just asking about why he won’t let you die in your sleep, and he has to think for a moment before finally the answer comes to him as easy as breathing.

“Because, I just do.”

You fall asleep shortly after that, your fingers laced with his in a light hold that he was reluctant to break.

When Bull and the Doc come by a few minutes later, they find the two of you curled around each other like ivy and both sound asleep.

The two men stare at the scene before them for a few moments before Roe makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat. “Well, I’ll be….I didn’t necessarily see this coming.”

Bull barks a laugh, too relieved that you’re looking so much better to share the man’s stunned awe. With an approving nod, he nudges Eugene with his shoulder.

“C’mon, Doc. Let’s let em have an hour, unless you wanna be the one to wake up Sparky over there and let him know you approve—?”

Roe is out of the room before Bull can finish the offer, and with a grin the large man pops his cigar between his teeth,

“Good for you, kiddo.” he says under his breath, a grin on his face as he quietly shuts the door behind him.

An hour wouldn’t hurt.

(WOO HERE IT BE, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RAMBLINGS AND I LOVE YOU GUYS)

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years ago

Text

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 10 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9)

Nixon - April 1944

There was a fresh energy about Emily, a lightness in her step that had never been there before. Nixon first noticed it that Monday morning when she trotted into the intelligence room with a box of what looked like handicraft materials.

“Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. Her smile seemed brighter against her red lips.

“‘Morning,” Nixon responded. Emily looked particularly nice that day, Nixon noted. Her hair seemed bouncier, shinier, and her legs looked as nice as ever in those black heels and nylons. This was all objectively speaking of course. She was a new woman and her renewed energy showed magnetically. Nixon wasn’t the only one to notice either; he didn’t miss the creeping eyes of other staff members doing their best to sneak a glance at Emily.

“Nix,” the voice of Dick Winters interrupted his train of thought. Nixon dropped the report he was meant to be reading and looked up at his lean, copper haired friend.

“What?”

“We’re both needed in Colonel Sink’s office.”

“Right,” Nixon stood up from his desk, his chair shifting loudly behind him.

The remainder of the day passed in monotonous agony as Nixon was pulled from one meeting to another to trainings and back again with only quick trips back to the intelligence office to grab a file or notes. At each brief return, Nixon found Emily poised at her desk, dead focused on the slowly growing stack of aerial photos on her desk. Curiosity lined with envy poked at him. She seemed so invested in what she was doing surely it was more interesting than what he had been doing all day. He felt like a carrier pigeon bringing information and requests back and forth between intelligence staff, officers, and the war department. Where was the challenge in that?

By the time evening came all Nixon wanted was to drop into bed with a drink. He had promised Welsh that he would meet him for a drink, a promise he now regretted making. The man was quartered at a house in town and it was far too easy for him to slip away to the pub, and since Nixon had privileges that the enlisted men didn’t (and because Winters didn’t drink), Welsh often invited Nixon to be his casual drinking buddy. Nixon didn’t have the same energy for the pub crowds as Welsh did. On more than one occasion he stood his friend up, and this evening was looking like it was about to be one of those times.

Nixon slumped down onto the twin bed in his tight box room and that was it, he wasn’t getting up. He lay there, head barely propped up on the pillow, lacking the energy to even pull his boots off. This wasn’t the same exhaustion he had felt during his training at Toccoa. His body was strong, in fact it felt over-rested, restless. He found himself wishing for that physical fatigue he had once known. Things had grown stale for him at Aldbourne. Generally speaking, he enjoyed the work and he did it well. But recently Nixon felt under stimulated.

Things in his personal life had also become stagnant. His letters home were predictable and polite. He wasn’t lacking in fraternity camaraderie thanks to his friendships with Winters and Welsh and now Emily. He fully considered her a friend, and one he was grateful to know. Yet, Nixon felt himself wanting since the drama of their strained association had ended.

With combat on the horizon, he was conscious of not jinxing the relative peace he was experiencing. But a part of him, deep down, feared his own potential recklessness. He knew himself well enough to suspect that he may just do something that his rational self would regret later if this boredom continued.

Perhaps he should go out for that drink with Welsh, at least for the opportunity to burn off some frustrated energy. Barely lifting his head from the pillow, Nixon tipped a bit of liquor from his flask down his throat as he debated with himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the gentlest knock at his door. Nixon lifted his head in surprise, he wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Lew? You in there?” A voice murmured through the wooden door.

“Yeah,” Nixon whispered louder back, “come in,” he said as an afterthought.

Slowly, the door was eased open and Emily slipped quickly inside. She was dressed in slacks and a dark blouse tied up loosely around her waist. Although it was late evening and her face looked clean of makeup she still sported her bold red lipstick. She grinned naughtily, obviously feeling rebellious for being in his room at such an hour.

“Emily?” Nixon couldn’t say he wasn’t a little surprised, “what’re you doing here?”

From behind her back Emily produced an open bottle of red wine and a deck of playing cards.

“What do you say?” she smiled charmingly, “up for a little gin?” 

Nixon raised an eyebrow, “I hope you mean the game and not that you have gin in that stoppered bottle of yours.”

  “Don’t be silly! Do you mind?” Emily flopped down on the foot of his bed without waiting for permission. “I’m afraid the wine won’t be up to your usual standard. If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t very expensive.”

“You always assume me a snob.” Nixon took the bottle from her to check out the label.

“Well, you are kind of a snob. Vat 69 exclusively?”  

“I drink beer.”

“As a supporting act,” Emily said.

Nixon chuckled and handed the bottle back to her, “you don’t know much about whiskey do you?”

“See! That’s something a snob would say!”

“I could be worse.”

“True,” Emily conceded, “you’re a snob but at least you’re not condescending. I’ve met a few guys like that.”

“Notre Dame men?”

“Harvard, I’ve recently met them.”

“Good thing I went to Yale.”

“Oh yes, good thing!” Emily teased.

“Anyways,” Nixon continued, “you may be surprised to know that Vat 69 isn’t the smoothest of whiskeys. Just happens to be my personal preference.”  

Emily eyed him, he could see that she wanted to say something but was holding back.

  “What?” he pried.

“Nothing!” Her voice clearly revealed she didn’t actually mean nothing.

“Tell me.”

Emily chewed on her lip then smiled hesitantly, “do all alcoholics have preferences?”  

Nixon rolled his eyes, “I’m only an alcoholic if it becomes a problem.”

“If?” Emily wrestled the cork from her wine bottle.

 “Has my work performance been slipping, Miss Rooney? Do you have some feedback you would like to offer?”

Emily took a swig from the bottle. Nixon could see the tint of ox blood red blossom between her cherry lips before she swallowed. “Not at all Captain.”   

Nixon’s mouth twisted in distaste and he gestured for her to pass the bottle. She took another drink before handing it over, “actually,” she said smacking her lips, “I did have a question - or actually something I wanted to share - from when I was looking over a few of those surveillance pictures. I noticed that there was this hedge, or like fence, or something in a place that isn’t showing up on the topographers’ maps. I think that may change or impact whatever’s in the works.”

Nixon nodded thoughtfully, “okay, good to know. We can go over it in more detail tomorrow or next time we’re both in the office. But enough shop talk, why are you here again?”  

Emily held up the deck of cards triumphantly, “gin! Want to play? Or am I interrupting plans?” she asked suddenly timid.

Nixon thought about Welsh at the pub. Eh, he probably made some new buddies to drink with, Nixon wasn’t worried. He still felt tired but looking at Emily perched on the end of his bed, he wasn’t about to kick her out. It’s not like he would be sleeping if she left anyways. The most tragic irony of his current state was that his restless exhaustion had made an insomniac out of him.

“Not at all, let’s play.”

 Light seemed to radiate off of her smile in the dimmed room. She tucked her legs under her and dealt the cards. Nixon took another drink of wine, feeling his frustration abate, at least for the night.

Nixon’s workload continued to increase over the next couple of days. He was run ragged by a laundry list of tasks. Although the tasks felt menial, there was the sensation that things were coming to a head. He had known that something big was in the works for a while now. Since he handed those first photos over to Emily he was prepared for what was most likely their invasion of the continent. Finally, it seemed as if it was going to happen.

The intelligence office had been instructed to begin constructing sand tables; miniature, but lifelike maps of the terrain where the allies intended to invade. In a meeting with the higher-ups, Nixon had been instructed not to divulge the location for the impending invasion to anyone. The point of invasion was on a need-to-know basis. The sand tables could be constructed based off of the provided information without having to reveal the actual location. According to Colonel Sink, Emily and other S-2s were to simply be artists for the time being.

Nixon had barely found the time to relay construction instructions to Emily before he was whisked off to another meeting. Ergo, he hadn’t found the time to review the issue she had brought up to him the other night; an inconsistency with the aerial photos and topographical maps.

“Sir,” Emily stood up from her desk when he ducked in to visit his desk one day, “I need to talk to you.”

 Nixon ignored her, focused on his task. He was only there to collect some reports.

“Nixon, sir,” Emily skittered over to his desk. “Sir, I need to show you these photos I pieced together. Remember? I mentioned the other night-,”

“Not now Emily,” Nixon grumbled as he rifled through his papers.

 “Nixon, please it’s important. I think you should know before you proceed any further with whatever is being planned.”

“You can show me later.”

“I could, yes sir, but I think you should know that the topographical maps may not be completely accurate. They’ll need to be altered which means any strategic planning may need changing which I would hate for everyone to have to revise. It would be better to start with the correct information-,”

“Emily! Please!” Nixon finally found the reports he was after. He exited the room quickly with Emily on his heels, her black pumps tip-tapping irritatingly across the wood and carpets of the manor.

“Lewis, I wanted to show you days ago, take a look at these, really quick,” she stuffed the photos under his chin. Nixon snatched them out of her hand exasperatedly, “what?” he demanded.

She was struggling slightly to keep pace with him but managed to point out a row of hedges, thick and wide, that bordered the far right of one photo and the far left of another. Side by side, the photos formed a clear picture. If Emily hadn’t pointed out the hedge, Nixon may have assumed that the dense shrubbery was blurred photo ink.

“Where is this?” 

“It appears to be a large hedgerow right near Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. In fact, it appears to be one of the largest in the area. Sir, it’s not on the topographers’ maps and in my opinion a hedgerow of this size should be included on those maps. It could offer strategic cover for almost the whole battalion. Even possibly an opportune place to set up a rendezvous point? Assuming the Germans aren’t encroaching on that position.” Emily’s voice didn’t waver. She was confident in her work.

“How do you know this is Sainte-Marie-du-Mont?” Nixon kept his voice neutral. Of course he knew that Operation Overlord intended to drop the Airborne into Normandy, but Emily shouldn’t have been the wiser.

Emily returned his suspicious gaze with an emotionless one. There was no hint as to how she discovered the intended invasion point. “I know my maps, sir,” she said.

Nixon couldn’t help the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Thanks for sharing this with me, Miss Rooney. Nice work. I’ll be sure to pass the information along.”

