#eugene angst

[rhmis-user-2020]

Moon Eugene

[brokenpieces-72]

Railed

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TW: Character death, exhaustion and some grief, let me know if there is more.

Task Force 141's journey into the island wasn’t one they were unused to, coming in via a rowboat though was a little different. That and wearing bullet-proof vests under more civilian attire. Price was wearing his beanie, with a brown jacket, a sweater underneath. Soap had his dark jacket on, zipped up all the way, room only at the collar. Gaz had on his coat and a grey shirt. Ghost had his hood up, wearing both a hoodie and coat, along with his balaclava. Each of them had basic hunting rifles and packs with standard gear inside. John had been under prepared before but never felt like it. They were going in with minimal knowledge and a guide or two somewhere on the island. This was more blind than any of them wanted. But it was all they had… time to clean up this disaster.

Once they reached the shore the boat was hauled on to the land, and hidden with what they could find. The boat was the only way back, and if it came down to it, they would need someway of getting back and hopefully getting proper evacuation measures. For now though too much commotion would lead to national involvement. Find the girl or the old man, eliminate the threat, and let the rest carry out. That was their mission.

“Where do we start?” Kyle asked his captain.

“Right now we’re four men on a hunting trip. We ask around for the girl.” Price said. If only it could have been that easy.

“Steaming Jesus.” Johnny breathed looking at the old man’s body. He had been taking them to find the girl when they’d witnessed Charles first hand. The monster was a thing of twisted nightmares. Despite their efforts to rid themselves of the thing then and there, taking pot shots and firing with the mounted weapon. Didn’t stop the thing from getting a hold of the man, Eugene and taking a bite before scurrying off to Satan knows where. If any of them had any doubts, they were gone now. The men had reached him as he breathed his last words, telling them to find the eggs, find his son and the girl.

Kyle crouched next to him and shut Eugene’s eyes. The hole in the body was huge. Simon got down on the other side getting Eugene’s arm around his shoulder. “Kyle.”

No more instruction was needed as Kyle assisted the lieutenant with moving Eugene off the tracks. Price and Johnny both keep an eye out weapons posted, ready for the monster if it decided to come storming back for another mouthful. Branches and leaves covered the dead man.

“Laswell’s intel was spot on.” Price said, sounding almost disappointed. “Right let’s go find the girl.”

The men followed their captain back to the train, and surprisingly it still ran. Simon took the controls, moving the train forward. Kyle stuck near the gun at the back with Soap close by and Price sitting on a small bench inside. The reality, if you could even call it that, was sinking in. A reality that shouldn't even be a reality. The question that remained was whether to contact Laswell to get evacuation ready or to try and kill the damn thing. The girl had already sent it to a number of big names, ones that wouldn't hesitate to come in with heavy fire power. Laswell was trying to reduce the damage that could be done.

The four men continue moving in silence, while Simon periodically checks the map to ensure they're headed where Eugene was taking them. The old man had been glad to see them, almost excited. Finally some help had come, and he was more than willing to tell them everything they needed to know, answer their questions, give them names that would help them on the island. Walked and talked like he was a veteran monster hunter or something. Showed them respect. When Charles attacked, he was calling shots.

Death was something the 141 were familiar with but the monster… that fucking monster. It was a death that would stick with them.

They made it to the train shed, stopping it just outside the shut door. There was an old house nearby likely where someone lived. Price got out and pounded on the door of the shed. There was a bit of rustling inside. Probably you, reaching for a weapon. The rest of his men stayed back, hovering around the train. John overheard a gun reloading as he was looking to his men for a moment. He tensed and had his hand on the trigger of his own gun. Then he heard your voice

“Steven King.” He heard you say through the door.

“Dark Tower?” Price replied. It sounded almost like a question. There was quiet, and then the creaking of the door opening a crack. It was chained up on the other side, leaving only a couple inches for him to see some young eyes peering through.

“…who are you?” You asked.

“Captain John Price, SAS.” John answered. The door shut and the chains were removed on the other side while his men came a little closer. The door opened slowly and Price looked down to see a teenager with bandages on her arms and a rifle… pointed at him. Seeing his men behind him, you pointed the rifle towards them, eyes looking startled. Price stepped back out, arms out from his sides. You looked between him and his men. No, you was looking for something, someone.

“Stand down.” He called back. The men lowered their own weapons and you followed suit. After a long breath dropping the gun, you shouldered the rifle. Likely been holding your breath that whole time.

“They sent help.” You said, looking at Price and then the rest of the 141, then back at Price. “Come in.”

The all four filed in, their clothes dotted with rain. The pattering of drops could be heard above them on the old roof. Inside was another train engine, but it was in a repaired state. You shut the door looping the chain around it, but leaving it unlocked. On one of the walls was another series of photos, notes and rough drawings. You came over to them, ready to get started.

“Can’t believe it worked. Won’t lie, it’s was like a 10% chance someone might actually check the videos. Even Eugene wasn’t sure, he wanted to contact an archivist on the mainland. He should be on his way here soon.” You said, the men went very quiet. You had been through some shit, under those long pants they expected was the cause of your limp, and who knows what else.

“He’s dead.” Simon stated. Not an emotional man but there was sympathy in his voice.

“What…” your face plummeted. Never an easy part of the job. Their silence confirmed their truth. You started to wander around the room, as if you might find a different answer. Your fingers picked at your bandages and nails, even your hair. “How?”

“That fuckin nightmare.” Johnny said. There was a hard “fuck” heard from you. You paused and looked between the four men. You wiped your nose with your arm. You straightened your back to attention, focusing on the objective.

“Right. I’m just finishing repairs on this one, you have the one from Eugene, there’s parts and pieces around the islands but unfortunately I’m public enemy number two, so in order to get them it requires running errands. Sorry to say. Uh… some of them may have weapons we could also use, and there is a final plan but it’s flawed so…yeah that’s all I got.” You said ending with a shrug.

“What’s the plan?” Simon asked. You gestured to map on the wall.

“There’s a wooden bridge, I’ve gone over it more than once but Charles never follows, he runs off. He knows it won’t hold his weight, and below is… a tiger trap.”

“Tiger trap?” Kyle asked. This was certainly primitive.

“Yeah like in the most dangerous game, but instead of sticks its broken rails, rocks and some other debris. The plan is to try and get him on the bridge, detonate it, blowing him sky high and let gravity do the rest.” You explained. “The only problem is getting him across. We… I think if we get the eggs and put them in this sort of altar temple thing it might get him enraged and pursue anything moving across that bridge… getting the eggs is a whole other story.”

The sound of your voice wasn’t positive. It sounded defeated throughout the plan. Even with the extra help there were limitations, limitations they were intent on overcoming. But you. You were tired and had lost your friend. By the sounds of it everyone on the island knew how to avoid Charles. That gave them time and less to worry about. There the masked mob but that could be dealt with later. It was pouring and you needed to finish up some repairs.

“How long will the rest of those repairs take?” Price asked.

“…an hour, maybe.” you replied. “If you need somewhere to rest or… something my place is up the way, it’s not locked. I’ll be along shortly.”

“And your name?” He asked.

“Everyone calls me brat…” you answered. Seeing the unwavering expressions of the men you cleared your throat. “Y/N. Call me Y/N.”

Taglist @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[kawaiiiuniverssse]

Just watched Tangled for the first time in a while and now I can’t stop thinking about HuskerDust in their roles.

[lamialamia]

Sledgefu + a Song that is written for Them (3/3)

spotify template made by @danesdehaan

[ithinkabouttzu]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request some of your amazing headcanons? How would Easy Company react to you telling them that you can't have kids/can't have a family with them? Totally okay if you don't feel comfortable with it. Thank you either way, and have a great day! 😁♥️

Easy co. reacting to you not wanting/not being able to have children.

A/n: Hi! Thank you so much for your request my love! I’m so sorry this took so long to write, but i hope you enjoy! 💝

genre: angsty, comfort to fluff!

warnings: TW: Infertility, sadness, depression, relationship difficulties, swearing.

description: Some of the men reacting to their s/o (you) not being able or not wanting to have kids.

taglist: @executethyself35 @linhkhanhcps @1waveshortofashipwreck @grumpy-liebgott @barbeygirl @samwinchesterslostshoe @ronsenthal @sweetxvanixlla @mstiemountainhop (If you want to be on this list, let me know!! :))

BoB masterlist

Dick Winters: When you break the news to him, the first thing he’s doing is making sure you are okay. It probably took a lot to tell him, especially if you and he both wanted kids. “Well, are you alright?” He might feel a little sad at first but he quickly changes his perspective on it. As long as you aren’t saddened by it then he isn’t either. Besides he knows there are probably tons of little ones in the adoption system that could use an amazing home like yours and his.

Lewis Nixon: “That’s all right, doll.” When you tell him he's very soft and understanding around you. It doesn’t bother him one bit that you can’t have kids. If you really wanted them though, he would comfort you for as long as you needed. If kids weren’t something you really wanted anyway he would still make sure and ask if you were alright. He tries his best to make some positive of the situation by saying stuff like, “Well at least we won’t be having to change blowout diapers or swim in college debt anytime soon.”

Carwood Lipton: “Oh honey, I'm sorry.” The first thing he’s doing when you tell him the news is wrapping you up in a big warm hug. Whether you wanted kids or not, he's going to be comforting you and making sure that you are okay no matter what. He would be a little sad just because he would love to have family with you, but he knows IVF and surrogacy are options also, plus adoption. If you didn’t want kids at all he would 100% support your decision, he just wants you to be happy.

Joe Toye: When you let him know that you aren’t able to have kids, he’s honestly crushed. He would never tell you that or show that to you, but he dreams of having a family with you. (Mans literally forgot adoption was a thing) He wants to console you by gifting you a bunch of things or taking you on lots or dates, just to take your mind off of it. He loves you so much, having kids doesn’t even really matter when it comes down to it. As long as he’s your man, he’s happy.

Joe Liebgott: He knows if he’s sad about the news, you would be sad too, even more than he was. “It’s alright sweet thing. I’ll always be here for you.” If you really wanted kids he would remind you that you guys still could have a perfect little family together, surrogacy or adoption are both great options. He reminds you over and over again that there was nothing you or could change about it and you are completely perfect the way you are.

Bill Guarnere: In his way of thinking, he would rather have his significant other and no kids, than kids and no significant other. He would hate to ever lose you in any way. So when you tell him that you can’t have kids it doesn’t affect your relationship with him a whole lot. As long as you are okay with it, then he is okay with it too. If you were saddened by it he would hold you and tell you everythings gonna be okay, “We’re gonna figure this out honey, don’t worry.”

George Luz: He wraps you up in a big hug when you tell him. This sweet baby doesn’t even really understand the details of it all, but he knows that he’s gonna love you matter what, kids or not. He would choose you over and over again even if kids were off the table. If children was something you wanted I think he would kinda be like nix, saying stuff like, “Well at least we won’t have to stay up all night with screaming and dirty diapers?” He tries to make everything as positive as possible. He’s gonna love you no matter what.

Bull Randleman: “Well how do you feel about all this?” He kinda bases his emotions on what you’re feeling at the moment and if you’re okay with no kids or if you aren’t. He would feel sad only a little at first but then he realizes you guys could always adopt and isn’t really sad after that. He is the sweetest guy ever about the whole thing. He just wants to hold you and promise you that everything will and is going to be okay. “It’s all gonna work itself just out, don’t worry about you and me sweetheart.”

Eugene Roe: Gene is kinda similar to Winters in this case. In his way of thinking, he took vows to love you and be there for you no matter what. He would never think of you any differently. He just wants to make sure you are alright about the whole thing. “I’m sorry. Cheri. Is there anything I can do?” If you are sad he will do just about anything to make you feel better, he loves you so much.

