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tokoyamisstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Rapture

Alexander Anderson x f! Reader | 1,5k. words | no warnings | not proofread

lmaoo I just needed to drabble this, but I made her a tiny bit more assertive can't be worse than the canon comedic moments

"Wait, Anderson! Your presence is enough!" Maxwell tries appealing to the paladin's common sense, but to no avail. He simply loses control at the sight of his mortal foe whenever those two clash.

The same goes for the head of the Hellsing Organization, only able to watch as both Alucard and Anderson draw their weapons, their manic laughter filling the Imperial War Museum.

As both masters were unable to keep those two behemoths from their imminent confrontation, suddenly a third party emerges from the shadows of a nearby hallway.

"Stop this at once!" you scream at the top of your lungs, standing in between the no-life-king and the holy knight. Disregarding the former, you turn towards Anderson, a warning finger poking his chest. "What in the Lord's name do you think you're doing?!"

The man immediately pulls you into his arms, your much smaller form almost disappearing under his overcoat. "And whit aboot ye? Reckless thing, dae ye hae a deathwish?"

Anderson glares over to his opponent, well aware he cannot fight while keeping you safe at the same time. "Huh?" You point over your shoulder to the vampire that was already lowering his weapons, observing you with an intent fascination. "What satisfaction would it bring to shoot an unarmed woman?"

It might sound naive, but as your sworn worthy enemies, they surely had the same sense of honor that was driving Iscariot as well. "This is no place to fight" you reprimand both of them, "There's civilians here!"

"We're oan protestant groond, I coidnae care less abo-" He's cut off by your angered expression, the imposing man rendered speechless just like that. "...fine" he sighs in defeat, "Wud be a waste destroyin' this braw art, ah guess."

Eventually he puts the bayonets away, turning to Alucard with a sombre look. "But this isnae ower yet. Consider it a delay o' yer fate."

Maxwell tries to take over the conversation again, still sweating bullets from the tension as he addresses Sir Hellsing. "Seems we both have troublesome subordinates, right?"

You loudly interrupt him, much to the amusement of the British attendees. "You're one to talk! You're not an ounce better!" Being irritated enough that he'd bring Anderson here for such trivialities, you pinch his ear like he was some kind of unruly child - well, to your defense, you practically raised him. "Calling this lady such filthy names...you better apologize!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am..." You nod along with a pleased smile as Enrico uttered some half-hearted excuse to the woman and her squad, then dropping a curtsey yourself. "I too have to apologize, on behalf of the bishop and my husband."

Great. Now his weakness has been exposed, and so casually at that. Anderson doesn't expect them to use you against him, they're different from the disgraceful vermin he usually fights after all. But still...

Everyone's face drops at your subtle disclosure. While Integra's face contorts in disgust more than anything, her hitman breaks out in boisterous laughter. A shiteating grin decorates his face as he sneers "Oh, it warms this cold, dead heart of mine to learn that you're just as much of a hypocryte as the rest of the Vatican, Father Anderson."

God's assassin bares his teeth, protectively wrapping his arm around your body and huddling you against his chest. "Shut it! As if ah'd gie a damn whit a vile abomination like ye thinks o' me." You were sligthly taken aback by his unusual public display of affection, but too pleasantly surprised to object.

"That's his wife?" Alucard's little fledgeling Seras was still staring at you, mouth slightly agape as she inspected you from a safe distance. Ever since she got a taste of his viciousness during their first meeting, she's horrified of the mad cleric - so this revelation made her brain hurt. "But she's so...normal?"

"Haha, thank you!" You try to wriggle out of your lover's grip, but he only tightens the embrace. "You're pretty cute too...for a monster, I mean."

"Stop sweet-talkin' the enemy!" Anderson huffs aggravated, making you snort a laugh. "Relax, darlin'."

"Are- are you a vampire-hunter as well?" she inquires, still visibly confused and you're amused at her bewilderment. "No no, I'm merely a supervisor at Anderson's orphanage."