#band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #fanfiction #original character #oc #as far as friends go #harry welsh #dick winters #winnix

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years ago

Text

A lot of you seem to really like that Swap AU for Red Queen, so...

Time for a Part 2!!!!!

Like with Glass Sword, we start with Mare and crew on a train, Shade next to her while the rest their rifles aimed at Maven, who sits resolutely.

Kilorn is especially pissed because he doesn't trust the crown prince's younger brother, nor even when the bastard almost got all of them killed. Twice.

Maven snips that he was at fault for the second time, but Kilorn's stupider than he already is, if he thinks Maven palnned for Ptolemus to survive and come came to hunt them all down.

Mare barks at Maven to shut up, but Kilorn is more direct, punching the traitor prince in the nose.

Before he can do more, Farley calls him off, telling him he can kick Maven's ass later, when they're not on the train.

Reluctantly, Kilorn backs off and leaves Maven to wipe his nose off.

Mare, in an effort to diffuse the tension, asks where they're all going, anyway.

Shade and Farley glance at each other, then to Maven, before Shade explains they're on their way to Tuck.

Both Mare and Maven are confused, but there's no time for questions because they get attacked, as in their train gets derailed and is crushed like a tin can, chasing everyone outside.

ACTION TIME!!!!!!

Everyone hightails it out as they and the rest of the team with them fight off Silver forces. Their main goal is to get to what looks like a cliffside; Farley points to it and shouts they run there.

Mare notices the sudden lack of Maven, but shakes it off; he can either die or catch up somehow, it's every man for himself right now.

Mare does well in fending for herself, like before, but that stops when she's found and surrounded by a huge number of Silvers who are not afraid to rittle her with bullets, if she does anything.

The only reason they ARE afraid is because their General gave them a very strict order to not shoot unless he says so.

And this General is Cal, who instantly notices that Maven is missing and asks Mare where he is.

Mare challenges him, wondering if he's planning on shooting his brother himself, if she gives him up.

Cal snaps, asking if she's really defending someone who betrayed her, after lying to her for so long.

Mare still doesn't reveal that Maven ran, and instead growls that if Cal's trying to bring her back, it won't work, because she's not getting her family killed with her.

And she sure as hell isn't trusting the person who screwed her over in the first place.

Those words put a hole in Cal's chest and he turns to whoever is his second in command.

"Open fire."

The poor bastard doesn't get a chance to do anything because Mare brings the plane(I think it's a Snap Dragon?) down, and blue flames fly out and drive away most of the Silvers.

Turns out Maven didn't run far at all, and instead gestures for Mare to run for the cliffside, which she does.

Mare and Maven cover themselves and each other, even as Cal says, 'fuck it,' and gives chase, the boys engage in a firefight from a distance.

Before things can get serious, Mare and Maven make it the cliffside and jump, Cal shouting that they can't run or hide forever. They will be found, and they will pay for their crimes, one way or another, regardless of their rank or the color of their blood. Even if Cal has to be the one to find them and execute them, they will face justice.

Mare and Maven find themselves in the submarine like before and Maven is made to stick around because no one wants to go looking for him, should he decide to run off and get lost.

It's here that Maven expresses that if Cal's hunting them, then they're all on borrowed time, 'them' being him, Mare, the Scarlet Guard, and any Newbloods Elara bothered to remember.

While he gets patched up, Shade asks why that's such a big deal, seeing as how they managed to get away.

Maven makes it clear: Cal does not know how to sit still. He's a hunter, a GOOD hunter. He'll solve problems with action, not words. He has an entire legion at his command, too, and both Samos children on his side.

And Cal can't think for himself to save his life. Most of his decisions come from someone else.

And guess who decided that Mare, Maven, and the Guard need to be erased?

It paints a clear picture for everyone, and Farley asks Mare to think about the Newbloods and try to remember any specific names, or pick out someone they need to pick up before leaving.

Mare doesn't have too long to think because they arrive at Tuck.

It's raining and pouring, but the group still gets to the surface, where Mare reunites with Bree. (Hooray!)

And Maven is captured by the Colonel.

Unlike before, there is and isn't a rush to find the Newbloods, there is because Elara and Tibe can pull the names of on a computer, print a list, and have them all killed, but there isn't because they need to look through the blood base to find the names, which will probably take a while because no Silver ever pays a Red any mind.

Mare still wants to go and talks Shade, Farley, Kilorn into helping, but also stipulates that she needs to bring Maven with, because he knows the most as a Silver she doesn't trust him in his own(Sure, good cover).

They're agaunst the idea, but Kilorn caves and helps her get Maven out.

Speaking of Maven, what's he been doing? Simple. Trying to find a way out without going inside. Elara's in his head and he can't get her to leave.

He's been in his cell for a few days, but has been more cooperative than Cal, turning his back to eat, not beating his knuckles bloody, and even trying to rearrange so he doesn't absolutely lose it.

He's chilling against the wall when Mare and Kilorn come in, and he's so excited to see BOTH of them for a change.

Neither really notice how the acrylic is scuffed up.

At least until Kilorn throws Mare in and locks them both inside of the cell.

They're left anger and unhappy and, after some back and forth, Mare asks what Maven about Tuck.

He admits he doesn't know much; geography was more up Cal's league, but Mare doesn't have Cal with her, she has Maven, and he apologizes for not being what or who she wants.

Mare doesn't respond and they remain silent for up to a few days.

In one of those days, Maven has a really bad phantom Elara headache, and from all the stress of what's happened.

While they sit across from each other, Mare against one wall and Maven against the other, Maven cluthes his head and screams until he runs out of breath, which he catches before screaming again.

Mare, out of curiosity and having similar feelings, after realizing what she said to Cal and how she's in over her head, joins him.

It feels good to get it out, so she keeps going.

Both scream until they're sick of it and sit back against the wall, sitting side by side.

They're met up by the Colonel, who comments in both the layout of the room and literally screaming matching before cutting to the trace.

The crown prince made an offer they can't refuse: one of the traitors for the removal of the measures as a whole. It doesn't matter which one, they just need one of them alive, and the Colonel wants to keep Mare around, for the sake of the 'Newbloods' Julien told her about.

Maven, not exactly buying it, asks why they only need ONE of them when both would be more valuable.

The Colonel warns him not to get cocky, but Maven pieces it together:

The COLONEL offered one in return for both, seeing as how both Mare and Maven have seen the list. All Elara really needs is one of them, and then she, Tibe, and Cal have access to find and hunt down the Newbloods. After that, they'll probably kill him.

Maven, understanding there's no real way he's getting out of this(if he refuses, Mare's getting sent to them instead, and then he'll have to deal with the fact he got her killed and her grieving friend and family), asks when he'll be leaving.

The Colonel nods and states whenever the jet is ready. Just as he leaves to let Maven and Mare say goodbye, he tells Maven that enough men and women have been killed, so with his death, at least he'll stop children from following.

Maven and Mare watch him leave.

Only to see him fall back.

Kilorn has returned with Farley and Shade in toe, Farley holding up a set of keys to the cell.

Like before, they leave via the Black Run, but this time it's Farley that has to pilot because Cal's not around in this timeline- I mean, AU.😁

Also like before, after some discourse from Kilorn and and maybe teasing from Shade(because he calls Maven the 'little prince' to be harmless), they find Nix Marsten, and if he beat the daylights out of Cal, he beats THE EVER AND NEVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF MAVEN.

Did he lead his daughters to their deaths? No.

Was he there with Cal when it was planned that they take a legion across a river/waterfall? Yes.

Was he known for instilling a little bit of reasoning in Cal? Yes.

Did he do that when Cal made the decision to cross a waterfall to fight an enemy force? No.

Maven is incredibly guilty, having been a few people behind when he saw the girls went over the falls, screaming, sputtering, and crying for someone to help them even when they went over the edge and screamed most of the way down.

He says that he knows it's useless, but he's too sorry for words. Too many Reds have died and soon Newbloods like Nix, Mare, and Shade will follow, if they don't hurry.

Nix, reluctant, goes with them, but asks firmly that Maven be kept the HELL away from him.

With Cal, Tibe, and Elara, the Queen is led to the Silent Stone cells, where Cal is sitting.

She asks the Sentinel to leave them, and he does, before asking Cal why he can't follow simple orders, for a General?

Cal snaps that he DID follow those orders. He just didn't retriwve Mare and Maven because Mare threw a plane at them and he and Maven had a firefight before they escaped.

And it was not his fault there was a submarine there and that it was on a cliffside.

Elara laughs out and tells him that he'd better be able to explain that to his father, because he's just about ready to kill him, Mare, and Maven himself.

Cal gives a laugh, asking if she'd like that to happen, seeing as how that was her plan.

Elara takes a breath and warns Cal that if it weren't for the Silent Stone, she would have disposed of him the same way she did with Coriane; in her own words, "the weak bitch stole the crown from me once, and I won't let her bastard take it again."

Cal asks when he's getting executed, but Elara smirks.

No need, because they found Maven and Mare, and Tibe, who loves Coriane's son SO much, is sparing him for Maven, who's getting thrown to Volo Samos and Rem Rhambos.

After that, she'll scramble his brains with a fork until he's more broken than both his parents put together, regardless of his place as the crown prince of Norta; this ain't The Folk of The Air, people. She can marry and ally to whomever, but ELARA is going to rule Norta and will make the Lakelands and the other countries surrounding Norta kowtow to her will.

Cal watches her leave, nervous for himself, but more concerned for Maven.

Well, at least he hears, "WHY IS EVERYONE SO USELESS LATELY!?" down the hall.

Elara returns and Cal makes a suggestion to where Maven and Mare are going, for it's population amd the fact Elara hates the place in general:

Harbor Bay.

And he has a way to bring Mare back, one he made a while back.

And Part 2 is going to need a Part 2 because this is going to be longer than I thought😅

#red queen #swap au #mare barrow #maven calore #mareven #healthy mareven #tiberias calore vii #cal calore #elara merandus #slight violence tw #death mention tw #shade barrow

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carmenxjulia · 4 years ago

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I put together a transcript of the 2 hour Q&A Interview the Carmen Sandiego Discord did with Showrunner Duane Capizzi. All of the questions were submitted by server members. You can read everything below the break!

Duane Capizzi:

Hi there!

Am I in? Is this thing on?

PizzaHorse:

Hi, welcome!

Yep, you're in the right place!

Duane Capizzi:

Sorry I'm late, I was wandering around some empty Discord hallways looking for the right room haha

PizzaHorse:

No worries. Let's get started!

Who is your favorite character?

Duane Capizzi:

Moose Boy!

KIDDING!

Alright, how to NOT get myself in trouble if my answer isn't "Carmen" haha.

But really, they are ALL my babies.

So I know it's going to sound like a cop out to some that I can't pick just one. But hmm, some for instances...