Floyd Talbert: “It’s okay Angel, everything is gonna be okay.” I think when you tell him he wouldn’t be sad or anything, mostly just surprised. He wants to make sure you aren’t sad about it before he says or does anything else. He would try to cheer you up on the situation if you were sad about it, reminding you adoption is always a good option and just you and him would be perfect as it is now. I could see him surprising you with a nice vacation somewhere to cheer you up.

Skip Muck: He doesn’t say anything really, just because he fears he might fuck something up if he does. The look on his face explains everything for you. You can tell he’s sad, sad for you and him. That’s during the initial reaction, if you still wanted kids though, he would love to adopt with you or start some sort of surrogacy. If you didn’t want a family at all he would be crushed at first but he would move on eventually.

Don Malarkey: If you and him were having fertility issues, he would feel like it’s his fault the entire time, he just wants to give you that perfect little family you guys have always dreamed of. It’s easy to say that when he finds out about you not being able to have/don’t want to have children he would just feel terrible about the whole thing. If you didn’t want kids he would feel like maybe he pressured you somehow about it and would also feel terrible about that. He’s totally encouraging and caring of you though.

Shifty Powers: “Don’t worry about it all right now, we’re still young, we've got our whole lives to figure this stuff out.” He’s so validating during the whole process of baby stuff. Constantly telling you not to worry about it, if it's meant to be that you guys have children, then let it be. If it isn’t, then it just isn’t. But whatever decision you make, he's going to support you 100%.

Babe Heffron: He’s silent. So fucking silent. “So what do you want to do now, honey?” He wants you to decide any further options as far as children go, whether you want to adopt, or not have any kids at all, it’s completely up to you. He would sit there and rub your back softly, whispering soft words of affirmations to you (and himself too) if you were sad about the situation. “It’s gonna be okay, it will all workout doll.”

Ronald Speirs: He’s a bit like Gene here. He promised you to be there “In sickness and in health” and he’s completely sticking to that. You’re his girl/boy, nothing comes between that. If you had felt saddened by the situation he would offer to buy you comfort food, or take you out on a nice date, anything to get it off of your mind. “It’s alright honey. We’re gonna be a-okay.” He’s so soft and patient with you during this time, it’s sweet enough to make you cry.

Johnny Martin: “Oh sweetheart, don’t be sad. We will figure this all out.” He might be just a tad bit snappy at times, but when you tell him the news he is as gentle as a sheep. He will stay there with you, hold your hand softly and take care of you for as long as need be. It absolutely breaks his heart to see you sad and he wants to do anything to make you feel better.

Skinny Sisk: He looks like a sad puppy dog when you tell him the news. He feels sad for you mostly. If you had wanted to be a parent he would hug you so tight and tell you how sorry he is about all of this. He would try taking you out and do all sorts of things to cheer you up (even if that meant making himself look like an absolute fool). He’s the most supportive s/o ever so it just makes your guys’ relationship stronger in the end.

David Webster: He doesn’t really even know what to think about the whole situation. All he knows is that he needs to be there by your side and support you through it all. If you do get really saddened by it, I think he would try and read to you to help make you feel better. Just hearing his soft voice tumble through the words is enough to make you feel better than you were before.

Chuck Grant: He gives you the most “I'm sorry” look ever. He doesn’t say a word to you, just takes you in and holds you close, making sure to plant soft little kisses on your head while you let out all of your emotions. “We’re gonna get through this baby, you and me together.” He keeps close to you for the next couple of weeks, watching you almost like a hawk because he just wants to take care of you and make sure you are okay.

Buck Compton: “I'm so sorry sweet girl/boy. Is there anything I can do?” He doesn’t even really care for kids at the moment, just making sure you are okay is his top priority. If you had wanted kids, he would keep apologizing to you over and over about how sorry he was. He would give you some of his famous bear hugs when you’re feeling sad about it. If you didn’t want kids or a family he would be understanding of it, bc I mean kids are a LOT of work.

Thank you again for your request and support! If you enjoyed this, please like or reblog if you can! Love you all! 🥹🤍

[hardbeingcasual]

heyyyy, i read your carl fic and was wondering if you would write another one but with Rosita this time? One where its angsty and based in s11 where she dies 🫶

THE WAY THINGS GO! / R. ESPINOSA

♪ THE WAY THINGS GO, BEABADOOBEE / TWD MASTERLIST / MASTERLIST

summary — when rosita gets bit, the reader can’t help but wish it was her in rosita’s place.

warnings — death, normal stuff for twd, short story

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You never took the news well, finding out Rosita was bit, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

You never got to tell her how you really feel.

You couldn’t help but wish you were in her place, she had her whole life ahead of her still, she had to raise Coco, she can’t grow up without her mother, she already lost her father.

Then theres you, you had nothing, your family was dead. All you had left was Rosita, she was your purpose.

There she lay, almost lifeless. You couldn’t help but get teary eye as you looked at her. She insisted you sat next to her, so you did.

“Don’t cry.” She tells you, but you can’t help it, how do you gain the courage to tell her how you feel when shes on her death bed?

She grabs your hand and rubs her thumb over your palm, her bloodshot eyes meet with yours, her tears falling down her cheeks, you lift your hand to wipe them.

“You know I love you, right?” She says with such sincerity, her voice hoarse.

Your lip quivers at that moment, your tears falling like a storm, you shake your head “I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

“Of course I do.” She sits up a bit, leaning her forehead against yours, her hand fully connecting with yours now. “Take care of Coco for me okay?”

“Rosita I can’t.” You dismiss her but she wasn’t having it.

“Please, I want to know shes in good hands, I trust you.” You catch her eye, before nodding, letting out an agreement.

“I’ll protect her, my life depends on it.” You promise her. After loosing Rosita, you cannot let Coco get hurt. She’s your priority now, no matter what. She’s the last piece of Rosita you have.

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#TAGS @icebergiounge @nfrvampire

[tatarella]

Eugavus Angst AU - Gavus „The Mourning Mage“ Re-Awakening / SSP

Putting the pictures behind the cut due to potentially triggering content, please mind the tags if you are uncomfortable with mild(ish) body horror.

This is based on some light lore theorycrafting spun up by users on the GaGene Nation Discord server after discussing what the new hero Adrian might have done or not have done with his partner, Elyse. How would the dads react in a similar situation?

For some reason I wanted to do a fun little concept for a corrupted Gavus based on this and got way too into it. 🙈

Scenario: Eugene passes away and leaves a mentally broken Gavus and his cube behind. Knowing that the cube offers endless possibilities in the hands of a capable holder, Gavus tries to use it to bring Eugene back from the dead. Due to his incompatibility with the cube‘s power however, his already fragile mind and body get corrupted, turning Gavus into a Hypogean abomination with just one goal in mind: finding a way to return his love to him.

Initial sketch:

„After having no tears left to cry, he sought to become one with what remained of his love. Maybe with this newfound power, he could bring him back?“

The idea was that Gavus body struggled to contain the power of the cube, hence his skin slowly cracking like porcelain. Behind it is a black void with the red markings of the cube swirling within.

Costume/Weapon concept (including a full version without the noisy background):

The red scarf is Eugene‘s cape which Gavus took with him after Eugene died.

He embedded the Trickster‘s Cube into his chest where his heart is, hence the corruption spreading.

His Celestial body and clothes are incompatible with the magic of the cube, this is why it corrupts his limbs and burns his clothes. Eugene‘s cape is not affected because it still has Eugene‘s compatibility. (I found out that the program I‘m using for digital art actually has a very neat brush for a cloud/stain effect AFTER painstakingly painting the burn marks on his clothes by hand. 😂 )

SSP Gavus‘ weapon is a merged version of Eugene‘s Weapon and his own, broken SP ring. Including more cube corruption, OF COURSE.

Gavus actually succeeds in bringing Eugene back from the dead, but at the cost of his sanity and becoming a Hypogean himself.

Eugene is NOT happy about what Gavus did and somehow finds a way to wake Dura (and in the progress ascending as a Celestial himself), just to ask her to return his husband to the status as Celestial.

Bonus picture: Celestial Eugene (whom I accidentally outlined on the sketch layer because I‘m very slow of brain, so you gotta live with my red sketchy lines 🥲).

I took the chance and gave him a cute little low ponytail!

Now I need some fluff.

[lllivia]

roadtrip, baby!!

Jenna ortega x fem!reader

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°★.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°★.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Jenna's pov

After working myself to exhaustion for months on end without a stop, it's good to finally have some time off to be with my beautiful girlfriend. We were thinking of going on a road trip with no decided destination, just seeing where we would end up. After prepping Y/N's car with everything we were going to need, we set off.

About an hour into the ride I put my hand on Y/N's thigh getting bored of just looking at the road, I could feel her glancing at me for a second before looking at the road again, I pretended like I didn't notice anything just continuing to watch my phone.

"Where do you want to stop first" Y/N's voice said being muffled my my headphones, taking them off I thought. "Well I am kinda hungry... Maybe some kind of gas station? I've been craving a salmon wrap" I said thinking out loud "Ooo that sounds nice" Y/N responded while pulling into the parking lot of a gas station, I couldn't help but find it attractive at how focused she was. "Come on then" she said opening the car door for me and pecking me on the lips. We walked inside holding hands, my face covered in some sunglasses and a hoodie in case some fan noticed me, don't get me wrong I love my fans but right now it's my time off and I only want my gorgeous girlfriend fawning over me, and not thousands of strangers.

I walked around looking for some yummy snacks for me and Y/N to share when I noticed her laughing at something someone said to her over the phone, I picked the snacks I liked before walking over to her waiting for her to pick what she liked. "Aww that's so adorable" she giggled barely paying attention to me as I grabbed onto her arm leaning against her. "What are you talking about?" I asked slightly irritated at not being able to hear what was being said on the other side of the phone. "Oh nothing dw, just something Natasha did" she smiled before laughing again at something Natasha said. Does that mean she just called her adorable? Why the fuck would she do that in front of her own girlfriend. I put my things down before storming out to the car sitting down in my seat, and locking the doors, my frustration about Y/N already hanging too much out with Nat rising at the fact that she decided to talk when it was our alone time together.

Y/N's pov

I looked over my shoulder shocked, why did Jenna just storm out like that, one minute she was talking about how much she was craving a salmon wrap and wanting snacks for the ride and the next moment she's looking like she wants to kill someone? What is her problem, she's been working in Romania for months and then when she's finally off work she acts like this?

I went and bought everything she was craving before heading out back to the car. I walked over to the driver's side trying to smile and lifting up my arms showing her what I got, Jenna only looked for a second before turning back to her phone, I tried pulling the door handle only for it to be locked. "Are you serious Jenna?? What'd I even do to you oh my god" I said with my voice slightly raised hurt that she was being like this. She only opened the door for me in response never lifting her gaze from the screen in front of her.

Jenna's pov

We drove in silence, the only sound to be heard was the traffic outside. I wanted to talk to her, but at the same time I was too pissed to utter anything, so I just turned up the volume on my music and closed my eyes hoping to fall asleep.