"His what?!" The demonspawn seemed so overwhelmed, she might as well pass out. Being an orphan herself, only imagining being raised by someone like Anderson sent a shiver down her spine.

"Oh, you didn't know? The children adore him! Actually-" To keep you from making him lose face any further, Anderson pressed a firm hand over your mouth, making you frown.

"That's enough!" Lady Hellsing grew tired of this nonsense, still wary of the Vatican's intentions. "Stop wasting my time and state your business."

You pry Anderson's palm away from your lips, but his hands remain on your body, resting on your shoulders as he towers behind you like a guard dog. "My sincere apologies, Sir Integra. Those ill-mannered fools are not suited to lead negotiations. They may be outstanding in their field, but they are too erratic and should not be left alone. Thus my presence."

"As if I believe that polite facade of yours! Your..." her lip creases in disdain, "...consort has violated countless treaties aas he attacked not only my organization, but even killed two of my best soldiers!" She then puts a hand over her heart, clutching the fabric of her blouse. "I was almost killed myself!"

"Alexander..." You raise an eyebrow at the man and he winces at the coldness in your tone. "Is that true?"

"Whit o' it? They're lousy heathens." Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him, murmuring "We'll have a word later", before adressing Sir Integra again. "My husband tends to read the bible with partial blindness for the love and forgiveness part, I fear...but a shared enemy makes us at least temporary allies, does it not? We possess valuable information concerning the group that so deviously invaded your property and massacred your staff. Sincere condolences, by the way."

The stern woman at least partially calms, her unwavering glare wandering over to Maxwell, to whom you entrust the rest. "The bishop will discuss all formalities with you. If you'll excuse us..."

"What a fierce young woman, how refreshing indeed..." Alucard taunts, yet was sincere in his compliment. "I understand what you see in her. She's starting to grow on me already..."

In an instant you hear the familiar clang of Anderson's bayonets as he rummages in his cassock, however you quickly intertwine your fingers with his before he can summon them. He restrains himself for your sake, bites back the urge to destroy and instead focusing on leading you away from any danger.

"Don't get too full of yourself, fiend" you snap back at him, a contradictionary smirk playing on your lips. "Better enjoy the time you got left until my spouse ends your miserable existence..."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to see him try." The vampire grins, bearing his fangs in excitement at the devoted trust you put in your husband's strenght. To add insult to injury he bows down in genuine respect, making Anderson possessively tug you towards him. "I'll go back to sleep. It's tiring to be woken at the midst of day. Be well, my fair lady."

"...we'll return tae the Vatican" your partner murmurs as the two of you walk past Maxwell, absendmindedly stroking back of your hand with his thumb. "There's nothin' left for us tae dae here."

The remaining humans look after you for a while in awkward silence, before attending more important matters again.

Anderson then turns to look at you, a bright, almost innocent smile not quite reaching up to his eyes as he speaks. "This is a braw place. We shall bring the orphans some time, ma love."

"Yeah, right?" you chuckle all timid now, and he gladly joins in with your laughter before his voice turns more grim again. "Ah'm definetly gonnae kill them a' next time..." You rub soothing circles on his back, containing his bloodlust like you've grown used to over the years. "I know you will...thank you for protecting us."

He stills for a while, worrying you as a mixture of apprehension and despair becomes apparent in his features. All of a sudden he pushes you against the next best wall, lips devouring you in an urgent fervor. It takes a while until you break the kiss, dizzy at the lack of oxygen.

"Father..." you breathe in small gasps, beaming up at him. "How unbecoming..."

"Don't get used tae it" he grumbles in his usual, authorative tone, yet pecking another, more tender kiss on the top of your head. "Let's keep gaun."

He decides not to tell you what's shaken him up so briefly, chooses to rather dwell in this rare peaceful moment at your side. Nonetheless, Alucard had invaded his head telepathically, the vampire's words still echoing in his mind.