I love that she's so morally evolved at such a young age; her ability to always take the high road and never lower herself; her drive and conviction and dedication. Her ability to kick serious booty and look good while doing it. Her progressive values, her fashion sense. I could go on and on. But then there's Shadowsan and his arc; Chase and his. Julia, who's every bit as strong as Carmen but shows it in different ways. The Cleaners don't get enough love.

I'll close that question with an anecdote about The Cleaners ...

I love that all our characters are embraced and that everyone seems to have favorites. Our sound engineer Marcel is a pretty serious guy: he has a serious job that takes high levels of focus and attention. He's always deeply focused and not prone to small talk. Anyway, we were in the middle of our first or second sound mix, and he suddenly stops in the middle and turns around to face us. I'm thinking, "uh oh, we're giving too many notes." That's when I notice he's freeze framed the Cleaners. He says "I really like these guys." Then he turns around, hits play and gets back to work.

PizzaHorse:

What was the biggest challenge for coming up with new stories and plot for the reboot?

Duane Capizzi:

THE biggest? Sigh. I'm not sure I could come up with just one. Plotting is always challenging and we had the brain trust of the room, our trusty white board, and writer assistant to keep the threads of the ongoing storyline together. I think the single biggest ONGOING challenge was tracking which character knew what at any given time.

The caper part was challenging - coming up with new capers and keeping them interesting and fresh. But, it was the characters and their interactions that kept things fresh and interesting. Another museum heist? That's okay - Chase is on the case and he gets to interact with "X" this time (for instance).

There were also some episodes - Duke of Vermeer and Crackle Goes Kiwi come to mind - where there was SO MUCH SET UP needed to get the payoffs to work. I was really worried about too much talk/too much detail. Very "Swiss watch!" It took a lot of work to make sure it all clicked and was clear - hopefully it seems effortless on screen but I can't say there wasn't some sweat and the occasional tear (mostly from me - I'm a big cry baby

But really, what made it fun was that we had so many buckets to draw from: sometimes a story germ initially began with a character idea; sometimes it was inspired by global location; sometimes it was a clever way to update or reimagine an idea from old Carmen lore. Usually, it was some combination of all of the above!

PizzaHorse:

What was your favorite scene to write?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we have a theme here! "How can I pick just one ...?"

As a film buff, I got to indulge in some serious fan nerdery on this show: I got to write spy movies, yakuza movies, spaghetti neo-westerns (though turning it on its head: spaghetti westerns usually involve REVENGE and because of Carmen's character make up, this was sort of anti-revenge).

Is writing coming up with the idea or typing it? Haha. An "if a tree falls in the forest" question. The writing team and I had so many cathartic "that's how it goes" in the room. But on my own, writing the Pilot, was a very inspiring time for me: I remember laughing out loud the moment I thought of Chase falling on his own car (in part because of doing my spin on "that trope" that we've seen in so many hard boiled movies recently). But also how emotional I got when I imagined the simple but potent image of Black Sheep deciding to take her destiny into her own hands and walk that long corridor to the Faculty who we were about to meet for the first time.

I think I've cited this in another interview, but there was a period where I was completely immersed in Chase's arc and the scene where he would crack the location of VILE island ... by listening to Julia in a dream ... was a big one for me. It revealed he was finally open to admitting he needed Julia more than he would ever admit - yet, it was his own subconscious speaking.

The next morning, after cracking that scene, I bumped into Raf Petardi (voice of Chase) ... at the supermarket! It was very strange and hilarious

PizzaHorse:

Did you scrap any lengthy or funny scenes that you would be able to share?

Duane Capizzi:

With few exceptions, most scene cuts are done at the script stage so that the story board team doesn't waste effort over boarding. A variety of trims to any script are common, but they are usually for the better

The easier question to answer might be scenes were part of our "wish list" at writer room stage, but never made it to story or script. I hesitate to go too deep here (in the event that we might ever do more Carmen episodes in this canon - I'm not giving up hope). And there were cases where things we wanted to do earlier in the series wound up getting nixed or not fitting for whatever reason, but we got them in later - USUALLY FOR THE BETTER. So there's sort of a reverse Murphy's Law/rule of good fortune somehow in these things. But some fun things that didn't make it into the show, that leap to mind were: a Bollywood dance sequence (!). A Vegas caper involving Brunt wanting to steal an Elvis jumpsuit against the backdrop of an Elvis impersonator convention. We also thought it would be neat to get Maelstrom imprisoned so that Julia could interrogate him and he would play mind games with her - very Lector/Clarice!

PizzaHorse:

Were there any different treatments of Carmen you pitched before settling on the one we ended up with?

Duane Capizzi:

I was one of several "pitches" that I'm sure HMH heard before running with my version. But I can honestly say I've never pitched anything as fully formed: the take on Carmen felt so right to me, and clearly HMH and by extension Netflix agreed

I'll answer your question with an anecdote: I had the entire Pilot pretty well worked out, and pitched it in the first meeting. But one key thing that changed (much for the better!), simply because it wouldn't have fit without slogging things down ...

In my Pilot pitch, Black Sheep's escape on the boat was off screen: we see Shadowsan corner her, then we cut away. The rest of the Faculty show up to find SS's broken sword on the rocks, and are led to believe BS killed him (!). In the present, Crackle points his weapon at Carmen and prepares to pull the trigger. We know that Chase is on the way and may rescue her. The compartment door opens to reveal - not Chase - but Shadowsan! Big surprise! Then we cut back to BS's escape and find out what really transpired etc etc.

Crazy, right? SS would have been hanging out with the gang in season 1; we might not have gotten to 203 with his back story, since his sword was broken and he couldn't return it. Just one of those magical things where "things work out" the way they are supposed to. THAT SAID, it made for a heckuva pitch

PizzaHorse:

Are there any characters that ended up taking a direction you didn't initially anticipate?

Duane Capizzi:

GRAY.

I didn't know we'd make him amnesiac when I wrote the Pilot, that was something we came up with in our first week Writer Room.

And even then, when it became clear he'd be a key piece of the bigger puzzle, we didn't know how exactly (mostly the Season 4 stuff).

We did get very deep with a version where 404 ended with his protective streak for Carmen kicking into high gear, and they would be fighting off Vile Guards back to back in perfect tandem. Then, having chosen Carmen over VILE, it was Carmen who actually orchestrates Gray going "off grid" so that VILE can never find him again. Funny, I know that is arguably the version of Gray's arc that many fans might have preferred seeing. But in the tradition of spy thrillers and film noir, and for a lone wolf character like Carmen who is focused on her life mission and not romance, we stand behind where we went with him. We felt it was so much more compelling ... and truly more emotional that he totally has a get out of jail free card when he sacrifices everything (including his life, potentially) to save Carmen.

when she needs him most!

I know I made some controversial comments about Gray "not being good enough for Carmen" and I'd like to clarify that I meant, until that final episode. What he did was so selfless and heroic. Is there hope for them in the future? Who knows?! But I do hope we get to explore that one day

I'm sure Gray is living off the grid somewhere now, inspired by Carmen's selfless good and thinking of her from time to time.

PizzaHorse:

You mentioned in the interview with Alicyn that Carmen is a love story, but you were cut off before you could finish discussing. Could you elaborate on your answer now?

Duane Capizzi:

Ugh, yes! Sorry about that. I actually answered that privately for someone so will cut and paste that response here. Let's see if it works.

Something we never said in the show, but something I imparted to the creative team was: Carmen Sandiego is (among other things) a LOVE STORY, where every character in our ensemble is in love with Carmen in one way or another. Even if they don't know it! That love can take different forms: we see how spurned by Carmen Coach Brunt feels and why she retaliates so excessively. Chase eventually comes to realize that he too loves Carmen, even if he wasn't initially aware of it haha. One of the most moving things to me about the series is how all of the different factions come to Carmen's rescue at the end when she's not "in her right mind," without knowing the others are there too. It's a massive group effort to bring back the Carmen they love. But we weren't looking for a fairy tale ending for Carmen with ANYone - Carmen's a classic lone wolf anti-hero, that goes with the territory. At least at this stage in her journey.

PizzaHorse:

Were there other locations that you wanted to feature in the show that didn't make it?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we managed to cover a lot of ground and "cadence" between different countries/cultures/continents was important to us. Many "iconic" locations of course, and it would have been nice to explore some lesser known locations if we had more episodes.

One that we almost did was Niagara Falls, Canada - actually literally going to the Falls and doing a big hydro-electric caper, where Player could actually get into the field with Carmen and the team.

But ultimately, we wound up bringing Player into the fold the way we did and wound up stronger as a result. It made his "first face to face" with Carmen even more impactful, IMO.

PizzaHorse:

Were there any changes in production between the first half and the second half of the series?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there was that Covid thing

But while it was no doubt a colossal undertaking to get the entire staff transitioned to work from home (animators! and their equipment!), we managed to make up for lost time WITHOUT a dip in animation quality. My fedora's off to our amazing team at Wildbrain for pulling it off!

We did lose some staff between orders, but that is a natural part of production unfortunately. Namely, one of our episodic directors Kenny Park, our first storyboard artist Dennis Crawford, and our story editor May Chan were among those who moved on to other shows during the break. But, as hard as their shoes were to fill, fill them we did!

PizzaHorse:

What is your favorite season?

Duane Capizzi:

Easy. Hands down, Season 3.

(crickets)

KIDDING!

Again, another "they're all my babies" answer (and yes, I love Season 3 equally

It's hard, because really when you step back I'm sure you'll agree it's a series, with stand alone capers; but it's really all ONE BIG MOVIE.

Season 3 is like the scherzo of a symphony: the shortest movement of four, and the one that tees up the big finale.

That's my hoity toity answer but I'm going to put to rest all of the various theories on what happened with season 3. It was a combination of two things: Netflix's desire to experiment with different ways of "dropping" seasons, and their desire to do a holiday themed drop (in this case Halloween, naturally). It became our challenge to come up with a theme (easy enough: masks), and the bigger challenge to serve their need while not interrupting our ongoing narrative. A challenge to be sure, but a challenge met. I think the biggest bump was perception: it was a short season and I know that was disappointing to many. But, by design.

So, Season 3 = an essential part of the whole. I don't think there's a wasted episode, and it gets everyone into position for the big finish. I can't pick a favorite season - you can't make me

PizzaHorse:

Were there any characters you had wanted to give more time to but couldn't due to time/plot restraints?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there's the "what was on the white board" answer but hopefully some of those ideas will see the light of day in some way, shape or form some day. I think if we had more episodes, we would have shaken up the internal dynamic of VILE a bit more (as hinted at Brunt's displeasure with Maelstrom for leaving her hanging out to dry at end of 405 - a seed we planted "just in case," as some have noted). And we had more scenes in mind with Chase's partnering with Carmen for the first time that we had to cut to the bone because of what little room we had in that otherwise packed episode (worry not: it's mostly more gags, more embellishment, more twists and turns - but the important stuff is there). Mostly, and I don't think it would have been right for Season 4 but I hope to tell in the future, I think there's an interesting history between Shadowsan and Lady Dokuso - possibly tragic - that I would love to explore one day. (She was a cameo in Duke of Vermeer at the dinner party BTW, I'm not sure if anyone noticed. And we built a bigger role for her out of that)

PizzaHorse:

What are some pre-2000/nostalgic Carmen references you snuck into the show? Do you have a favorite reference that was included?