"Jenna? Jenna wake up, we're at the hotel" I heard Y/N's voice say, fluttering my eyes open I turned down the sound of the music and stepped out of the car. "Come on we've already reserved a room for us to stay in tonight" Y/N said carrying both of our baggage inside of the fancy hotel, after getting our keys and entering our room I opened my bag finding my toothbrush. "Are you ready to talk about why you're acting like such a brat now?" I just rolled my eyes walking into the bathroom. "You know what, this is so stupid, I'm leaving" I flinched slightly at the door slamming behind her, already regretting acting like such a bitch, I looked at myself in the mirror before running out the doors after chipping my shoes on. I looked down the hallway before speed walking down the stairs and into the lobby, I started to worry slightly she must have already gone out. I walked out slowly as to not attract too much attention. After walking by the water next to the hotel for about fifteen minutes I finally spotted my girlfriend sitting at a bench looking out at the water. I walked over as fast as I could before sitting down next to her turning and saying "I'm sorry" silence. "I'm sorry for ignoring you and not telling you why, I was honestly just jealous of that girl, you're just so close to her and it just, it makes me kinda insecure, and I couldn't get the image of you two out of my head, and then you calling her adorable was the last straw, also my work has been stressing me out lately and I haven't been sleeping enough." I admitted ashamed of myself. "Then you should have just told me Jenna, I could have just stopped talking to her, you're the love of my life and I would do anything for you. Also I wasn't calling Natasha adorable, she had learned her puppy how to high five" Y/N smiled, finally getting why I was so mad. "Oh well you could of just said so" I grinned wrapping my arms around her, than pecking her on the cheek. "But we should get back to our room now, it's getting cold out here and it's late"

💗 Masterlist 💗

will most likely rewrite

- also might make a part 2 of them continuing the road trip

[evanesce-origin]

when i die (which i must do)

speirsroe have a good time during the war and nothing goes wrong (lying)

ao3 link

CW: major character death, canon-typical injuries, canon divergence. apologies in advance for the things ive written. blasphemy??? (religion as a consistent metaphor)

Speirs had long grown used to the incessant prickling of cold at his fingers, like thousands of pins finding a home in his skin. He paid little mind to it; whether he was in the foxholes or wandering aboveground, it was rare that any presence of warmth showed him what he was missing. It was another aspect of war that faded to background noise; the static of loss and gunfire rang somewhere in between. He flexed his fingers and shifted his weight as he stood overlooking the quiet forest ahead of him.

The thick blanket of snow muffled any sound that wasn’t one of impending violence.There was no movement from the rest of Dog company— most had long dug into their foxholes for the night. Whether they slept or not was another story. Sleep didn’t come easy to any of them anymore.

Speirs moved through the trees like a ghost. His afterimage haunted the forest with the footsteps he left behind, breath whisking itself into the air when it escaped from behind the scarf he hid his face behind. Stoicism was a facade he knew all too well, like holding a mirror to the suffocating cold that surrounded him and donning it as a sort of camouflage. It was comfortable there, in the stiff lines of his braced shoulders and the rigid curve of his spine.There was an unfortunate ease that came to him exploring the line, one that had arrived long before Bastogne. Somewhere just before Taccoa, when he’d accepted he was a dead man walking and had little reason to protest otherwise, the calm had settled in his veins like ice and hadn’t been shaken since.

In the space between Dog company and Easy company’s lines, it could’ve been easy to forget there was a war going on. If he wanted to, he could’ve pretended he was the only man in the world, surrounded by the bright light that reflected off the snow from the moon like a system of funhouse mirrors guiding the sunlight back to Earth. If he wanted to, he could’ve imagined a world of peace that wasn’t so harsh as to take the men he walked amongst, body and spirit. He didn’t, though.

The time for reflection was one Speirs cherished more than anyone else would ever know. He mulled over his experiences from the last few years and the way his heart had changed. A novel concept, the heart of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs; its existence a myth that the paratroopers often made jokes about. Hell, if he were anyone but himself, he’d be cracking the same jokes.

With this time, he thought of the first time he saw Eugene Roe. It’d been a sweltering summer, midday sometime in August, and Dog company had just finished running drills. Easy company, contrary to their name, wasn’t granted the opportunity for a break like they should’ve been. Sobel was running them into the ground, figuratively and literally, as he did often. Incessantly. Shouted orders, insults, and curses poured out of Sobel’s mouth so loudly they rang in the ears of men halfway across the fields. Most of the men in Easy company had at least some level of exasperation on their face, if not pure outrage and murder in their eyes. 

Roe’s face was a facade of calm, even when Sobel began arguing with Winters. He stood at attention as if he had been born to, familiarity and ease in the posture. It was only when Sobel said something blatantly wrong about code and a tactical decision Winters had apparently made earlier that week that Speirs saw a crack in that expression; a brief twinge of annoyance and fury that escaped as Roe’s gaze flickered from straight ahead of him to where Sobel stood. He set his jaw and raised his chin slightly.

There was an urge like a gut-punch that Speirs felt, nearly taking his breath away. The urge to dig at that crack, to unearth whatever was behind it and revel in it. The cold fire in Roe’s eyes had sparked something in his curiosity, and that was bad enough; Speirs didn’t get curious about the other men. He had no urge to know the others, not in the way that they seemed to intimately make friends despite their impending march to certain death, one he had accepted.

There was a part of his subconscious that had always kept track of Roe throughout their separate time at Toccoa. To be fair, he kept track of everyone. It was a force of habit, a way of keeping aware of his surroundings in a sense. Besides, he wanted to know the men he was going into the war with and their skill sets. There was no denying that his curiosity was far more than professional, however, and that ate at him like nothing else had.

Time in Europe before they officially dropped in Normandy had been a blessing, like the miracle of lightning striking a church. The first time they were in Aldbourne, there was much revelry to be had in the bars that remained standing, something all of the companies participated in without hesitation. Speirs didn’t find himself amongst them often, but on the rare occasions he did, there were a further few that overlapped with “Doc” Roe participating. The curiosity turned into a soul-felt hunger, one he tried his very best to ignore. This was one of few things Speirs wasn’t successful at, despite putting his mind to it.

Introductions were made eventually, casual and brief as they were between passing companies as a paratrooper brought Roe’s name up as an afterthought. Speirs refused to acknowledge the delighted twinge he felt at Roe’s accent, the low pitch of his voice bleeding into his thoughts like ink spilled upon a page, dark and all-encompassing as it clung to whatever it could reach. It was soft, something he didn’t often find comfort in, but the low rumble of Roe’s introduction and the subsequent way he shifted in his seat, grasping at his drink to avoid eye contact but not drinking, had Speirs settling in the chair across from him. Perhaps a conversation would satiate his curiosity, if he could just get a glimpse through the crack of his demeanor.

Looking back, this would be the moment that Speirs would declare everything had gone so very right and so horrifyingly wrong. He had never been a man of self control, though, and this characterisation would follow him to both of their graves. He was doomed from the very beginning, marching toward devastation as he followed the pure warmth of that Cajun accent. He would’ve followed it to the end of the war, too. 

Quiet, sparse conversations punctuated with mutual, easy silence over drinks that were rarely alcoholic gave a foundation to acknowledgement of each other outside the little dark corners they spent their time in. It was hard to reconcile with, though; the moments Speirs spent studying the intricacies of Roe’s face, with the dancing firelight shifting and giving a further brilliance to all the softest and sharpest parts of his features. The angle of his brows, the thin purse of his mouth as he contemplated something in their mutual silence, the abrupt yet rounded lines of his cheekbones.

And Jesus Christ, his eyes held storms Speirs would dive headfirst into if given the chance. They were dark, like the farside of the moon and just as enticing. He didn’t catch them often, as Roe preferred to stare down at the surface of their rickety table or glance around the bar with a paranoia troopers didn’t often acquire before dropping for the first time, but Speirs didn’t mind much. Roe asked Speirs occasional questions about the version of himself he’d left behind in the States, one that he’d slaughtered without hesitation in preparation for their upcoming conflicts. He didn’t mind taking those old bones out once in a while, though, and showing them off for Roe if he asked. Roe did the same on occasion too, giving little quips of Louisiana tales that felt distant to them both.

Roe told him about the church he went to and a fondness he had for his “Ma’s cookin’” and the simple delights of walking down the street to a local bakery. The little details were gifts, wrapped by Roe and sent over with tentative hesitation and a wariness in his eyes that gave way to something else if pried upon.

The cold in Speirs’ voice never seemed to put Roe off any, nor did the uneasy way he smiled or the haunting of his eyes that trailed around the room boring holes into the backs of the other men. His Cheshire cat smile did send a shiver down Roe’s back once or twice, but it didn’t seem to be a negative reaction from what Speirs could gather. Speirs wasn’t insecure about the way he was perceived, the demeanor he held so naturally that unsettled the others, but at the time he thought it would’ve been a shame if Roe was the type to be scared off so easily. He wasn’t.

When they caught each other outside of their little corner, it was brief and in passing, but no less appreciated. Once, Speirs had even caught a glimpse of the quirk of the corner of Roe’s mouth, and felt a sense of nonsensical accomplishment. The preparation and anticipation had left them all a bit haggard; drawing a smile out of Doc Roe meant he was doing something right. There weren’t many more opportunities for quiet conversations left before something was bound to happen; they were awaiting further orders from the chain of command. The energy around Aldbourne felt much like the lighting of a fuse, waiting for the bomb to go off. Speirs awaited it eagerly, Roe with a sense of God-fearing dread.

There were bags under those half-moon eyes the last time Speirs saw Roe before the drop on Normandy, more prominent than they usually were, and he felt an irritating itch in his fingertips to smooth them away. At no point had Speirs accounted for any sort of desire, in any sense of the word, rearing its ugly head and drawing his attention somewhere other than the immediate pressing matter of the war ahead of them. He wanted to call out reassurances, make a comment about comforts Roe would find in the rosary beads that hung around his neck, but that wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Instead, across the airfield, their eyes caught on each other; a momentary eclipse. Speirs nodded. Roe nodded. The moment ended.

Accounts from his memory of catching glimpses of Roe during D-Day and the days after were hazy at best. He wasn’t sure if they were accurate or simply his mind filling in the blanks of soldiers passing by in the heat of battle and maybe it didn’t matter. Having caught a flash of his dark eyes and darker hair as he sprinted across the field in Carentan, Roe felt much like an omen. The moon caught his eye in the same way overnight, in passing with a glowing reassurance Speirs didn’t have the time nor the energy to consider. 

The air in Aldbourne was different when they returned. Heavier, smokier, weighed down with the breath of devastation and heartache at what the military called a “mighty-successful mission.” Speirs could agree with that, and with the firm feeling of experience lodged in his chest at what he and D-company had accomplished. The familiar nagging of curiosity pushed him to find out what Roe thought about the whole matter, what he had emerged from the other side of D-Day with. If it had cracked him further, if he still clung to those rosary beads like they were the answer to the wreckage they’d been through.

They found each other eventually, coming together in an easy silence that provided some familiarity despite the fact that everything had changed with their first taste of combat. Speirs had flourished under the pressures and stress while Roe looked as if he were clinging to the semblances of normalcy, his hard eyes crinkled under the pressing crease of his downturned brows. Roe never volunteered tales of what he had been through and Speirs never asked. He could see them written on the creases of Roe’s face and oh God was it beautiful. The unease decorated Roe’s face like a veil and the horrors he had seen adorned his demeanor like the armor he wore to battle. Speirs found resolve in himself to dig himself under that armor, to work out the weak spots and dig his fingernails in until he drew blood.

The first few drinks Roe ordered were stronger than anything Speirs had ever smelt on his breath, but that didn’t last long. Roe just wasn’t a drinking man and that was one of the little quirks that made Speirs even more desperate to know him. One of the nights, after the other troopers got a bit too rowdy for his liking, Roe slammed his glass on the table and considered Speirs for a moment, eyelids heavy. “I’m gonna go on a walk.” He announced quietly, though he didn’t move.

It was an invitation. Speirs accepted it without a word, swinging his legs over his chair and yanking his coat off the back of it. Roe’s movements followed afterward, albeit with less gusto, which gave Speirs the time to shrug on his jacket and remove Roe’s from his own chair-back for him. Roe’s hands were tucked deep in the sleeves of his sweater, so Speirs simply draped his light jacket over his shoulders and struggled not to admire the way it hung over him. Roe mumbled a quiet thank you and they departed the little pub.

There was relative quiet in the streets. The distant shouts of drunk men clambering around the sidewalks hardly compared to the gunfire that had rang through their ears through the past few months. If a passerby were to guess by sound, they’d assume Roe was alone; Speirs’ footsteps were entirely silent, even and sure like a prowling cat. Roe fumbled for the pocket on his coat, unsuccessful as he battled his oversized sweater and the awkward settling of his coat where it was draped over his shoulders. “What are you looking for?” Speirs asked, amused.

“Smokes.”

Speirs obliged without another word, digging into his own pockets to retrieve a carton of cigarettes. “Not a drinker, but a smoker?”

“Yessir.”

Speirs chuckled and withdrew a lighter. He handed Roe a cigarette, which he promptly tucked between his lips. They paused in their steps, turning toward each other as Roe looked up at Speirs expectantly. Speirs raised the lighter to Roe’s mouth, crowding forward to block the wind from blowing the flame around as he lit it for him. For a long moment, Speirs’ eyes were locked in concentration on Roe’s mouth. He felt Roe startle slightly as he glanced up, sharp gaze boring holes into those storms like the sun breaking through clouds, before he looked back down to make sure the light caught. It had.

He moved away and they continued walking as Speirs began to fish out another cigarette for himself. “Uh, I don' mind sharin’. I’d hate for you to waste two at a time since you gave me one.” Roe’s voice was thick with…something.

That sharp pitch of delight returned tenfold and Speirs grinned down at Roe. “Alright.”

They continued their walk to anywhere and nowhere in the quiet amongst the stars. Roe’s fingers had escaped from the sweater to pinch at the cigarette, hands shaking from a nonexistent chill, skin calloused and warm as it brushed against Speirs’ hand when he passed it over. Speirs lingered for a moment. The thought of slipping his hand up the sleeves of Roe’s sweater and touching skin invaded his vision, enticing and unbearable. He wondered what he would find— what scars Roe was hiding, old and new. 

Their hands pulled apart and Speirs took the cigarette into his mouth. It was slightly damp with Roe’s saliva and Speirs relished in the way inhaling burned. When he glanced over at Roe, he was watching him, eyes transfixed on Speirs mouth. That Cheshire cat grin returned as he parted his lips to let the smoke escape his mouth like the gasp of a prayer, head tilted back to the starry sky. When his eyes caught Roe’s figure again, his hand had fumbled for his rosary beads in the absence of the cigarette. 

Speirs plucked the cigarette from his own lips after a few puffs, content to coast on what little nicotine he had gotten just to see it return to Roe. The medic stopped his fussing over the beads and accepted the cigarette graciously, with another brushing of hands and Speirs’ eyes tracking it as Roe put it back in his mouth. He closed his eyes when he inhaled, feather-light lashes fluttering against the rolling hills of his cheekbones.

A few blocks down the road, after contemplating in the silence, Speirs spoke again. “Do you pray often, Roe?”

“For my company, yes. For my patients.”

How honorable. “Do you have a favorite prayer?”

Roe recites it into the night and the ink bleeds through the folds of Speirs’ brain— he can feel it enter his bloodstream and crackle electricity through his bones. The rolling tone, the thick accent, “With all my heart.”

Perhaps, Speirs can understand the allure of worship. Vulnerability on the knees. This thought spurs on contemplation in him and he decides that maybe he does need that cigarette after all. Roe doesn’t comment as he fishes another out, but stops and turns to offer to light it for Speirs. He takes the invitation readily, though he goes about it differently; he tucks the cigarette into his mouth and dips his head to light it against Roe’s. The ember in Roe’s cigarette flares as he exhales sharply, those creases creeping out to dance across his skin as he furrows his brow and finds fascination in the tops of his shoes. “Thank you.” Speirs says, straightening his posture.

He takes a step to continue walking and it takes Roe a moment to catch up, taking a few large strides to walk beside Speirs again. They listen to the whooping of paratroopers down the road, a clattering, and the shattering of glass and Roe rolls his eyes. There are no screams of agony to indicate some sort of accident he has to attend to, and so he simply ignores the antics.

Speirs walks Roe back to the house he was assigned to, the family he’s bunking with long asleep at this point with all the lights off in the house. “Hope I didn’t keep you out past your curfew.” Speirs comments, teasing, as they pause at the door.

The corner of Roe’s mouth quirks up and he shakes his head. “No, sir. Somethin’ muss’ve convinced them that I’m capable. Maybe they heard there’s a war on.”

Speirs grinned and dug into his pocket once again. He grasped the lighter and dropped it into Roe’s pocket, knuckles brushing against his chest through the fabric of Roe’s shirt. “In case you need to light your own cigarettes next time.”

Roe opened his mouth to protest as Speirs spun on his heel to walk away, but Speirs raised a hand and, not too loudly, called out, “Get some rest, Doc. There’s a war on.”

Market-Garden is a resounding defeat. Nuenen more closely resembles Easy and Dog company being shot at like fish in a barrel than any military movement being executed. The death and destruction leaves bodies scattered in the streets that Roe is loath to ignore; the idea that a man can look dead but is still alive enough to be saved if he’d paid just a second more attention haunts him at night. He wonders how many men he’s left behind to die already, despite his oaths to leave no man behind. He wonders if the bloodstains will ever wash from his hands— he’s spent far too long over basins scrubbing his hands raw to not have an answer for that. He thinks he’ll feel it for the rest of his life. He wonders if the rosary around his neck is meaningless now with the ghost of a coating of blood preventing him from truly grasping it again. He wonders if he’ll ever feel clean again, if anyone will ever consider him clean again.

There’s plenty to do when they settle in one place after retreating. There were countless men injured, a limitless supply of bodies to keep Roe’s hands busy. He’s stitched more wounds than he can keep track of, soothed burns, removed shrapnel, and thrown sheets over the faces of men whose names he can’t even remember. And by God, despite all the bodies, it’s the loneliest work Doc Roe has ever done.

It isn’t until nightfall that he eventually gets a break, fully reliant on whatever amalgamation of supply crates stacked behind him to keep him up. He’d propped himself against them not five minutes ago, head tilted back against the harsh corners as he tried to breathe past the iron scent that clung to the inside of his nose. Back in his training days the smell of blood made him nauseous. The first three days he had real patients he couldn’t eat a single meal, couldn’t even bear the smell of food. Those days had passed and there was no other option than to push past the way his stomach turned if given the opportunity for a meal.

Captain Winters handed him something edible as he passed by, commenting on Roe’s good work. It didn’t feel much like good work but he nodded and thanked Winters nonetheless— at least with Winters he knew he wasn’t being bullshitted for encouragement, and that meant something to Roe. He ate whatever it was, lukewarm and stale-tasting, slowly as he tried to cycle through the casualties he confronted that day. There were far too many bodies, nameless bodies, for him to pray for them all, and it had become far more realistic for him to pray for the ones he could still protect. Captain Winters and Nixon. The rest of Easy company. A few faces outside of it. The nurses on the frontlines. He could pray for them.

Like a prayer answered, one of the faces outside Easy company materialized through the dark. Speirs was led by what Roe could only assume was one of his men, a strip of fabric pressed to the side of his face. A strip of fabric soaked in blood.

Roe’s dinner was tossed aside, dish and utensil clattering to the ground as he darted up from where he was sitting and stalked toward them, adrenaline running cold through his veins. “Get ‘m in here.” Roe commanded, voice louder than it had been in weeks.

Speirs seemed to perk up at the familiarity of Roe’s voice, though that disoriented glaze to his eyes and movements never shook off. The man assisted Speirs into the medic’s tent and promptly scattered when Roe pointed to the flap, stony-faced. The moment the man left Roe shifted his full attention to Speirs and covered the hand Speirs was using to hold the cloth to his face. “I’ve gotta take a look.” He said softly.

Speirs looked up at him, hazy and unsure, the amber of his eyes scanning Roe’s face. Despite what seemed to be a form of trauma—mental or physical, Roe wasn’t sure yet—Speirs was still on guard with rigid posture and his muscles locked into place as he sat before him. Roe dug into his pants pocket and produced the lighter Speirs had given him, holding it close to Speirs face so he could get a good look. “Figure it’s about time I return this to you.” 

When Speirs finally focused on the lighter, his posture relaxed slightly. He said nothing, but allowed Roe to finally pull his hand and the cloth away from his face. It was an active fight to quell the rise of panic that struck Roe when he got a good look at Speirs; there wasn’t a part of the left side of his face that wasn’t covered in blood, parts of it thickening and turning dark. For once, it seemed the sharp horror had made itself evident on Roe’s face as Speirs finally spoke, “You gonna pray for me, Eugene?” His voice was breathless from previous exertion.

“No need, sir, you’re gon’ be just fine.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

The lilt of his smile showed the blood on his teeth and Roe did his very best not to stare at the man’s canines, their sharpness giving him the image of a cottonmouth waiting to strike. Roe swallowed and looked away, finding reassurance in the fact that Speirs’ left eye seemed to be working just fine judging by the way he was staring down Roe. “I’m gonna start cleanin’ this up and you let me know if any parts hurt worse than others.” 

“Sure thing, doc.”

Roe retrieves a clean-ish cloth and some fresh water and begins swiping the blood off Speirs’ face, starting with the line of his jaw where the blood had begun trailing down his neck. The running hypothesis was that Speirs’ had a shallow head injury and was more concussed than anything; head wounds bleed like hell and if Roe had kept any sort of grip on himself when Speirs came in, he would’ve remembered much faster. It wasn’t until he began swiping up close to Speirs’ temple, along his hairline, that Speirs flinched away from his pressing hand. “There.” Speirs announced through gritted teeth.

“Gotta clean it up to get a good look at it. Sit tight.”

The previously clean bucket of water was turning a murky pink with every dip Roe made. He did his best to ignore the way Speirs sucked air in between his teeth every time Roe got a touch too close to the gash. He would need stitches, but it wasn’t dire, much to Roe’s relief. “The hell happened out there?” He asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Couple men couldn’t make the retreat from Nuenen. Had to go back and get them.” Speirs answered.

“Any others injured?”

“It was just me.”

“Lucky you.”

“I was the only one who went.”

Roe’s hand froze mid-swipe, resting against the sharp cliff of Speirs’ cheekbone as he stared down at him. The eclipse of their eyes left Roe vulnerable, open for Speirs being able to watch every emotion cross his face at the same time. Finally, Roe settled on one and worked his jaw, grinding his teeth together before he began cleaning again. There was a beat of silence, and then, “You’re angry with me.” Speirs said, his voice breathy again, this time with awe.

He stared up at Roe with a sort of delight in his eyes that would send any other man running with horror, that grin plastered firmly on his face. “No, sir.” Roe said firmly, dragging the washcloth along the water a little too aggressively— water sloshed over his shoe and he paid it no mind.

“Why are you angry with me, Eugene?”

He was prying. “Permission to speak, sir?” Roe asked, teeth still gritted.

Speirs waved him off with a lazy hand, though he was paying rapt attention. “Never had to ask before.”

“I just think we’ve lost a lot of damn good men today, sir. And I understand you need’ta do right by your men, and it��s an honorable thing, but what if you had died?” Roe tossed down the cloth with a force that sent the bucket reeling, refusing to look Speirs in the eye again.

Speirs shrugged. “And what if I die? We’re already dead.”

The fury blazing in Roe’s eye as he looked up again left Speirs delightfully cold, his head tilted back as he basked in it. “Not to me.” He paused. “Not to me, sir.”

With that finality, he turned and began prepping the needle and thread for Speirs’ sutures. Speirs slid off the makeshift stretcher he’d been sitting on, taking the few steps he needed to stand behind Roe. Roe could feel his presence looming over him as he worked, it was hard not to, but he ignored him. Sure it was petty, but if the man could go run behind enemy lines on a solo-suicide mission, he could be a little petty. “Eugene.” Speirs said quietly as he placed a hand on Roe’s shoulder.

Roe turned with a ferocity he wasn’t aware he possessed, indignant. “You coulda died!” 