Duane Capizzi:

Doing that was so much fun! I'd say roughly 60% of the characters were from previous iterations of Carmen, though often in name only. We had fun reimagining most everyone to make them more relevant or updated or giving them a more colorful personality for starters.

"Suhara" was Carmen's Japanese mentor when she worked at the ACME Agency in a flashback episode in the 90's series, for instance. I don't think I need to spell out how we turned that one inside out

And Tigress was also one episode only: she was a "rival thief" to Carmen, but revealed to be an ACME agent in disguise - a persona created solely to bait Carmen. It was really cool of course, but it seemed like untapped potential so we made her an ACTUAL Vile Thief.

My own internal rule was to make sure the references/easter eggs wouldn't confuse anyone - they were there for those who were in the loop and window dressing. The one and only time i broke that rule was Dark Carmen's line from 407: "I do it for the mental gymnastics." It was one of the most absurd lines from the 90's series (IMO) and i was determined to have it come out of Dark Carmen's mouth. I'm sure it left some 7 year olds scratching their heads

aside from that, the key references were the music: I still tingle at how we worked the Rockapella theme into the Interactive Special; and the 90's main title theme (composed by Mozart!), in our Vienna episode ("They're playing my song"). If you wanted Rockapella or Carmen as a bad guy, well ... be careful what you wish for!

PizzaHorse:

Was there any improvised content from recording sessions that made it into any episodes?

Duane Capizzi:

Yes! Not much, because a lot of it would have pushed us into TV-MA haha

Mostly Mary Elizabeth - Coach Brunt has a POTTY MOUTH!

Mikey and Abby usually riffed their banter WAY beyond what was on the written page and had us in stitches. Some bits definitely made it in! But mostly there was too much or it would get off point (hmmm, much like my interview answers maybe? haha)

Sharon Muthu did rise to Pun Goddess status with "Mask and you shall receive." And Raf pitched me "Chasse means hunt in French" after one session and I said: "I'm going to write that in." I don't think he believed me. You can't say I'm not a straight shooter.

PizzaHorse:

If you could get more season, would you do it, and what type of story would you tell?

Duane Capizzi:

Well if that hasn't been clear so far, ABSOLUTELY

There have been discussions of course. It's up to the powers that be at this point. I will say this: the beauty and tradition so far has been that every iteration has been its own thing. I definitely think there are more "different canon" versions of Carmen that can be had and be a part of this wonderful tradition. After all, there were many naysayers for our version when it was first announced.

I will also say that if we don't get to tell any more stories in this canon with these characters, we've left a perfect gem that will stand the test of time. I would rather go out on a high note than overstay our welcome.

All that said, we worked within the allotted episodes given, ended it as we wished, but left the door open for other stories. I'd love to do an expansion and a deepening: pick up where we left off; find out what happened in those two years; and proceed to do the equivalent of Godfather II or Better Call Saul as related to the amazing originals they followed.

Let's hope! Keep putting good vibes out there!

PizzaHorse:

If you could pick a character on Carmen Sandiego who'd you switch places with for a day (you get to control their life and they get to control yours) who would you pick, and why?

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, THIS is difficult. So you're going Freaky Friday on me?

on a Sunday?

Hmmm, I know Ivy would get along with my cat ... but then I'd have to hang out with Zack!

That's the trick: I can't pick my favorites cuz I couldn't hang out with them!

(not that I have favorites - they're all my babies haha)

Okay, I have one: ROUNDABOUT. I could fill Shadowsan's seat - how cool is that? Then, I could enact all my evil fantasies - but still have a get out of jail free card cuz he'd be sitting at my desk!

(cut to Duane being brain wiped - D'oh!)

PizzaHorse:

Who are two characters who don't really interact in the show that you think could be good friends or work really well together?

Duane Capizzi:

Hmmmm. Okay, now I'm going to give you quick and sassy answers. Gray and Julia! They'd be so cute banding together to rescue captive Carmen (for instance). And they could also duke it out and maybe settle things between themselves re: shipping controversies instead of dragging me into it

PizzaHorse:

The FINAL QUESTION. Have you learned anything super impactful while working on the show?

Duane Capizzi:

Aside from Iceland's terrifically low crime rate?

I think I have learned to never underestimate how meaningful characters can be to fans. Social media has obviously brought us a lot closer to our fan base in more immediate ways: it's been really gratifying to hear/see/read feedback and not be writing things in a vacuum. It's been gratifying to see that ideas that were meaningful to myself and the creative team on Carmen that were crafted with care, have also resonated with our fan base. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has traveled on this journey with us - for embracing Carmen's world view, and her friends and foes alike. Take care everyone! Stay safe! This has been fun, thanks for having me!

PizzaHorse:

HUGE thank you to Duane Capizzi: for being here today.

Thank you everyone for watching and reacting!

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, gotta run - just gotta find the door

Anyway, really: THIS HAS BEEN AMAZING. I speak for everyone involved in the creation and production of Carmen: it has been an amazing and inspiring series and we're elated to see it connect with such a CREATIVE, TALENTED and INTELLIGENT fan base. Take care everyone! Until next crime...

#Carmen Sandiego #Duane Capizzi #CS Crew #Interview #Transcript

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kaetiesmindpalace · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Be There -- A Destination Fear One Shot (Tanner Wiseman/Reader)

~CW: mentions of blood~

The new season of Destination Fear was starting off with a new face amidst the cast. Seeing as this televised experiment revolves around how fear affects the mind, why not see how it affects someone who has not experienced any of this before? It also helped that you had been intrigued by the premise for a while and that you are dating Tanner, one of the cast members.

The first location? Bobby Mackey’s Music World in Wilder, Kentucky.

Pulling up to the location with you, Tanner who had an arm around you, and Chelsea in the front of the RV, it all seemed surreal. The stories involving the place including people being physically attacked made you very terrified for everyone’s safety.

“I have an idea,” Dakota says after all the equipment is set up.

Everyone by now knows that what follows those words usually is not a good idea. Well, they were good ideas in the sense that most of the time it was to increase the fear being tested, not so much a good idea for everyone’s liking and wanting to do.

“We should start off with solos. Tanner, you have the honor of writing everyone’s name down to figure out who’s going first,” Dakota proclaims.

Just as Tanner is about to start writing everyone’s name down, you spoke up with your own idea, “Why don’t I just do it and go first?”

Everyone just stops and stares at you for your question, confusion and concern on their faces. Can you blame them? No one had offered to go do the crazy thing before.

“Don’t give me that look. Does it really seem fair to pick names out of a hat when the only one who hasn’t done a solo is myself? I say let’s level the playing field a bit before having to pick names from a hat,” you say with as much confidence as you can muster.

Dakota, Chelsea, and Alex nod their head a bit, understanding what you were saying. Tanner, on the other hand, still had concern written across his face as he approached you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“As sure as I can be,” you respond while looking at his handsome face, “I’ll have to do a solo eventually anyways so no point in trying to hide from it.”

He nods a bit, understanding the implications of it all. You two and the rest of the crew were on this trip to explore fear and knew there is no way to protect one another from the scary things that lurk in these places 100% of the time. Sometimes, you must face these things head on. Was Tanner still nervous about you doing the first solo at your first ever location on the trip? Of course, but you made up your mind and are not often easily swayed to change it, and he knew that.

As you gathered the equipment to head into Bobby Mackey’s alone, Tanner started to ramble, “Be safe out there. Walkie us if you need help,” before giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“I may come up with some dumb ideas, but I’m not stupid enough to not call for help when I need it,” you say with a little bit of snark to diffuse the tension just a little bit.

Luckily, the response did just as you hope it would. Everyone chuckled slightly and you started to head towards the entrance of Bobby Mackey’s with your camera in hand.

“Alright, so my initial thought is to go big and go into the basement. Dumb idea, I know, but fear is what we are searching for, so fear is what I’m trying to get. The basement is where numerous people have gotten scratched, including Zak Bagans of Ghost Adventures fame, whom we all know Dakota has worked with. What’s scarier than the possibility of this happening?” you ramble on camera.

As you enter the basement, you immediately get an eerie feeling. Something is not right, but you must keep chugging through with this; it’s your job now. Finding a place to sit on the floor, you decide to start the normal investigative procedures.

“I’m right by the well in the basement and I’m going to do an EVP session with this digital recorder to see if I get any response,” you say as you hit the record button. “What is your name? How did you die? Why do you stay here?” you ask while giving some space in between questions to let the spirits answer.

You continued to question for about ten minutes before stopping and playing back the recording. It seemed like nothing wanted to interact with you; you weren’t getting responses to your questions. That is, until you listened to your final question of “Is it true that there is something demonic here?”

A loud, deep growl came through that you did not hear in real time. Your mouth formed an O just hearing it. With whatever in the basement besides yourself hearing this out loud, the growl seemed to shift the energy in the room. While the initial feeling when you entered was eerie, now it feels unsafe and that someone or something is right behind you.

And maybe something was because suddenly you felt a burning sensation take over your back. You had seen enough paranormal shows in your life and heard many stories involving encounters to know that a burning sensation tends to mean that you got scratched.

“So, I’m pretty certain that I got scratched across my back. I felt that burning sensation often described when scratches like these occur, but I can’t see my back. I’m going to have to call for some help to see how bad it is. I know I don’t look as scared as I probably should be; I think I am mostly internalizing it to try and process what is happening before I have a huge freak out,” you say into the camera as you take out your walkie.

“Hey guys,” you say into your walkie.

Tanner, Chelsea, Dakota, and Alex were all just chatting like normal friends do waiting for you to come back or walkie them. Even with the thought that you could walkie them, you unknowingly walkie scared them causing everyone to jump at the sound of your voice.

“Guys,” you say as your voice cracks at the end, betraying your true feelings you were trying to internalize into nonexistence.

Tanner was already up and booking it with his camera towards Bobby Mackey’s before you even explained the entire situation. Chelsea decides to grab the walkie and respond while everyone was grabbing equipment to try and catch up to Tanner.

“Go from Chelsea” she states in as clear of a tone as one can while trying to respond and grab their camera at the same time.

“So, I’m certain something scratched my back here in the basement, but I can’t see it for myself. Can someone come and check it for me? I want to know how bad it is” you say trying to reign in your fear.

“Tanner took off before you said where you were, so he should be there sooner than us if one of the guys decide to yell to him where you are in the building,” Chelsea states just as Dakota yells towards the general direction of the entrance “Go to the basement Tanner!” before they all take off to get to you.

Tanner was indeed the first of the group to find you, having had the head start, long legs, and hearing the location you were in being screamed to him from far behind. Since you were still sitting on the floor, probably too scared to move from the incident but it had only felt like a second had passed since it happened, he knelt down next to you and put his camera down on the ground. With both hands free, he grabs your face and kisses your forehead before staring deeply into your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asks with concern in his voice.