“I know.”

Roe gripped his jacket, rising to inches from Speirs’ face. “You coulda died and then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘gene?” Speirs’ tone was soothing, the way you spoke to a stray you’d hit with your car before you put it out of its misery.

“What the hell was I supposed to do if you’da died?”

Roe punctuated his sentence with halfhearted shoves to Speirs shoulder and chest, damp with his blood. Speirs caught Roe by his shoulders and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Roe’s biceps to stop his protesting. Roe folded into him immediately, accepting defeat as his body shuddered against his will. Muffled by Speirs’ uniform, “What the hell was I supposed t’ do?”

“I’m sorry, ‘gene.”

The reckoning that ran through Roe’s body was like an earthquake, the kind of world-shattering event that sent prayers to the lips of atheists and Speirs just held him like he never considered any other option. When the fear subsided, Roe pulled back and ducked away from Speirs, shoving his fists across his eyes. “Still have to stitch that.”

“Alright, Eugene.”

Speirs sat patiently in place as Roe prepped his materials. He wordlessly handed the lighter back as Roe mindlessly searched for it to sterilize the needle, something he’d done countless other times that day with the same lighter. There was an irony in the concept. Roe used the lighter to sterilize needles to save mens’ lives, while Speirs had used it to light cigarettes before taking lives. Perhaps it was all about balance.

The stitching went smoothly, yet uneasily, as Roe tried not to flinch every time Speirs grunted in pain. The morphine had long run out— if Roe had known this was going to happen, he would’ve stashed just a little, but he hadn’t known Speirs would be so stupid as to do what he’d done. When it was finally clean and bandaged, Roe stepped back and looked him up and down. “Anything else?”

“Nah, ‘gene, I’m okay. A few bumps and bruises, but that’s all.”

Roe rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve gotta make sure you don’ have a concussion. You gettin’ back to Dog company?”

Speirs hesitates, sly. “I could leave before daylight to get back.”

Roe nodded. “Alright. Stay here, then. I’ll wake you up every coupl’a hours, make sure you’re not gettin’ worse.”

“Anything you say.”

Roe began cleaning up and as he passed Speirs to dispose of the bloodied cloth, Speirs caught him by the bicep. “Hey, we okay?”

“Yessi— yeah. Yeah, we’re— yeah.”

“Good.”

“I should let Captain Winters know y’here for the night. He’ll be wanting to know what happened.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.”

Roe nodded and ducked out of the tent.The moment the canvas flap fell closed, Roe’s hand darted out to shove it back aside. He crossed the space in a few quick strides and his mouth pressed hard against Speirs’, chapped and cold as he lifted his rosary beads over his neck and placed them around Speirs’ instead. When he pulled back, huffing, he said, “So you think twice about gettin’ your damn self killed.” And he ducked back out of the tent.

The time they got in Mourmelon-le-Grand was bliss. Speirs had nothing but Roe wrapped up in blankets. He pulled sighs from his mouth and swallowed them whole, spent his nights pressing his lips to every inch of the medics skin, and played his hand at worship that was foreign to him but felt so familiar nonetheless. They had never been so efficient in the few duties they did have, eager to get back to each other at the end of the day.

As Speirs leaned over Roe, propped up on his side in the bed they shared, Roe’s rosary beads dangled from Speirs’ neck and skimmed lightly over Roe’s chest. Roe reached up and touched them, stormy eyes fascinated by the way they reflected the light from the setting sun in the window. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Speirs uttered, his palm coming up to rest against Roe’s cheek.

Roe leaned into it, “What?”

“You.”

A flush spread across Roe’s face like the reds of the aurora borealis, painting him with watercolors Speirs would kill to see over and over again. Speirs ducked his head to capture Roe’s mouth with his, as he’d found the taste of Eugene Roe was the only thing that satiated that nagging curiosity he’d held for so long. Speirs’ fingertips skimmed over a smattering of scars on Roe’s side, dancing over the taut skin of his stomach that seized at his attention— he was slightly ticklish, Speirs had learned. God above he was soft, too, where the war hadn’t gotten to him and Speirs especially loved to prod at those places, to dig in and find a home there. Roe invited him in with the warmth of his arms and the plush of his thighs and the bruised bones of his knees as they folded together, Speirs’ face buried in Roe’s neck.

“Y’ comfy, there, Ron?”

Speirs’ reply was indecipherable, his mouth pressed against the warmth of Roe’s shoulder. There wasn’t anything in the world that could drag him out, not even the man himself, and Roe laughed. It was a sound that Speirs would’ve marched through hell and back a million times to hear, rolling like thunder and just as deep. Roe was a storm in the sweltering summer, all dark clouds and warm rain and Speirs had dove in and he was drowning. It was the easiest thing he had ever done.

Roe’s hands held firm against Speirs’ back, the tips of his fingers calloused from all the suturing needles and the rough handle of his knife. Speirs groaned at the feeling, one he prayed he’d never grow used to for fear of it becoming unremarkable to him. A foreign concept, sure, but he still hoped it would never happen. “Could stay here forever.” Speirs mumbled.

“What? Y’ gotta—” Roe pushed his face to the side slightly so as to hear him.

“Could stay here forever.”

Roe sighed wistfully and stared up at the ceiling. “Well, there’s a war on, y’know.”

Speirs, decidedly over the turn the brief conversation had taken, dug his fingers into Roe’s hip and pulled them both backwards. At this angle, he could admire the man in a new light and hell it was a glorious one. Roe’s hair looked best mussed up with no regard to regulations, dark strands hanging in his face as a curtain of black clouds to the eye of the storm. The light caught his features much like it had back in Aldbourne, the first night they had met and Speirs had been cautiously intrigued by the sullen medic. Roe kissed him again and he breathed deep, memorizing every level to the way he smelled. Clean, of soap since they’d gotten to Mourmelon-le-Grand. There was a tinge of sweat from their activities an hour earlier. And hours before that. And there was a note of petrichor, so distinctly Roe that it put an ache in Speirs’ heart.

Yes, Speirs’ heart was something that had never before been seen by the rest of Dog company or Easy company. A novel concept, indeed. The rosary beads that hung around his neck and the cross that fell just above his heart would’ve been frozen from the cold if not for the way his body heat compensated for the ever-persistent chill. He wondered often if Roe was keeping warm. Where he was. From what Speirs had gathered, he spent his time deep within a foxhole or busy on his feet trying to keep men alive that seemed so determined to die in this frozen hellhole. Speirs mulled over the last time he’d been given the opportunity to press a kiss to those frozen hands, praying that the brief contact had breathed a warmth into Roe that wasn’t physical.

In the limbo between Dog and Easy company, Speirs paused and breathed. At this point, if any head of raven hair popped above the ground, he’d see it in easy contrast against the landscape as it suffocated in snow. He was smart enough to promise himself not to wait long. It would do no one any good if he were to get distracted, waiting in the tundra of the woods freezing to death in the search for a glimpse of his medic. The one saving grace for his lack of excuse to be out there was the fact that not many people would be willing to question Speirs on his actions.

He thought over, ever so briefly, what they’d do if they got back. There’d be a ring, most likely. They’d never discussed kids, but that seemed to be the sort of thing Roe might like if they could sort out all the shit in their head first. Before anything, though, Speirs wanted a year of uninterrupted nights with Roe trapped within his arms. Peace. Warmth. He’d follow Roe anywhere in the world if he could get a glimpse of peace in the man’s eyes.

Speirs felt the urge to fumble with the rosary beads and was reaching toward his neckline when a shifting caught his attention. There was a stirring along Easy’s line, men poking their heads aboveground— likely relieving themselves with others on watch. No one wanted to die in the snowy Bastogne woods with their dick out. He paid no mind to their stirring until a whistle sounded out and, “Incoming!” was shouted.

There was no Eugene or Ron in that moment, when Speirs ducked below ground into one of the scattered foxholes that stretched between the two lines. The cover was hardly adequate, but it was better than being stuck above ground as the artillery rained down. The rattling of the Earth had felt like the end of days the first handful of times he’d experienced it, but Speirs was jaded and simply focused on keeping track of himself and not dying. Hunched in that foxhole, he escaped without injury. The assault slowed to a stop, the telltale whistle of incoming missiles vanishing just as quickly as it came.

Speirs hauled himself aboveground and did a quick check of his own personal inventory. He didn’t appear to be missing anything, literally or metaphorically, and straightened up as he prepared to march back to Dog company line and take account of his men. It was as easy as breathing, to begin that march. And then someone called, “Medic!” and, “He is the fucking medic, you dumbass!” and Speirs realized he had never experienced anything close to Earth shattering before that moment.

He was sprinting before he could realize what his body was doing. It was possible that it wasn’t Eugene— Easy company had more than one medic. He could be senselessly charging into a different company’s lines like the entire German army was on his heels for no reason. Not to be crass, but he didn’t much care if it wasn’t Roe, and it was entirely possible it wasn’t Roe. The medic was probably hustling around his own company taking care of those injured and would greet Speirs with an incredulous look of, what are you doing here?

There was so much blood. The snow soaked it up like a sponge, accepting the neon red dye like it was a right, and Speirs had never been so angry in his life. Sharp pain careened through his knees as he crashed to the ground. “Eugene. Eug— fuck, Eugene!” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, hovering them above the medic. Useless.

Eugene was sprawled in the snow, jaw slightly ajar as he stared up through the canopy of trees at the falling snow. It wasn’t a direct hit or an amputation, he knew, but something had gone so terribly wrong as he’d rushed to help a member of Easy company that had tripped on their way to a foxhole. It was somewhere in the cacophony of a falling tree, and he was distantly aware that he was surrounded by his men as they stared down at him. Useless. “Where the fuck is Spina!”

Spina. Hm. Resigned, Roe put his energy into turning his head, fumbling his hand with the fabric of Speirs’ pants where he kneeled beside him. Useless. “Hi.” His voice was garbled, not his own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eugene. Someone get Spina over here right-fucking-now!”

The other Easy company members had sat back in horror. They knew what Roe would say if he weren’t the one on the ground at that very moment. There was no point. No one survived having a tree branch launched through their middle, impaling them to the ground. “What’re y’ doin’ here?” Roe asked Speirs, confused.

All Speirs could summon were curses and the horror of tears. His eyes were wide and wild, sending Easy company members scattering backwards as he looked up and around. “Where the fuck is the other medic?” He yelled.

“Speirs.” A voice came from behind him. “Speirs. S— Ron.” 

It was Winters, a hand on Speirs shoulder as he forced himself not to look away from the state of Doc Roe. “There’s morphine in his jacket.”

“Fuck.”

The exhale of the curse breathed out any of Speirs’ hope with it, the pit in his chest growing by the second as the blood around Eugene pooled further and dissipated into the snow. “It’s—” Roe’s inhale was rattling. “S‘kay. Don’... feel it.”

Speirs hated the calming storm. He hated the way Roe’s grasp on his pant leg felt feeble at best, hated the way his own hand shook as he took Roe’s hand carefully and resigned himself to a new form of death, one he had never considered but a thousand times worse. Speirs descended into the bloodbath as he lowered himself onto his side beside Roe, desperate to see his face, unmarred by blood. Roe’s eyes were rolling in his head, unclear and unfocused, but he was doing his goddamn best as Speirs’ face hovered over his own.

Speirs’ icy hand found its place on Roe’s cheek once again and he leaned down to press a frozen kiss to Roe’s furrowed brow bone. Roe groaned as he tried to shift and failed. “‘m sorry.” He exhaled.

“Fucking hell, ‘gene, don’t you dare apologize. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby.”

Roe’s laugh was more of a wheeze as his eyes roamed Speirs face. “Baby. Tha’s new.”

“Thought I’d try it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another wheeze. The rattling of Roe’s breath was a horror Speirs had become familiar with over their time at war. He’d heard it a million times before and this was the only instance in which it’d haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. His throat felt raw from screams he was hardly holding back, the wrenching of his gut urging him to upend his insides until it all stopped hurting. Roe’s hands traced upward, fumbling and weak, before they reached the base of Speirs’ neck. The beads hardly poked above his collar but Roe found them anyway and tangled his fingers in them, blood coating the rosary. “Christ above, Roe, you should’ve kept them.” Speirs choked out, wanting to be angry. Angry was better than this. 

Roe attempted some approximation of shaking his head. “No. They’re yours.” came out more along the lines of “N… th’yers.”

Speirs fumbled his own hand upward and captured Roe’s, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each bloody knuckle, ignoring the iron taste in his mouth and the stain it’d leave on his skin before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Roe’s forehead. His brows. His cheeks. Like lipstick marks, Roe’s blood planted itself on his face with each press of Speirs lips. “I’ve got you, ‘gene. You’re alright, baby.” His voice was softer than it had ever been, softer than it ever would be again.

“Lo’...” The exhale Roe let out was final.

Speirs hands shook so badly he couldn't grasp properly. The fight to get the scarf off his neck was one he nearly lost; it seemed all he could do in that moment was lose, over and over again. Carefully, gingerly, he pushed it under Roe's head and wound it around him. Winters spoke up, “Speirs, he's…”

“I know.” Speirs bit out. “I just—I don't want him to be cold.”

“Okay. That's— that's good, then. You did good by him.”

The Earth shattered apart below their feet.

Speirs wore that rosary through the rest of the war and beyond. His eyes stayed wild, his tactics unimaginable, the rumors crass and vicious. He was no man of religion, but he was a man of storms. Other troopers pointed out just how crazy he was, considering he took every chance to stand out in thundering rain, gasping as the rain pelted his skin and washed him anew. Even with the weight of the rosary and two sets of dog tags, it was never enough. He’d left his heart in the frozen ground of Bastogne, under a Sycamore with E.R. carved into it. None of it would ever be enough again.

[dreepy-draws]

i think this ones a given due to ur bio but SLAMS HANDS ON DESK

sire… give me,,,, ur eugavus + liberta & lucilla headcanons please (it can be one, two or all of them idm, i just want yummies)

OKAY SRRY THIS TOOK A MIN BSHHJAS. here's some happy ones about like hobbies and stuff. I have some angsty ones typed out I'll post separetly later :P

Eugene hand made a diary just for Liberta once bc Liberta had said offhand that he would like to write like he does

Eugene spent HOURS making it perfect so now it's one of Liberta's prized possesions

Eugene and Gavus sometimes go back to the old hut they lived in. they aren't sure why they do it, but they enjoy seeing the place where their little family had lived, and find it soothing to just sit in each other's presence by the little area Liberta and Lucilla used to run around

Liberta actually made friends with Tamrus at some point, and they hang out together often. Tamrus taught Liberta how to pick the sweetest berries to make treats with

Liberta took up baking, and frequently makes treats to share with his family (as well as Tamrus when they hang out ofc)

Lucilla takes up wood carving as a hobby, like Liberta did with baking. She finds it soothing, and she makes little sculptures for her family

Eugene actually knows how to make clothes, and made new outfits for Liberta and Lucilla so they could change up their clothes (and not just be stuck in what the celestials/hypogeans had them wearing before

Gavus does the cooking. Not because he's good it (he's painfully mediocre at it actually), but because Eugene is just that awful at it

Liberta knows how to play the harp, and Eugene can play the flute. They both play songs together and Gavus and Lucilla could sit there for hours listening

I actually think Lucilla would be more helpful with chores than Liberta. Liberta isn't unhelpful (like a certain fool of chaos), but Lucilla gets literally angry when there's dust and stuff so she cleans pretty often

srsly, sometimes Eugene will walk in the room while she's cleaning and just hear her using all the swears under the sun at a speck of dirt that won't come off (Eugene thinks its so funny just the amount of swears she actually knows, Gavus hates it)

Gavus and Liberta will often read the same book at the same time so they can have long discussions about it (like a book club or something). Eugene will read a book with them on occasion if it's interesting. Lucilla refuses every time

[vensfcamelot]

girl, look the other way sometimes, just for the sake of decency. i understand u found crush, but there is a war going on here. no, it's just ridiculous, every time we see snafu, he looks at eugene 🤭

[captain-lessship]

Creepy Pt. 5

You yawned as you rolled over, eyes barely open when you noticed it: a hand.

“What the fu- Oh. Hello, Thing.” 

You had met Thing a few days earlier when Wednesday asked if you could fix his favorite nail polish bottle that he couldn’t get the brush out of. 

The hand signed an apology, before pushing a small note to you.

“It’s alright and thank you. Also, did you do something new with your cuticles?”

Thing signed a ‘Yes, thank you for noticing’ before dropping off your pillow. 

“Oh, let me get that for you.”

You hopped up and opened the door for him, “Tell Wednesday I hope she enjoys Out Reach Day and that hopefully we get put together, if you could?”

Thing gave a thumbs up and tapped and tipped down the hall. You walked to the note, stretching as you went to pick up the note and read it. 

You grinned as you read it, you took it with you as you got your uniform, which was slightly wrinkled. Ironing wasn’t your strong suit. 

As you got dressed, you thought about the note. All it asked was to be listening for any information about the case but how she opened it was odd: It had a tone of endearment. Finally, after brushing your teeth and hair, you were completely ready. 

You found Wednesday and Enid in the courtyard, you smiled as you walked up to them. 

“What do you think your jobs will be?” You asked.

Wednesday looked at you, “I think this is rather stupid that we are expected to work for free.”

Enid sighed, “it’s called volunteering.”

“Not when you’re volun-told.” Wednesday said. You laughed lightly. 

Enid looked at you two, a smile growing on her face and a glimmer appearing in her eyes. She knew. You looked at Wednesday, who looked back. 

Enid was suddenly jerked away by a few of her other friends. Opening a conversation between just you and Wednesday.

“I got your note from Thing this morning.” You whispered.

“I say we skip the jobs and go to the library.”

“Typically, they hand out jobs at the library and those are the first offered up as trades. That way no one would suspect a thing.”

“Very deceptive. It will be easier without interference.”

You thanked Mrs. Thornhill as she handed you your envelope. You opened yours. 

“I guess I got lucky.” You showed it to her. Library. 

She showed hers to you and your eyes lit up. “You got my favorite store!” You told Wednesday about it. “Honestly, I will find information and you see if anything out of place is in there. Maybe something could trigger a vision.”

Wednesday nodded, “Divide and conquer.”

Wednesday was walking with Enid when she began to think about how she said she’d never be like her mother. She felt a odd sour sense but pride could be pushed slightly down the list of her priorities if it meant that she got to be around you. 

Wednesday sighed when she turned, “Enid, trade with me.”

“What? No way!”

“Ajax is working at the antique shop.”

Enid sighed, “Oh you so owe me one.” She grabbed the envelope and turned around. Off to Pilgrim World. 

You walked into the library, checked in for your job and began scanning the books for anything that looked like it might help. You quickly found several old history books and you pulled them from the shelves. Walking to a quiet corner, you sat down and began reading. You grabbed out your notebook from your backpack and turned to a new page. 

You had hit a interesting piece of Crackstone history. Burning witches? Could be just plain puritan bull but you had a feeling. You thought it best to take the book to Wednesday and ask her about it. 

After ripping the pages from your notebook, You looked around before grabbing up the books and putting the ones you didn’t need back. You then breathed in and slowly change the now half used notebook into the book that you were essentially stealing. 

You walked to the front to see the head librarian asleep. You simply walked right out the door and off you ran to Uriah’s Heap.

You flung open the door to the shop and looked for her but you saw Enid and Ajax, staring at you.

“Where’s Wednesday?”

Enid looked at Ajax, then at you. “Pilgrim World. We traded.”

You nodded, “Alright well. I guess I will be seeing you two.”

Now you had to break into the only moderately interesting thing this town had. You scanned the wall, thinking about how you could get up and in there. 

You took a few steps back and took a running go at it, jumping as high as you could, your hand slapping into the wood pillar. It worked! You got the idea from remembering when you and Ajax went indoor rock climbing. You’d have to thank him again later. 

You did this interchangeably as you scaled the wall. When you got to the top you saw a house that you could probably jump onto. Your ego was too inflated by your success on the wall, causing you to recklessly jump.

You missed it by two feet, landing on the ground, air getting knocked from your lungs. Your back and pride would be bruised. 

“Hey, there’s your boyfriend.”

You looked to your left to see a boy, outfit stained a brown color and Wednesday cleaning whatever it was off of him.

“Ticker?”

“Wednesday.” You smiled, “I brought you something. Nice outfit.”

“Hush. Is it in your backpack?”

“Yeah just give me minute to grab it. I think I slipped a disk.”

Wednesday shook her head in slight endearment, “I will get it for you.” She took your backpack from beside you and slowly helped you up. You th asked her before looking at the boy.

“Who are you?”

“Eugene.”

“Ohh. Okay, your the guy with the bees?”

“Yea!” 

“Cool, um. What’s on your shirt?”

“I threw up. I ate too much fudge.”

“Three pilgrims boys tried to humiliate him. I made them change their minds.” Wednesday said, flipping through the book and scanning the note book pages. “We have a meeting house to break into.”

Wednesday, you and Eugene snuck to the closed off meeting house, went around the back to see it locked it up. 

“Give me your retainer.” Wednesday said to the boy.

“Why? Your teeth are really good. Not as straight or white as Eni-“

“Now.”

The boy handed over the retainer and Wednesday picked the lock with it, then handed it back to the boy. After telling the boy to keep watch, you both went in. 

You instantly got weird vibes and the smell of staleness nearly gagged you. Wednesday looked around before stopping at a painting that looked very familiar. She noticed the book and then saw it in a display case.

When she looked at it, you opened it. She grabbed the book, disappointment radiated off her when she opened it and flipped through the pages. She said something about Etsy when the door was opened. 

You all were caught. Some super sleuthing on your all’s part. 

With more information and the knowledge that the meeting house was not the original, Wednesday and you walked to the Weathervane for her to ask someone about it. You opened the door for her, hearing the bell chime as you two walked in. Wednesday walked to the map brochure stand and pulled one from it, looking for something when you heard a familiar voice.

“I thought you were supposed to be at Pilgrim World.”

It was Xavier, dressed in a uniform.

“I deserted it while my sanity was still intact.”

He offered her a cup, ignoring you.

“I am actually here for Tyler.”

Tyler? He sounded familiar but then again, it was a basic name.

“I told you he was bad news.”

Wednesday responded, then rang a bell. Another boy appeared, “You rang?”

Xavier scoffed and you stared at him. Wednesday asked for help, putting down the map, asking where the original meeting house is.

“There.” The boy said. You had to admit that he made you feel a touch insecure.

“Thank you for the help.” She said before turning to you, “Ticker.”

You both started walking away before he stopped you both. “The ruins are kinda tricky to find. I could take you when my shift ends at two.”

“We need to be back before two. Principal Weems would hang us by the ankles.” You said, annoyed tone coming out, causing Wednesday and Tyler to look at you. 

“That sounds enticing. We need to keep a low profile. I know my way around the great outdoors.”

“Don’t tell me you were a Girl Scout?”

“I could eat Girl Scouts for breakfast. I actually have an uncle who went to prison for that.”

You walked a few steps behind her, thinking about the coffee shop guy. 

“As much as I love the storm cloud demeanor, what is wrong?” She asked.

“It’s nothing.” 

She stopped and looked at you. In only a few seconds, her cool eyes broke you.

“He was flirting with you. And I had a strong temptation to punch him.” 

“Be more creative and don’t worry, I have no interest in him in any fashion. He is simply a Jericho encyclopedia. “ 

You sighed, “I know. I am sorry.”