“I’m a bit shaken up currently. Something scratched my back; it was just this burning sensation all over. Can you check it for me and take a picture of it? I want to see how bad it is,” you mention to him.

He grabs his flashlight and phone as you start to push up the back of your shirt for him to look at the damage done. Once the flashlight is on, he helps lift the back of your shirt more to get a better look.

“Oh babe,” he says while taking a picture, “this definitely isn’t good.”

He hands his phone over to you to see the picture of your back. What you saw were three large scratches marring your back that at some points were bleeding just a bit. You gasp at the sight, having not had thought it would be this bad. You had seen the Ghost Adventures episode where Zak got scratched, but his weren’t bleeding. Why were yours?

At that precise moment was when the rest of the crew arrived. With one quick glance at your back, they knew they were in for a tough night. Luckily, someone had packed a small first aid kit in the backpack, so your scratches were cleaned up with antibiotic ointment and some bandages were put on the areas that were bleeding. With you now standing with everyone, Dakota nixes the idea of more solos and the group continues to investigate the rest of Bobby Mackey’s.

After a few more EVPs, some words on the Ovilus, and Alex seeing a shadow figure, it was time to figure out sleeping arrangements. Tanner took the lead of writing out the locations on a slip of paper, but you noticed something odd.

“Shouldn’t there be 5 slips of paper with different sleeping arrangements instead of 4?” you ask.

Tanner looks up from writing to say, “After what happened to you alone in the basement, just for this night, I’m not letting you be by yourself again. So, I’m making the decision that you’ll stay with me for the night. I know, it’s such a burden that you’re stuck with me,” adding a dramatic flair to the last sentence before continuing to write.

You chuckled at his dramatics. It was something you loved that he did seeing as you pull the same antics at times. You couldn’t really complain; you understand where he was coming from and you also did not want to be alone again in this location. Dakota didn’t try to argue the reasoning either.

The four locations were the well, the room of faces, the attic, and the men’s restroom. Chelsea picked first and ironically got the men’s restroom. Following Chelsea was Dakota; he ended up getting the well which was where you had gotten scratched earlier in the night and he was not happy about it. At least you didn’t have to go back to that area again, but there was still one location in the basement left. Tanner went next and he picked the attic for the two of you. You gave a huge sigh of relief at this since you didn’t have to return to the basement at all now. This left the room of faces to Alex, who also was not looking forward to being in the basement.

Setting everything up for sleeping arrangements from equipment to where the crew would actually sleep seemed to breeze by. Instead of cots, the two of you had sleeping bags which so happened to fully unzip to create a pad for the two of you to sleep on and for the other to act like a blanket. Knowing that Tanner was right by your side ready to comfort you really helped with still being at this location. As you laid together, he slipped his arms around you and pulled you into him.

“I’m so proud of you for sticking through this. You’re so strong. Had this happened to me on my first investigation, I would have skedaddled out of here,” he whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek.

“Well, I knew I had amazing back up ready to help whenever I needed it,” you whisper back while having the biggest smile on your face.

“And I’ll be there whenever and wherever you need help,” he states so sincerely.

No matter the situation, Tanner could find a way to make you smile. It may take longer than he would like, but he was always able to do it, and that was one of the many reasons why you loved him.

The two of you managed to get some sleep, whether it was due to no activity, the comfort of being with one another, or both. Dakota, Chelsea, and Alex all came up to wake you guys up once 6 am hit and soon enough everyone was packing up equipment to put back into the RV. Once the investigative equipment was all put away, all 5 of you split up to give your final thoughts on the location.

Finding a nice place near a tree, you sat down and started recording your piece.

“What a crazy first investigation. I don’t think anyone expected the extent of what happened to occur, never mind to the person just entering the crew. Am I still a bit shaken up? Of course, but I’m not letting this stop me. I can only grow stronger and persevere through this. I want to prove that I can handle it. And now, off to another crazy location,” you say, growing more determined with each word.

Once you finished recording, you stood up and returned to the RV. After a couple of minutes, everyone was back. With Tanner next to you with his arm around your shoulder, Dakota and Chelsea across from you, and Alex on the couch across the walkway from the table the four of you sat at, the RV took off to the next location.

#kaetie writes #destination fear #tanner wiseman #dakota laden #chelsea laden #alex schroeder #travel channel #paranormal #tv show #one shot #one shots #fanfiction #should I add this to ao3/wattpad?#let me know if I should write more one shots #Tanner wiseman/reader #Tanner wiseman x reader #cw: mentions of blood

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omniswords · 4 years ago

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 13

hey y'all. happy update. sorry i've been so quiet like... literally everywhere. it's been, a lot lately, as you can imagine. i'm doing my best on my end and i hope you are too. i'm coming back to things. slowly.

if you like, come give me a follow over on twitter where i’m more active, or on twitch where i’ve started streaming. (username is omnistruck for both, but i was afraid that linking would nix the post from the tags ;;)

hang in there.

29 July, La Tortue. You in?

Luka has been, quite frankly, working his ass off like he never has before.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. He remembers at least sort of working this hard to study for the bac, even if by most standards he nearly passed by the skin of his teeth. And he remembers at least sort of working this hard to find a paying job once he could actually have a job. But those ventures were for other people. To make a school district look good. To put food on the table even when he did n’t much feel like eating himself. This… he might even say this is the first time he’s worked so hard for himself, taken every bull he could find by the horns and steered it toward this club Bubbles has been hyping up, instead of figuring out where the things he loved decided to take him.

…Okay, and maybe he’s been doing some of this with Marinette in mind. But it isn’t entirely because of her, and he’d be dead and buried before he’d admit that Juleka’s right about this.

But what’s so bad about having a reason to work so hard? What’s wrong with calling the band together to practice when they’d been so lax about performances before? And what’s so bad about having a face to focus on in his imaginary audience whenever he closes his eyes? Or about having their setlist running like ticker tape in his head whenever he has a quiet moment in between deliveries? Or about splitting his attention between his messages to Bubbles and the tireless search for that perfect shade of blue music in the middle of the night?

Isn’t this what drives art? A color, a smile, a touch of the hand? Doesn’t this stuff launch ships and pen poetry? Isn’t it the little things, the things that are inconsequential to almost everyone else, that makes a painting into a masterpiece, or a song into a symphony?

Juleka says it once at the end of practice. Mostly with a jerk of her thumb and the hollow drawl of, “Get a load of this guy.”

Luka barely hears it, mostly because he’s crossed the room to study a heap of sheet music and rearrange it for what feels like the third time this hour. But he has enough spare energy, between writing and erasing and rewriting, to raise a middle finger behind him.

“Oh, come on,” Rose laughs, stepping back from the microphone; in seconds, he can feel her looming over him, studying with him. He doesn’t mind it, or how she rests her chin on his head, simply because they’ve known each other so long. “You just wanna get it right for our big break, right?”

Luka’s gotten a lot of things right; it’s easy to do when he keeps the bar for “right” on the ground nine times out of ten. He doesn’t want to get it right. He wants to get it perfect. And, as it turns out, the tenth time is the most finicky son of a bitch he’s ever dealt with. Which is saying something, when he’s been at the mercy of hungry customers more times than he can count.

“We’ll get it,” Rose encourages him with a friendly kiss to the top of his head. Her voice sounds tired. Maybe even worn. “But it’s not gonna go anywhere if you leave it alone for a while. I promise. Come on, let’s give it a rest.”

After a moment, he sighs, rights his papers, and rests his forehead on the keyboard he’s had to use as a makeshift desk. It makes the most distressing mix of notes in protest, but he hardly winces; it’s not like he’s ever been able to play it properly, anyway. “Fine,” he relents. “I’ll make you some tea and meet you upstairs.”

A shift in the air tells him neither Rose nor Juleka believes him. In the end, Juleka says, “Fine,” and Rose unravels from him, and their footsteps fade up the stairs.

With a sigh, Luka lifts his head from the piano, sure that the keys must have left some kind of mark, and finds Ivan still there, seated half-uncomfortably behind the drum set and twirling one of the sticks in his fingers.

“Juleka gave me The Look,” is all Ivan says, but it’s enough of an explanation. They’ve all been on the business end of The Look before. Even Rose, and maybe Luka more than most. He can see it in his head from the words alone.

“I get it, I get it,” Luka says, and he sets to work putting the kettle on and fishing out a couple of teabags and mismatched mugs from the cupboard. “You want a soda? Last one before we go grocery shopping—”

Ivan shakes his head. “You have it.”

Luka tosses him a water bottle instead, impressed by how he downs half of it in one go, dismissing his apology when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The kettle’s still going. They’ve got time to kill.

“She… kinda has a point,” Ivan mumbles after more than a beat of silence, like he’s uncertain about being too honest. Luka’s always thought he had nothing to worry about—Ivan’s much more tender than first glances would have others believe, and maybe tiptoes more than he should to fight those first glances. But he’s also had more than his fair share of overthinking the right words to say when music doesn’t suffice, and of regretting the words no matter how he ends up stringing them together, so he can’t really blame him.

Luka decides to bite. “What d’you mean?”

“I dunno,” Ivan says, which usually means that he does know but is looking for the right way to cushion his words. “It does kinda feel like you’ve gone into turbo mode about this whole gig. But like, Luka-Couffaine-Style Turbo Mode.”

“Is that better or worse than the average?”

“Well… it’s definitely different. It’s like you tune everything out and go… I guess, somewhere inside yourself that the rest of us can’t see.” Ivan shrugs. “I guess maybe she’s worried that it’s so nice in there that you won’t come back out.”

Luka smiles grimly at the stovetop. “You’re not gonna tell me there’s no I in ‘band,’ are you?”

Ivan laughs and takes another swig. “Nah, that sounds like something a guidance counselor would say. More like… it’s okay to come out sometimes.”

Luka bites his tongue and resists the urge to joke that he already does it every time he meets someone new. Instead, he busies himself with turning off the kettle and making the tea. “Hey, uh… you don’t mind if I ask you something weird i do you?”

“I’m already scared,” Ivan jokes, “but go ahead.”

Luka pauses, tea bag in hand. “How did… you and Mylène get together?”

When he turns, it’s hard to say just how Ivan’s expression’s shifted, but he knows it has. Reminiscing, maybe? Or is that... cringing? Or—for better or worse—understanding? “I, uh, wrote her a song. It… didn’t exactly go well.”

“What d’you mean, it didn’t go well? You’re dating, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but. “Ivan shrugs. “It’s not like we just magically came together or anything. There were hiccups, I guess. You know?”

Luka knew hiccups better than the back of his hand. “So… what happened?”

Ivan tells him everything. How he liked Mylène and how sometimes it felt like everyone knew it but her. Or how maybe she knew after all, but didn’t want to, now maybe she even pretended she didn’t to let him down easy. How he buzzed from head to toe just sitting next to her in class but barely talked to her because he didn’t feel like he had the right to. The nights he stayed up thinking about it, wildly swinging back and forth between what if she doesn’t? and but God, what if she does? How he was teased and goaded by his classmates into finally gathering up the courage to confess to her, and humiliating them both with that stupid, loud song. And how, at the end of the day, all she needed to do was read the lyrics.

“It didn’t have to be perfect,” Ivan tells him. “It just had to be good.”

Luka smiles to himself at the end of it all, and feels his stomach turn, and wonders in the silence if all Marinette needs to do is hear the notes.

“Is it?” Ivan asks. “A girl? The one you’ve been posting about?”

Luka doesn’t say anything. He only takes the tray of drinks, and gives a little shrug, and nods toward the stairs. He gets the feeling Ivan would know without words anyway.

Cause I’m in. In fact, I’ve never been more “in” in my life.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #i remember writing this chapter... like six months ago #on my porch #welp.

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thedeviltohisangel · 4 years ago

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Hourglass//1//

Normally the sound of her voice brought, at the very least, happiness. It meant he could put down the walls and smile and laugh and not worry about someone judging him for every action he made. But right now he wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to drink and wallow and feel bad for himself. She would never let him wallow. He splashed some cold water on his face as he heard her footsteps coming up the stairs.

masterlist is my url/writing

accepting requests for this pairing

“Nix? You in here?” Normally the sound of her voice brought, at the very least, happiness. It meant he could put down the walls and smile and laugh and not worry about someone judging him for every action he made. But right now he wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to drink and wallow and feel bad for himself. She would never let him wallow. He splashed some cold water on his face as he heard her footsteps coming up the stairs.

“In here,” he called back. No point in trying to avoid her now.

��Hey. Just came to check in. Speirs said you looked a little...forlorn.” Ron had actually said Nixon looked like shit. “Jump not great?”

“I made it out. Two others behind me made it out. Others got blown up over Germany somewhere.” She noticed his hand was shaking as he poured another glass of Vat 69.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, well. Wasn’t me!” He threw the empty bottle into the trash then stalked out of the room.

“Nix-”

“No, El, I don’t have the capacity for your psychological probing tonight.” Ella stopped behind one of the chairs around the table he was sitting at.

“It’s either I do it or Dick does it.” She knew the man in question was on his way right now. Intending to tell Nixon about his recent demotion. Ella had asked Dick to let her go first. Maybe she could soften him up or help him anticipate the blow. Didn’t seem like she would be able to do either.

“I don’t want to see him. How about you leave and go tell him that?” She let him down two more glasses of whiskey before speaking.

“Please don’t speak to me like that. You’ve had a crap day and too much to drink but I deserve more than that tone right now.”

“Stop behaving like a fuckng princess or whatever it is you are. The world sucks and sometimes people don’t bow to you.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her leaving.

“Why do you do this to me?” Ella was getting tired. Tired of Lewis Nixon and all the baggage that went along with him. Tired of long nights filled with whispers and gentle touches. Tired of those mornings being filled with him not remembering. Tired of having to remind him he was married and he shouldn’t tell Ella how much he loved her and wanted to marry her. Tired of Nix getting drunk and twisting the knife into her ribs she had trusted him with.

“Because you can’t take the hint that I don’t want to be around you. I don’t love you. Maybe I never did. Let me live out the rest of this war in peace, Ella.” Nix knew the only reason he held himself together while saying those words was because of the alcohol in his glass. Otherwise he’d be shaking like he did back in Bastogne. Would have shed more than a few tears. He knew, and she knew, that he didn’t mean those words anymore than he meant any words he said when he was drunk. But Nix couldn’t spend one more moment around her without wanting to burn the world down so they could be together. Pushing her away was the only way to put down the torch.

“Well, sadly, Lewis Nixon...I love you.” Her words hit him one at a time, each blow being absorbed individually, as she walked slower out of the house than she had in. Heavier footsteps followed her retreating ones. No doubt Dick had decided to make his entrance after seeing the woman with her head hung so low.

“Hey.”

“I told her I didn’t love her. Never did.” Dick didn’t even need to ask.

“Was it you or the Vat 69 talking?”

“Both. I’m married, remember?” People in the Nixon family didn’t get divorced. People in her family didn’t marry men who had been married before. It wouldn’t have worked even if they tried.

“I thought we were all forgetting that,” Dick noted sarcastically. He had made that same point to his friend more times than he could count. Each time it was waved and explained away.

“It’s for the best we both stop seeing each other. In any capacity.” He took the last bit from the bottle.

“Maybe it’s for the best you stop that too.” Everyone had noticed that the drinking was beginning to be too much. That Nix was slowly but surely slipping away.

“At least now that she’s gone I don’t have to be ganged up on all the time.” Nix stood angrily from the chair and moved back towards his bedroom. What he needed was a nice long sleep. Maybe to never even wake up again.

“How long do you think that will last?”

“Excuse me?” Nix asked with an edge to his voice that was entirely on purpose.

“As soon as you sober up, you’ll be asking her to take you back.” He did it all the time. And every time he said it was the last time and every time Ella said next time she wouldn't take him back. Dick had watched the toxic cycle repeat over and over the past few months. Try as he might, he knew there was no stopping them. Maybe in a convoluted way, they were meant to be together. But this was no backdrop for it. This was no way to live or love.

“I’m so sick of people acting like they know me. Saying they know me better than I know myself. Ella and I are not meant to be together. We were not made for each other to have in this lifetime. I’ve accepted that, Dick. Watching those boys die today made me realize that I should stop trying to force my way into her life. Stop trying to force her into mine.” He collapsed onto his bed and hung his head. “We aren’t always meant to be with our soulmates. Sometimes loving someone isn’t enough.” Oh but Nixon knew it was quite the opposite. That he loved Ella too much. That is was all encompassing and sometimes suffocated him. That touching her was like touching a pan on a stove top. It burned and lingered. If he allowed himself to love her, truly love her the way he wished to, they’d burn out. And that would hurt even more.

“The press keep hounding me on when you’ll be in a safe enough place for them to interview you again. The magazines back home have you on every cover and they want more.” Ella rolled her eyes as she lit a cigarette and continued to stomp her way through the streets of Germany.

“Can’t you remind them this is a war?” She was fully aware that the government had signed off on her trip to the frontline because of the glorified nature the coverage would take. The last name Ford meant cameras followed where she went. It meant she had had no problem procuring a lipstick or a clean dress. But the men around her had been unable to secure a hot meal or warm coat. It felt wrong.

“No. I can’t.”

“That’s an unacceptable answer, Mr. Perry. Either you manage the hounds on your end or I will light them on fire when they get too close. Is that understood?” She was in no mood to play politics with media magnates hundreds of miles away. She didn’t want to blame her mood on Lew but she was. Fighting with him took so much out of her. His words also cut to a level where it felt like pieces of her were being removed. Right now she was like a wounded animal who needed somewhere quiet and dark to heal.

“Miss Ford-” She shut the door behind her before her handlers could follow her into the building she had been using as refuge the past couple of days.

“How’d that go?” It was Ron, the reason she had found herself wandering Nixon’s way in the first place. She wonders if Dick was able to talk to him. How he was taking the news of his demotion. Then she remembered she didn’t care anymore and shook the thought from her mind.

“Nix and his jump or the demons that follow me around all day?” She flicked her current cigarette to the side and lit a new one.

“Both.”

“Well the jump was a disaster and Lewis Nixon wishes to never see me again-”

“El-”

“-and the papers back home want another interview and photo call with me but I just don’t think I can do that anymore. I don’t think I want to be here anymore. In fact, I think I am quite ready to go home.” It was as if saying the words out loud made them make perfect sense. That was that and her mind was made up. She would start packing her bag right now.

“I don’t know him that well but I doubt he meant what he said.” Ron followed her into her room and felt helpless as she started shoving things into bags.

“That’s the thing. I’ve had it completely backwards. I thought he was his most honest when he was sober but today I’ve realized that that is not when he is his true self. He is his truest self when he is drowning in whiskey. Those are the moments when he has lied to me. Today was his first time telling me the truth.” She felt unwanted. Like a scrap no one wanted. All she was good for was parading around in pretty dresses and smiling for the cameras. Everyone wanted a piece of her image but no one wanted the real her.

“If it’s any consolation, the rest of the guys like you a lot.” She had to smile at that. For some reason she had been drawn to Ron and the rest of Easy. She recognized the same outcast in them she had in herself. They were a band of misfits but that is what kept them so close together. Bonded them for life. She considered herself lucky to get to experience that if only for a moment in time.

“It is. Thank you, Ron.” She took one last deep breath, shouldered her bag and marched back the way she had come. The group of bloodthirsty monsters she had left were still there waiting for.

“Ma’am, we-”

“I’ve made a decision, Mr. Perry. I’m ready to go home. The press can feast on me from the states.”

Reading that Kathy wanted a divorce was harder to process than Nix thinks it should’ve been. By all accounts, it had been the news he had been waiting for. The puzzle piece he had only let him think would fall into place in his darkest moments. It was hard to be confronted with something you told yourself would never happen. He had no idea how to react. Who should he tell first? Ella? Well that bridge had been burned. Dick? No. He would tell Nix to tell Ella. But his inability to divorce Kathy had been one of the exact reasons he cited for her to never see him again. He wouldn’t be able to tuck his tail far enough between his legs.

“What’s that?” Dick noticed the look on Nix’s face. It was one that said he wasn’t really there. That is mind was so far away it might be worth trying to get it back.

“She’s divorcing me. Kathy. Well, she wants one. And she’s taking the kid and the dog. Which doesn’t make any sense because it’s my goddamn dog and she hates that dog-”

“Nix.” Even though Dick loved him like a brother, he didn’t have all the time in the world to listen to his ramblings. “Are you going to give her what she’s asking for?”

“I don’t have a fucking choice, do I? I’m here and she’s there.” He ripped a cigarette from his breast pocket, the lighter needing some coaxing before it finally flared to life and gave him some relief. “Do I tell Ella?” Dick knew what he was really asking. After all the shit I’ve put her through, are we really meant to be together?

“Colonel Sink told me she’s being put on the first flight back to the states.”

“What? That’s not possible.” Nix knew for a fact she always said she wanted to be with the men when it all ended. Be with him. Celebrate with him.

“Whatever you said to her the other night made her decision all the easier. Apparently, her presence is merely a distraction from the important task at hand. And she could better serve her country lobbying for war bonds back home than stealing rations from the soldiers on the front line.” Dick said the words in such a bland way that Nix almost wasn’t able to process them. All he knew was that she was leaving. She was leaving and it was because of him.

“What do I do, Dick? Let her go or ask her to stay?” Nix knew it was love but he also knew that love wasn’t always enough. Ella deserved better but he was a selfish man. He needed her more than he ever had ever needed whiskey. There was no victory for him if she wasn’t there for it. The letter in his hands was a sign that there was a piece missing in his puzzle. He had forced his marriage to try and fit into it. But he had been wrong. It had been in his pocket this entire time. He just hadn’t had the courage to put it where it belonged. But now he did. He had no choice.