“There is no need for an apology. I think it would been a rather interesting sight to see you lunge at a barista.” 

You smiled, “Crack his coffee pot.” You joked mainly to yourself. You saw a small, so small upturn of the corner of her lips. 

[cave-cryptid]

Alright so

In Tangled

An extremely serious and important topic and piece of media

That I NEED answers on

Since Gothel was retaining her youth and in turn her life through Rapunzel, but she had to repeatedly seek out "treatment" to do so, wouldn't that mean Eugene would have to repeatedly be healed by Rapunzel? Wouldn't the wound in his side gradually split apart over time and threaten to take his life once again unless Rapunzel intervened??

Does that mean he's left to endure never-ending agonizing pain that comes and goes as time goes on and as she heals him?

ANd wouldn't that mean if something ever happened to Rapunzel, if she died before he did, unless she somehow is immortal {I don't know} wouldn't that mean the healing effects would immediately reverse for Eugene and the stab wound that almost took his life would then succeed?

I suppose on a lighter note though, they'd get to die together

[weissaddams]

Date With Death

Chapter 1

Weddings.

What a joke.

Well, a joke that resulted in her existence, legal existence, that is. Wednesday was certain a lack of legal proceedings would not have hindered her parents from siring her into this forsaken planet.

She was an Addams. Weddings, celebrations and romance? Binding your soul to another human being in hopes of meeting death together? It should be a day of celebration for any member of the Addams family. So far, it has been anything but.

Maybe because it's the wedding of the love of her life in which she would not be the groom, but that is beside the point.

Just thinking about the dancing, celebrating and drinking made her want to jump off a cliff. Aside from their friends, she knew none of these guests actually liked one another. Alas, connections had to be made. Arms had to be twisted. Daughters had to be married off. Sons had to be paraded around like prizes.

The Sinclairs were preening. Finally proud of Enid's choice of husband once they learned that Ajax was heir to the Petropolus Oil fortune in Central America. The Petroplous were just happy their boy found a nice girl albeit with an impossible mother. Many wonder how someone as bright and loving as Enid could come from such a horrid human being.

Wednesday was seriously considering jumping off the nearest cliff right now. She was sure she spotted a few on the drive over.

Because of course she drove herself to Enid's wedding. The entire Addams family was invited but Wednesday chose to ride alone to avoid the sad and pitiful stares her family would surely send her way had she chosen to ride with them.

They all knew. Of course they all knew. Addams, in werewolf speak, mate for life.

Wednesday found her mate, but her mate found someone else.

It was a wonder why she wasn't dead yet. She thinks the curse will most likely take full effect in once Enid says "I do" so part of the plan was to walk away before then. As pleasing as it would be to give Esther Sinclair the middle finger from the afterlife, she will not let the best day of Enid's life be marred with her death.

It was Enid’s wedding. That was incentive enough for Wednesday to, as the werewolf liked to call it, behave.

Enid. Enid. Enid.

It was her fault, really, that Enid found someone else. Well, found someone else. Again.

All things considered; Ajax was a good guy. He had matured well after University. Enough to know that he was foolish for ever letting Enid go in the first place. Better him than some entitled, narcissistic ass from whicever pack Enid’s so-called mother would have chosen.

Better him than her, at least.

And Wednesday, well, she had beaten her heart into submission once she realized how she felt for the blonde werewolf.

The Addams heir fell hard, though slow.

Hard enough to know Enid deserved sunshine, life and happiness.

Slow enough to delay any chances of making Enid fall in love with her as she’d hoped.

Enid Sinclair deserved more than Wednesday Addams would ever be able to give her. Holding hands? Hugs? Kisses?

Enid deserved it all. So, Wednesday made the executive decision to stand by the werewolf. As a friend, a confidante, a shoulder to lean for any and every little thing that made her sad.

Hard day at work? Wednesday would take her to the ice cream parlour they both liked. Impossible exams? Wednesday would make sure to read up on those topics to help Enid study. Current boyfriend was being a jerk? Wednesday would let Enid choose a comfort movie and let the blonde cuddle her as they watched. Said boyfriend would have the most horrible haircut the next day, courtesy of a certain walking appendage.

Wednesday went above and beyond.

Enid did as well. She knew Enid loved her a great deal. How much, she could never tell, but not enough for Wednesday to risk the werewolf’s chance at a happier life.

Was she being a coward? Sure. Thing, Yoko and Bianca have called her out for it thousands of times, but her resolve always won out in the end. Her resolve to give Enid a happy ending. With or without her.

The curse would likely ensure it would happen without her.

She'd tied up all her loose ends. Viper's saga would end when the last book was published in the fall of next year. She had gone soft, really. She'd given Viper and her love interest a happy life that will only last until the next book is published. Viper would inevitably meet the same demise as her maker come the fall of next year.

A literal heartbreak.

She'd signed her last will and testament weeks ago.

Most of her inheritance would go to Pugsley and Pubert, with a strict clause of Enid (being her unofficial mate) being able to access it should she require any kind of support were things to go sideways. Anything that remained went to an underfunded music institute for less fortunate children.

Her beloved cello and any music she wrote would stay in the family. To be used by whomever her father saw fit to play it. Her necklace would go to her mother, fully circling back to the giver.

Her favorite knife went to Pugsley. Her best bow went to Pubert and her sturdiest mace would be given to her Uncle Fester. She'd given Thing and Lurch all her books, knowing they would be in for quite the dull life without her dragging them into her occasional misadventures.

Her typewriter and all the future rights and royalties from Viper's saga would go to Enid. Everything was set up in an account under Enid’s name. Whether she use Enid Sinclair or Enid Petropolus, it was her to access all the same.

Wednesday hopes it'll somehow ease the pain of her passing after some years. She knows Enid would be beyond furious with her for keeping the curse's effect on her a secret but there's not much more she can do now.

All the people she loved would be okay and that was all that mattered now.

She even had dinner with Eugene and their other friends two weeks ago. A goodbye, though none of them would know until later today.

She'd said her farewells to her parents, brothers and uncle the night before. Thanking them for all the love and unwarranted affection. She endured the hug Pugsley and Pubert held her in, reminding them that they'd need to step up once she was gone. She apologized for not being able to stay to protect them anymore and makes them promise on her grave to surpass her fighting skills.

She shook hands or, well, hand with Thing and Lurch. To thank them for their unwavering loyalty. Fester and her parents hugged her for a long while as well.

Tears were shed, promises were made, and yet her parents were still hopeful the curse wouldn't take her away.

How could it not, though? All previous Addams who died form heartbreak died on the day their mate was wedded to another.

It was simply her turn.

There was one last thing to do. One more person to talk to. One more gift to give.

Wednesday looked to her side. A blue, velvet box and a single black rose. She wanted to give them to Enid as a wedding gift.

She will, once she calms down and stops gripping the steering wheel of her car so tightly the blood has all but left her hands.

She had never feared death. She’d gladly welcome it with open arms. It was knowing that these will be the last moments she'd share with Enid Sinclair that terrified her.

Wednesday hated weddings, but she would have loved to marry Enid.

Enid Addams? Wednesday Sinclair?

It didn't really matter now, did it?

--

Chapter 2

Wednesday saw fit to dress appropriately for her date with death.

Dress shoes, dark slacks and perfectly tucked white long sleeves with the top two buttons, well, unbuttoned.  A blue paisley silk scarf around her neck. Signet ring on her left pinky.

She patted her car, thanking it for its service one last time before walking towards the venue, clutching her gifts in one hand.

It was still quite early in the morning. She checked the time on her phone, heart soaring at the displayed photo. It was a 'selfie' as Enid like to call it. The blonde liked to take selfies on her phone and set them as the new 'lock screen' whenever she remembered to. Wednesday never really complained about it. Why would she? 

She wasn’t that cruel. She had to give her heart something to keep beating for until the day it finally gave in. That something just so happened to be photos of and with Enid.

The actual wedding would not happen until this afternoon at 5PM. Just the enough time for the lovely couple to say their vows during the sunset.

Surely, the entourage was still being prepped. She hoped Enid hadn't overslept on her wedding day, of all days. 

Enid wanted her to be a bridesmaid, but she didn't know how early the curse would kick in. It could happen right when the orchestra started to play, what then? Dead body in the middle of the aisle? She wouldn't allow that.

They'd fought about for weeks but Wednesday stood her ground until Enid finally relented. The seer didn't have to be a bridesmaid so long as she attended the wedding while also promising not to bring any silver weapons, lest she be tempted to graze anyone from Enid's family.

Wednesday more than made up for it by being acting like a bridesmaid until the actual wedding. The one thing she didn’t allow herself, though, was go with Enid to shop for the wedding dress. She went to the godawful cake tastings, shopping trips and florists with Enid. Everything and everywhere except anything related to the wedding dress. 

Wednesday was not confident she would be able to stop herself from dropping onto one knee and proposing to Enid then and there, if she saw her try out even one wedding dress.

She walked around the venue, wanting to see where Enid would be getting her happily ever after. She's not sure she'll get another chance to, should the curse take her away earlier than expected.

It was all very... Enid. Garden wedding. Pastel-colored balloons. Blood-red carpet rolling down the aisle with lilies on each side. White altar. White and pink chairs. A chiffon cake. 

Hopefully she'd live enough to see Enid walk down the aisle dressed in white. Hope? She really had gone soft because of the werewolf.

Of course, life doesn't grant her much more peace after that as she runs into Eugene who is one of Ajax's groomsmen. 

"Looking for Enid?" Eugene asked cheekily, eyeing the stuff she was trying to hide behind her back.

"Yes, Eugene. How very astute of you to notice." Wednesday relents, her eyes soften the slightest bit, wondering if this would be the last conversation she'll have with one of her oldest friends.

"Penthouse suite. She saw you park your car and asked me to tell you how to get there." He gestured to the hotel lobby before walking with Wednesday to the elevators.

Enid saw her. Of course she did. The Penthouse suite had clear line of sight to anywhere in the venue. Perfect position for a sniper, or a werewolf with impressive eyesight.

"How have the preparations been going?"

"Okay. Enid's a bit jittery but once you get up there I'm sure she'll calm down." Eugene let Wednesday enter the elevator first before following and pushing the button for the top floor. "I think she sent me because she wasn't sure you knew how to use the elevator."

"Surely she doesn't think me that incompetent with modern technology?"

"She's just concerned." Her friend laughs a little, and though it's at her expense, it puts Wednesday at ease. She hopes Eugene will live a long, boring and peaceful life.

"Thank you for doing your best to comfort her, Eugene. You truly are an excellent friend."

Wednesday was good at lying, too, but in this moment, she meant nothing but the truth. Eugene would be one of the most devastated by her imminent death. The least she could do was ensure their last memory of each other would be a good one. 

It was a bit concerning to hear Enid's reaction to her absence, but all she can really do now is show up for the few remaining hours of her life. 

"I'm an excellent friend to an excellent friend. Oh, we're here. Door on the left is the girl's suite. Ours is on the right. If you need anything or need company, just call me." Eugene smiled at her like the day they met, sweet, boyish and innocent, as they walked to the left door. 

Wednesday nodded, giving him what she hoped was a grateful look before watching him walk towards the boys' suite. She was about to knock when the door was thrown wide open, and the air was knocked out of her lungs by an oversized and overenergized puppy.

"Willa!"

Wednesday was smothered in a hug before she had a chance to dodge. She wouldn't have, but still, it was quite concerning how Enid was able to catch her off guard. Ah, she must have picked up her scent as they drew near. The werewolf never ceases to amaze her.

"You're here. You came." Enid whispered, burying her face in Wednesday's neck, inhaling her scent and hugging her tighter.

Wednesday did her best to return the hug, something she'd had much practice with over the years.