#lewis nixon #band of brothers #ron livingston #lewis nixon fanfiction #band of brothers fanfiction #hbo war #hbo war fanfiction

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write4tomorrow · 5 years ago

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Under the General (Part 3)

Word Count: 2435

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: About a year after The Rise of Skywalker, peace in the galaxy is fragile. The Resistance is faced with new diplomatic problems as they try to maintain the peace. Trade routes are especially tricky and has forced Y/N to test her abilities as a negotiator. Due to tirelessly, negotiating with different planets and systems, Y/N has become the new face of peace and hope. Does this make General Poe Dameron jealous?

Genre: Adventure / Fluff / Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Epilogue (Complete)

The first time you woke up isn’t awful. Your head hurts, your mouth is dry and you feel disoriented. However, once you become fully awake, you realized that you are strapped to a comfortable and cushioned chair. Before you is a table set with herbal drinks and little pieces of food. The last thing you notice is Nix sitting across from you.

Your first thought was one of relief. Nix Altross, your friend, would help you. Nix, your fellow comrade, would explain what’s happening. Nix, master spy second only to you, would keep you safe. These thoughts were second nature to you but they began to evaporate as you remembered that Nix shot you in the alley. The emotions you were feeling must have been plain on your face because Nix sighed as your expression became one of betrayal.

He began talking. His voice was charming, hiding his guilt. It seemed to lull your attention in and out of focus. Your head was too fuzzy for you to properly follow the conversation. Bits and pieces of Nix’s words were sticking in your mind. Nix was explain something. He didn’t like General Dameron. He wouldn’t tolerate a new galactic order lead by a hot headed pilot. Nix felt like he was undervalued by the Generals. He had the backing of the outer rim bounty hunters. He had two old battleships under his command. With his small armada, he controlled the farming planets. He was the reason the negotiations didn’t workout on Coruscant. He was gathering support from underneath the Resistance’s nose.

“It wont- Nix, this will not work,” you managed to get out. Your mouth felt like dried cotton. Nix’s face pinched in anger, but he quickly regained his charming demeanor. He stood and helped you drink something. You didn’t know what it was but the liquid felt soothing and cold. You heard Nix saying something as you began to slip into unconsciousness again. He wanted you to join him.

The second time you woke up was promising. You were tucked in a bed, free of restraint. The door was open. The room was empty besides a bed, a table and you. You felt safe enough to take your time trying to clear your mind. You noticed that on the table was a small cup of something warm. There was steam rising from the glass. Someone must have just been here. Where were they?

You had to leave. Without thinking about a plan, you threw yourself out of bed and began running down the halls before someone came back to the room. Luckily, the halls were empty. You were still unsteady on your feet and you tripped every few yards. The world was reeling but you knew you had to contact the Resistance. You tried to sort out your thoughts and form a plan. If only you could think clearly.

A siren began to ring throughout the long hallway you were in. Something must have happened. Did Nix realize you escaped? The doorway at the end of the hall began to close. Running, you threw yourself through the small opening but found that you were in another dead end. Voices were nearby. Someone was calling your name. Instinctually, you threw yourself into one of the many rooms in the dead end hallway.

It was a bedroom. You didn’t know whose nor did you care. Like the room you woke up in, this bedroom had a single table and a small bed. However, luck finally seemed to be on your side because you noticed a comm sitting on the table. It wasn’t much but it was enough to send a message to the Resistance. You cleared your head enough to punch in the code that would ensure your message made it to the Assembly of Generals.

“I don’t know where I am,” you began, “Nix took me from my undercover mission on Coruscant. He does not serve the Resistance. There seems to-” you were cut off by the door behind you opening. You hid the comm behind your back. You prayed that you could hit send on the message without seeing the buttons.

“What have we here?” Standing in the doorway was Nix, armed with a blaster in his hand, another strapped to his hip and two bounty hunters you didn’t recognize. They weren’t human and in the dim light of the room, the shadows made them seem menacing.

With your free hand you checked to see if your blasters were still strapped to your thighs, but Nix was smart. He must have taken them from you already. Like a wolf cornering it’s prey, Nix strolled towards you.

“Little girl,” Nix cooed as he grabbed you by the arm, “we’re going to have to take care of you. Perhaps a good memory wipe will do the trick?” Nix dragged you out of the room by the arm. You allowed the comm to slip out of your gloved hand and onto the floor, hoping no one noticed. You tried to distract the bounty hunters and Nix by fighting back with everything you could. Yet, you were still weak and Nix was much taller and significantly stronger than you. Still, you fought against him. He tried to drag you through the hall but you were not making it easy for him. Finally, he threw you on the ground in front of him and leveled a blaster at your head. Nix’s snarl was the last thing you saw before you hit the ground.

The third time you woke up was much, much worse than the first two. You were suspended a few feet in the air. Your bare arms and feet were restrained so that your body formed an x in the air. The anti gravitational cuffs made you feel weightless but your shoulders ached. You only felt worse when you met Nix’s gaze. He was almost eye level with you and he sneered when he saw you were conscious. His dark clothes and elegantly kept hair only added to the chilling demeanor that seemed to surround him.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Nix taunted, “we are going to discredit the Resistance and General Dameron’s attempts at uniting the galaxy under him.”

“We are going to do no such thing,” you spat, “Poe isn’t uniting anything ‘under him’ he’s just trying to lead the galaxy to peace!” Your voice was rough and you suspected that you were dehydrated. You hoped that Poe had made it off of Coruscant safely.

“Oh? We’re calling him ‘Poe’ now?” Nix’s voice was cold. “Perhaps more things have been under him than I realized.” You could feel your cheeks turn scarlet at Nix’s implication. He rolled his eyes and patted your cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Nix said, “I’m sure the General is very seductive - you wouldn’t be the first to fall under his spell. You know how mad he was when he found out you weren’t where he left you on Coruscant? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. Even at the most recent Assembly of the Generals, General Dameron was more tense and hot headed than usual.” There was a meeting of Generals and you weren’t there? How long has it been since Nix took you from Coruscant?

“Poe is safe?” You knew you shouldn’t have asked but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Not after the stunt you pulled with the comm,” Nix answered, “The good General Dameron received your message about me and presented it to the whole group. I had no choice but to make an escape. I took your precious General as my hostage at gunpoint. He’s a few floors below us in a similar prison.” Nix gestured at your restraints and continued. “You are going to announce that the Resistance has been infiltrated by old Empire agents. As the new face of the Resistance and the Politician of Peace, people will believe you. You will accuse the Resistance leaders of betrayal. Chief among them is the war hero, Poe Dameron. You will urge all free planets to follow your fellow diplomat, yours truly. We will broadcast this message throughout the systems and you and I will rebuild the age of peace to our liking.”

“We aren’t going to do anything!” Your words came out as a cry more than a declaration of defiance.

“Yes, we are, dear,” Nix cooed as though he were talking to a youngling, “Do you remember that memory loss weapon I told you about not so long ago?” You knew what he was talking about. In fact, you had mentioned it to Poe on Coruscant.

“Do your worst, Nix,” you said with a grimace. Nix said something to you. A word, or a phrase, you weren’t really listening. You watched as Nix nodded to someone behind you and the next thing you felt was pain. Unadulterated pain filled your whole body but it felt particularly concentrated in your head. Your skull was going to fracture into a million little pieces but it was over before you could draw breath to scream.

“What did I just tell you?” Nix held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“I was the last one to speak,” you panted through gritted teeth, “I said, ‘do your worst’ and then you…” you trailed off. Something wasn’t right. Nix looked triumphant and you felt disoriented again.

“What you just felt were the effects of memory loss weapon. Painful, no?” Nix asked with a sweet smile. You began to shake with fear because you understood that Nix was going to wipe your memory clear. Still, you wouldn’t give in to his demands.

“I endured Kylo Ren’s wrath,” you hissed, “do your worst, Nix.” As if remembering what you had endured during the war, Nix traced the scars along your forearms. The sensation of his skin against yours was enough to make you sick. He took a step towards you and spoke softly in your ear.

“Ah, but see,” Nix said with a pur, “I know you can take it. But what about your dear General? Will the great leader, Poe Dameron, be able to last long under that kind of stress? Do you think - if he survives that is - that Dameron will be the same man without his memories? Y/n, if you do not do as I tell you, dear, I will break his mind. I will broadcast it to all systems in the galaxy instead of your confession. The image of the broken General will leave the Resistance in pieces and people will flood to my side. So, we can dismantle the Resistance without harming your General or we can do it by destroying him.”

You knew, as well as Nix, that you were thoroughly trapped.

What you did not know was that Nix was lying to you.

Poe Dameron was safe in the resistance base. During the first twenty four hours of your disappearance, Poe became very busy. After you disappeared from the street on Coruscant, Poe went to the meeting place to find the farmer, dead and you were nowhere in sight. Poe sprinted back through the streets and towards his ship, BB-8 on his heels.

After calling Finn on the comms and confirming that you were MIA, an emergency meeting of the Generals was called. It took Altross the longest to arrive and to Poe’s annoyance, action had been delayed for more than a day and a half. Nix entered the meeting just as Poe’s comm began to buzz.

“Y/n is missing,” Poe blurted out as Altross strolled towards his seat. Altross’ steps didn’t even falter. Of course the diplomatic prick was emotionless. What had Poe expected from this slimy politician? Yet, while Altross and Poe had never gotten along, Poe knew that he was close to you. He hoped that Altross would be willing to set aside their differences to bring you home. Finn picked up his comm, which happened to begin buzzing at the same time as Poe’s. Altross stood by his seat, looking down at Poe. Still ignoring the buzzing of his own comm and that of a few others in the room, Poe met Altross’ gaze.

“You lost her?” Altross’ words were icy to say the least. Poe knew he deserved it. You were his to protect and he had failed. Before Poe could utter an apology, Finn interrupted. He held his comm in the middle of the table to show a transmission of none other than you. Poe’s eyes were glued to the hologram and he took little note of Altross’ muttered excuse to leave the room.

“I don’t know where I am,” you began. Poe watched the small blue hologram of you flicker in and out. Judging by the quality of the recording, this was made on a low grade piece of tech. This transmission may have taken hours to arrive. Poe began to shake his head as you hurriedly spoke. “Nix took me from my undercover mission on Coruscant. He does not serve the Resistance. There seems to-” Poe was horrified when you were cut off by Altross in the doorway of the hologram. His voice was as sharp as daggers and Poe watched as he crossed to you.

“What have we here?” he asked, armed with a blaster in his hand, another strapped to his hip and two bounty hunters Poe didn’t recognize. Altross continued to walk toward you. You seemed so defenseless.

“Little girl,” Altross cooed as he grabbed you by the arm, “we’re going to have to take care of you. Perhaps a good memory wipe will do the trick?” Memory wipe? Poe remembered you talking about some form of interrogation that involved memory loss. He remembered that you claimed it was incredibly painful and most did not live through the procedure. Poe was livid by the time he watched Altross grab you. The transmission ended just before Altross laid his hand on your arm.

“Nix took me from my undercover mission on Coruscant. He does not serve the Resistance.”

The whole room was silent. Poe was running out of the room before anyone could stop him. Although, from the footsteps he heard behind him, he knew he wasn’t alone. Poe was going to wring Altross’ neck.

Connix watched as Poe and Finn dashed out of the room. BB-8 whirled after them. She and General Calrissian shook their head. They knew Altross would be long gone by now.

“Can we trace the location of the transmission?” Calrissian asked Connix.

“Only if we work quickly,” Connix dashed out of the room to bring the comm with the transmission to one of the hackers on the ship. The Resistance only had a few trust worthy hackers, but they were the best in the galaxy. If anyone could find your location, it would be them.

Calrissian was left in the meeting room alone.

“May the force be with you, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

PART 4

A/N: These chapters just keep getting longer and more fun to write! Thank you guys for all the kind words. Chapter 4 and 5 may take a little longer to write, but they will be here before you know it. Let me know what you think, please!

#poe dameron #poe DAMNeron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x oc #Poe Damn son #star wars x reader #star wars: the rise of skywalker #star wars imagine

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years ago

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As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 12 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11)

Nixon - May 31 - June 6, 1944 “The tables are secure?”  

“Yes.” “And do you have everything you need for your presentation to the officers and non-coms?” “Yes.”

  “What about the pointer?" 

Nixon whirled around to face Emily, “Shouldn’t I be asking you these questions?” “Well, everything should be packed up. I just want to make sure. I won’t be coming until after you, so I want to make sure you have everything you need before I get there,” Emily explained. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m not presenting until after you get there.” It was early morning and the caffeine from Nixon’s first cup of coffee was still making its way into his bloodstream. Headquarters was consumed with movement; staff members darted in and out of the building carrying boxes full of maps and tools, carrying footlockers, crates of supplies which they loaded onto the backs of trucks. Emily held a clipboard upon which she had pinned a list of everything their department was responsible for. They were on brink of the allied invasion into Normandy. Once they got to Upottery Airfield, Nixon would be responsible for briefing the officers and the troops on the invasion plan. Every day up until the day of days he would be working to make sure every single paratrooper knew every single detail of the plan of attack. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy when Nixon climbed into his jeep; whether it was nervous or excited energy he wasn’t sure. The airfield was alive with action when Nixon arrived; men were putting up tents, unloading arms, and other supplies. “Nix,” Dick Winters walked over towards Nixon, “glad you could join us.” “Hard to believe it’s really happening, huh?” Nixon replied. “Any idea of where we’re going?”  “Oh so now you want me to tell you?” Nixon teased his friend who had shown barely any interest in his divulgement of information before. Winters shrugged and his mouth turned up slightly, “I think I have a bit of an idea.” “Well good, keep guessing. I’m not going to be responsible for the leak on this one - too risky.” “What happened to my fearless friend?”  “It’s not fear, it’s embarrassment I want to avoid.” Nixon said wryly, “what kind of intelligence officer would I be if I let the secret of the allied invasion slip?”  Winters narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to read his thoughts. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Nixon said and clapped Winters on the shoulder. Nixon had enough time to get settled in and to oversee the organization of the intelligence tent before Emily arrived with the remainder of the intelligence staff. In only a few hours, Emily and Nixon had to brief the regimental officers with the geographical details of the plan of action and what resources should be expected. The execution order of Operation Overlord had come from General Eisenhower himself so of course, Colonel Sink knew what his troops' objective was in the coming days. But the top-secret campaign into Normandy was a battle that intelligence staff across the allied nations had been waging for months. Since Dunkirk, codebreakers, scientists, and engineers had been preparing to return to the continent. Nixon and Emily had been part of that effort and now it was time to fill in their superiors on every tidbit of information that would help them achieve victory. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get started.” Colonel Sink sat down at the head of the table that stretched through a large tent, one of the first to be put up at Upottery. Emily passed around briefing memos and situation maps. “In theory, the only people in the regiment who know the who, what, and where about this invasion are in this room.” Sink scanned the limited faces of the most senior officers, “it is vital that we keep information on a need-to-know basis. That being said, it's about time we briefed our troops so that they are prepared when the day is decided, which will be any day now. Cap’n Nixon, and his lovely assistant here, are to fill us in on exactly what we need to know so that you all can inform your subordinates on the plan of action.” “Miss Rooney will you be able to take notes?” Lt. Colonel Strayer asked from Sink’s left. “Oh, uh I-,” “Miss Rooney was prepared to present actually,” Nixon jumped in, “she’s a professional cartographer and is an expert on the region.” “Oh,” Strayer looked between Nixon, Emily, and the other officers in the room, “but you know this stuff too right Nixon?” “I do, sir.”

 “Then why don’t you present the information so Miss Rooney can take notes?”  

“Sir, I-,” Nixon prepared to object. “Lewis, let’s not bicker like old fishwives. The notes are important. No offense, but I trust Miss Rooney’s handwriting more than yours.” Emily and Nixon exchanged a frustrated look of defeat. With pursed lips, Emily retrieved a pad of paper and took a seat in the corner behind Nixon. The enormity of what was about to be attempted settled across the tented room once Nixon finished the presentation. Colonel Sink cleared his throat, “okay men, I want every soldier in this regiment to know this area like the back of his hand. Let’s get the job done.” Sink stood up, prompting the other officers to rise, and walked out onto the airfield.

 “Nicely done,” Emily said to Nixon once the room was clear. She began collecting the maps and memos left behind. “Thank you for putting it all together.” “Happy to do my job.” There was a slight bitterness in Emily’s voice, and Nixon couldn’t blame her. “Hey, I’m sorry about,” Nixon gestured vaguely, “ya know, all that.” “Don’t worry about it,” Emily said resignedly, “story of my life.” “Yeah but you’re a professional, you’re smart and capable.” “Thank you Lew, but even you thought of me as a secretary when I first arrived. Remember?”

  Nixon winced at the memory. He didn’t know what to say. It was true, he had referred to her as a secretary despite her significant professional experience for her age. “Don’t worry about it,” Emily repeated, “I appreciate you trying to stick up for me.” She stacked the memos into a neat pile within a manila folder. “By the way, I’m headed south tonight.” “Already?” Nixon asked. Emily shrugged and tried to smile, “well, who knows when the day will actually be. Could be in five days, could be tomorrow. Don’t want to miss my ship.” “But you’re not going day of right?” “No,” Emily shook her head, “thankfully. I’ll go over a few days later with the nurses and other non-essentials.” “Non-essentials,” Nixon scoffed. “That’s me,” Emily winked at Nixon. “So I guess I’ll see you over there.” The space around them suddenly felt heavy. Her words felt insufficient. Best case scenario, they would see each other over there and the magnitude of that reality was not lost on either of them. Nixon searched for the right words. What was there to say when it was only a maybe goodbye? He didn’t even want to acknowledge the chance that he may never see this woman again.  “I’ll see ya,” Nixon settled on. Emily held his gaze and smiled softly; nothing more needed to be said. Then in a breath, she exited out the tent flap and out of sight. A moment after she was gone a thought popped into Nixon’s head. He bolted out of the tent flap after her, “Emily!” he shouted. She turned and Nixon felt his breath leave him. Something about her innocent expression drenched in the evening's sun was stupefying. Then her face twisted into disgruntled confusion, “what?” she demanded. That was his girl, Nixon thought. Nixon walked a few paces towards her. “I’ve got something for ya,” he tossed her a little box. “What’s this?” she opened the plain, narrow box and tipped the contents into her palm. Out slipped an ornate gold tube of, “lipstick!” she shrieked. “Yeah,” Nixon shrugged, “not that you need it. But I noticed you were running out.”  

“Bésame?” Emily read the label, “where on earth did you get this?” “I have my ways!” Nixon winked, “look at the shade.” “Victory red,” Emily smiled up at him. “Perfect isn’t it?” Nixon allowed himself to grin back at her, “perfect for you.” Emily threw her arms around his neck, “Thank you, Lew!” “Sure,” Nixon unwrapped her arms, “anyways, consider that my parting gift. Gotta have you looking good your first time in France.” The next couple of days were filled with adrenaline and anticipation as the men of the 506th prepared to be called into action. On June 4th, they thought the day had come but due to poor weather across the channel, the jump was delayed. Nixon could sense the tension among the men. Few feelings are worse than hyping yourself up for something that wasn’t to come. There was nothing to do but wait. Nixon took a sip from his flask and wandered outside for some fresh air. The moisture from the storm cooled the evening air. He sighed in relief; just a few steps outside felt like an escape from the nervous energy that permeated the musty tent. Nixon took another swig from his flask and leaned against one of the stacks of boxes. He was so glad to be away from everyone - he couldn’t bear the anxiety of the other men. It was difficult enough to stay focused and too easy to fall into a pit of fear. He had to stay optimistic. Winters must have shared in his restlessness because Nixon saw him emerge from between two tents. “I think it’s clearing up,” he said. Winters gazed up at the sky. “Think it’s clearing up?” Nixon asked walking over. “Nope,” Winters said, pulling on his gloves. Nixon shook his head. Winters was the eternal realist to Nixon’s ironic optimism. “I think it’s clearing up,” Nixon insisted. The two men began to walk down the airfield, the gray sky hanging above them. Nixon didn’t have the energy to discuss the inevitable. Winters didn’t seem to either but seemed contented to walk in silence, which Nixon was not. Determined to think of other things Nixon said, “Five o’clock in New York,” he paused, “four o’clock in Chicago.” “Happy hour huh?” Nixon chuckled, this was why Winters was his best friend. He met him wherever he was. With only a few words, they were on the same page; equally aware of the reality that faced them but understood that discussing it wouldn’t change anything at this point. So why waste the heartache? It was one of the longest nights of Nixon’s life. There seemed to be nothing to do and everything to do at the same time. How does one prepare for an experience they’ve never had before? Everything was organized, everything planned to the minute detail but who was to say what would actually happen when they touched ground in France? No one knew because no one had ever done it before.

 Finally, on the night of June 5th, the 506th Airborne was cleared for departure. They would be dropping down into Normandy in the early hours of June 6th, only hours before the armies would storm the beaches. Nixon loaded into his plane and sat beside Colonel Strayer. They each had a map in hand and were discussing strategy as the remainder of the regiment geared and loaded up. Nixon didn’t have time to be scared. He had to make sure that everything was ready and in position for the men when they arrived at the assembly zone. If he were being honest, he was grateful to have a distraction. It kept the fear at bay as they lifted off the airfield and flew into the setting sun.

#band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #lewis nixon #original character #emily rooney #lewis nixon x oc #as far as friends go #dick winters #dday #june 6

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