"I promised you I would see you off for your wedding." The goth hoped her voice was at least a bit more stable than her heart. Her traitorous heart that couldn’t decide whether to be calmed or excited by Enid’s presence. Was it possible to feel both at the same time?

"Well, yeah, but your color allergy! And you hate these events and not to mention my family and-" Enid had pulled back, holding Wednesday at arm’s length, noticeably reciting said reasons from memory. Knowing her, she must have worried about them since she last saw Wednesday two days ago.

"Enid." Wednesday squeezed the hand on her right shoulder with her free one, making sure to look the blonde in the eye to catch her attention. "Breathe, Only death could keep me from attending your horrendously pastel wedding."

The irony was not lost on her. The goth, however, nearly lost all lung function once she'd actually looked at the werewolf.

Oh, the world really was too cruel. To see Enid with no makeup, wearing nothing but shorts and Wednesday's old black sweatshirt. She was gorgeous. The sun could never hope to compare.

Enid smiled at her warmly, pulling her into another bone-crushing hug before tugging her inside. "You're the best, Wends! I'm so glad you're here. Maybe you can wake up Yoko and-"

Wednesday pulled Enid into the first empty room she found once they were inside the suite. It looked to be the music room, unless grand pianos were now a staple for penthouse suites.

"I wanted to give you something." Wednesday could feel her heart start to lose control. She took a breath to beat it back into submission before continuing. It helped when Enid squeezed her hand and looked at her curiously with a cute tilt of the head.

"My wedding gift. To you." Wednesday let go of the hand she was holding to place the velvet box and black rose in it.

Enid’s eyes widened somewhat at the gorgeous black rose and blue velvet box in her hand.

"Wednesday, the rose is beautiful, thank you, but you didn't have to."

"Please." The desperation in her voice must have been ever so slightly noticeable as Enid relented with a soft smile.

"Silly, just having you here is the best gift you could give me. I know how much you hate these events."

"Well, consider it an additional gift."

Enid chuckled, making Wednesday's heart do somersaults in her chest, before opening the velvet box. Inside was a key pendant, attached to a thin, white bracelet. The letter "E" was engraved into the head of the key.

"Thing helped me design it."

Enid was at a loss for words. It was very Wednesday. Every gift from Wednesday was beautiful but this was by far the best gift she’d ever been given in her life. Probably the most intricate one, too.

“It’s white gold. I thought of the normal gold too ordinary for the occasion and silver would definitely not do.”

"It's beautiful, thank you, Wednesday." Enid felt tears falling from her eyes, torn between looking at Wednesday and the bracelet. Of course her best friend would gift her something she designed herself on her wedding day. It wouldn't be her if she didn't. 

"You are crying. Is the design not to your liking? If I may-"

"No, no! I love it. It's- It’s the same "E" as the one on your signet ring, right?" Enid smiled through the tears as Wednesday was wiping them away with a white handkerchief.

Curse Enid and her observance. It was in fact the very same. Wednesday had once told Enid it was a sideways W but there's no point in denying it now. She gives Enid a small but proud smile, the werewolf has turned into quite the puzzle solver herself.

"It is. It's also the key to your share of my inheritance."

"The key to.. what? Why would I need a key to your inheritance?”

“Well...”

“You already pay for everything unless we stop you."

"Enid."

"Are you sick?"

'"Enid, please."

Do you have cancer? Are you dying?"

"Enid!" Wednesday shook the werewolf slightly. She did her best to fake an amused smile. "I am well, as you can see. It was the only gift I could think of. I... apologize if it displeases you."

Enid looked into her eyes. Possibly straight into her soul. This was too big a gift, but knowing Wednesday's family, it may just be normal thing for them. 

"Are you sure you're not dying?"

"We’re all dying a little bit every day, Enid."

Technically, she wasn't lying. She always found it hard to lie to Enid, so deflection was the next best thing.

Enid was still skeptical, though. Something she got from years of being friends with Wednesday and as Edgar Allan Poe said: Believe only half of what you see and nothing of what you hear.

At least, until you can confirm it yourself.

She looked Wednesday up and down. There was nothing too out of the ordinary about the very formal outfit. The top two buttons of all of Wednesday's outfits being undone was her doing, which she was very proud of.

She brought her car, which Wednesday wouldn't do if she was up to something. Can’t leave anything that could be directly traced back to her, after all.

She didn't have any of her knives, either. Enid didn't feel them when she hugged the goth and the shoes she was wearing were definitely normal ones. These were new dress shoes, probably not customized to her knives yet.

It took a few months, but she was able to memorize all of the goth's hiding places years ago. 

All evidence points to Wednesday being, well, okay. Not tall, dressed in dark clothes but definitely handsome. 

"You're not gonna run away to some undisclosed location after the wedding, are you?"

"You'd just track me down so I'll save us the trouble of running around in wedding attires."

Wednesday rarely teased, but when she did, it always made her laugh. Freely, without judgment. Because that's what you got with Wednesday Addams as a friend. Honesty and unwavering loyalty. 

"If I hear even a word from Thing that you're running off alone, I'm going to postpone my honeymoon to hunt you down."

"As I said, I'm staying right here. You have my word."

"We’re so not done discussing why I have access to your inheritance but... help me put on the bracelet?"

"Of course."

Enid looked down at the gold key. The intricate design all but screamed Wednesday to her. Yoko would not approve of the additional accessory, but it was her wedding day and she will do whatever she wanted.

Including wearing what was apparently a friendship bracelet? Yes, that seemed appropriate. 

Enid gave Wednesday a soft kiss on the cheek. "Thank you Wednesday, I really love the bracelet and the rose."

Wednesday, not trusting her voice not to break, gave Enid a small nod, her lips quirking into a smirk.

"Go get ready for your wedding."

“Help me wake up Yoko?”

“With pleasure.”

--

Date With Death master post

--

Hi guys. All the next chapters are in the link above.

I wrote this in one go for about two hours. I'm sure there are some errors since I haven’t written in two years. I just wanted to hash this out as it came to me. The angst seemed too good to pass up.

I’m not an Ajax hater. Sorry if Enid is a bit oblivious to Wednesday’s more serious affections here? Let’s call it plot armor, for now.

Does anyone know if I can post this on AO3 without using an email? Please let me know.

--

Hello again! I’ve added edits and covered up some plot holes. It’s still not perfect but it’s better than yesterday’s version. Give it another read if you can and tell me what you think.

Also, I’m on the fence about how to continue this fic. The easiest way would be to just let Wednesday die, right?

Realistically, how would they fall for each other? 

I like to think it’s at least in their senior year at nevermore or some time after. I love every fic about them falling for each other while a nevermore but something about an aged-up version of them falling in love also makes my heart go crazy. 

I’d love to discuss if you have any ideas for Wenclair! Just reply here or DM me, I guess. Cheers!

[rottewanges]

i love angst

[tw: blood under the cut]

[the-writer1988]

Tangled Fic Recommendation

Every so often I like to talk about a fanfiction I am reading and recommend it to people.

Today, I'm not only recommending one story, I am recommending an entire series.

23 stories in their series so far and counting. And there is still a lot more to come.

Not only has this author embarked on a thrilling rewrite of the series, they have written it so well that I am always eagerly awaiting the next part.

The best part is that updates are DAILY! What author manages to keep updating daily consistently for over a year?

I am of course talking about the series on A03 starting with the fic: "Two Tangled Sisters" which begins with the premise that Cassandra was taken to the Tower before Gothel kidnapped Rapunzel and then subsequently cared for Rapunzel and became an older sister. The first fic shows them growing up in the Tower and then covers the Tangled movie, introducing Eugene and showing their adventure as Rapunzel and Eugene fall in love, alongside Cassandra who just wants to protect her little sister.

The series has expanded from there, following through with how Rapunzel and Cassandra adapt to Royal Life (because Arianna being the most awesome mum ever decides to adopt Cassandra too and she becomes a Princess of Corona). It is fascinating following their journey together, and the different paths Rapunzel and Cassandra take in this AU.

It continues into The Coronation, with Rapunzel getting her hair back, and then onto a rewrite of Season One, Two and now Three. I cannot talk much about it but each story written so far has something for everyone!

New Dream cuteness!

Eugene and Cass bickering!

Sisterhood!

Family bonding!

Alchemists!

Arianna!

Hating Frederic!

Danger!

Excitement!

Our favourite characters getting hurt!

There is so much this series has given! To this day, the season finale for season 1 still hurts me.

I love the character progression all the characters go through: they all shine in this series!

As a Eugene fan, I cannot express my excitement enough as to his future role in this series! I am so excited for it!

And, despite the series being called Two Tangled Sisters, Eugene has a big role in the series and his and Rapunzel's relationship does take centre stage.

There are twists and turns and rewrites of episodes! An unexpected pairing for Cassandra that I did not expect to want but now its there I am rooting for them! Such great development of all the characters and it shows what a great author we have for this series, for them to be able to tell such great stories and make a pairing work.

This series is so much more than just a Cassandra series. It is so much more than that. It is one of the best rewrites I have ever encountered in my few years in the fandom. The author has done the impossible and, as a fan who wasn't fond of Cassandra to start with, this series has certainly helped me see Cassandra, even in canon, with a new light. I cannot wait to see how this series goes!

I urge anyone not to brush this series off, to give it a try. You do not have to read every story in the series. The core set of stories following the series are enough, and there are multiple side-stories that add a bit extra to the characters.

If you only want to read the core stories, this is the order you should read them in:

Two Tangled Sisters

Two Princesses

The Coronation

Within the Walls of Corona (which covers the first half of S1)

To Rule A Kingdom (Queen For A Day reimagining)

The Alchemists Search (dealing with the second half of S1)

The Princess, The Pirate and The Prosecutor (S1 finale)

Vardaros and the Tower (S2 opener)

Magic and Artefacts (covers the first quarter of S2)

High Tide Dream (covers the second quarter of S2)

The Great Tree

The Past We Try To Forget (covers the third quarter of S2)

Shimmering Stones and Uncertain Destinies (S2 finale)

Return To Corona (S3 opener - currently posting)

I urge people to give this series a chance, whether you are a Cassandra fan or not - this series has something for everyone. And this is a series I wouldn't have read myself if I hadn't given a chance - and the only reason I did was because of the daily updates. I am so glad I gave this series a chance. It is 100% worth it!

Now, for some of you here, it will be very obvious which author I am talking about with this fic recommendation.

Unfortunately, this author has been, in some aspects, ostracised by the fandom in a lot of places. It's got to a point they still do not feel comfortable on tumblr, and this, to me, is very sad, because @twotangledsisters is such a GREAT PERSON to interact with.

She has become one of my favourite people on this site. Her writing, her opinions, her art are absolutely fabulous, and yet, people block her, excluding her from being able to interact with their content all because of her love of Cassandra from Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure.

@twotangledsisters is not just a Cassandra fan. She is a New Dream fan too but has been excluded from a lot of New Dream spaces because of her love of Cassandra and that is absolutely heart-breaking, that someone who loves this show so much, cannot fully interact with the fandom simply because they love Cassandra. If someone reblogs a piece of New Dream art that she likes, she finds out she's blocked from the original poster's blog so cannot follow them or see their other New Dream content.

It is sad and horrible to find out the way she did that people have done this to her. And how some people sent her horrible messages, telling her she was not welcome in New Dream spaces, when she absolutely 100% is WELCOME.

@twotangledsisters has so much love and care and creativity she wants to share with everyone but now feels she cannot. I am thrilled that she continues to produce brilliant artwork for my own fics! I'm honestly astounded by what she has produced so far for my fic: The Lost Prince!

Please everyone: be kind.

@twotangledsisters is a gift to the fandom and I feel incredibly proud to be calling myself her friend. She is awesome, and so is her fanfic series: Two Tangled Sisters.

Give it a try! I heartily recommend it.