"I'm glad to see you have something that makes you hold on to your humanity, Judas Priest. I really am. So don't you dare losing it."

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #drabble #anon #ask #request

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neverpathia · 15 days ago

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I know you love them but I still wanna hear more of your thoughts on them,so Paranoid for the send me a character ask,please!

I think I know who you are. The one with the Gengar profile picture, aren't you? But WAHOOOOO I was quite frankly waiting for this.

really love how Oppy calls him Jitters in your tongues and teeth fic like that's so cute?? love how you write him in general i'm gonna be ngl

Now, I was gonna doodle a little Para for this ask, but the art block hit and then I just kinda moped around for a little. So instead, I guess I'll just answer this straight away because god do I have stuff to say about this little guy.

favourite thing about them

Ummm. This is a tough one. His sass. His snark. His competence. His whispery little tone. His characterization. His insanity. The way he resonates with the construct as a whole. His iconic mantra. His laugh. Him. Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to choose—

Special mention goes to his laugh in Apotheosis, though, because that made me fall head over heels in love with this little guy.

But I do also love how much of a breath of fresh air he is. He's not just scared. Paranoia is an insane thing, and it's made very clear just how far he'd go to survive and exist in spite of it all. Or perhaps because of it.

I also REALLY love his capacity for spite and resentment as I've talked about in this post here lol. He's not just a cowering little thing; he's sniping the entire way through. But at the same time, he also has so much potential for hope and recovery. There's a lot you can do with someone so batshit insane, after all.

least favourite thing about them

Now I obviously don't really have any gripes about him as a character at all, but I am a little miffed about how he's in Happily Ever After. The chapter doesn't bring much to him, and he doesn't bring much to the chapter either.

They really should've put him in PatD instead, he would've been so hot in there and it'd have been pretty interesting to see it play out. We didn't really see enough of his bad side in the game, and although I do love how much he helps us as the Long Quiet, we do have to remember that he's as vengeful as he's desperate. I wish we'd seen that used against us.

favourite line

You're expecting me to choose????? Once more????? Are you fucking kidding me?????

But I'll just settle for his iconic heart-lungs-liver-nerves mantra, because who doesn't love it. It's the most Paranoid thing in the game. It's also really hot.

Honorary mention goes to "Oh, that's right! Yeah, no. Fuck this guy." Forgot how it actually went but god. Hilarious.

brOTP

I don't know if this is surprising, but ParaCheated, or High Stakes as I like to call it.

I like to think they're akin to a very exasperated doctor and a very irresponsible patient. Like a bodyguard desperately trying to rein in a reckless ward. Cheated throws stuff at the wall. Paranoid catches it, then chucks it back at Cheated's forehead while giving him the stink eye. They're best friends. They're both unhinged.

And they have the best complain fests ever. Both of them teaching each other new swears as they bond over conspiracy theories. On the other hand, when they get into debates, you bet there's dirty looks and savage comebacks thrown everywhere. Cheated, inexplicably, loses every time.

But they do end up caring about each other a lot. Paranoid's always there for Cheated's chronic pain. Cheated's always there for Paranoid's panic attacks and anxiety. They're not perfect, but they help each other the best they can. And if you ever hurt one, the other's always waiting with a nice little quarterstaff (Paranoid's) or bayonet (Cheated's) brandished for you.

OTP

ParaHero. Just, Paranoid and Hero.

On the surface, Hero's so dependable and so trustworthy, and yet he shoulders his own burdens. The guilt of never doing the right thing; the indecision that comes with being the voice of reason. Hesitation and apprehension.

And Paranoid would know. Hero would obviously comfort his anxieties away, but Paranoid's the only one who can truly get to Hero. The only one who knows how it feels to be teetering on such a fragile string, with each decision leading to a wrong outcome. And they're the only ones they can let each other be truly vulnerable with.

They argue a lot (lighthearted and cosy) and there's so much gay tension going on. A crap ton of bickering and sarcastic banter and will-they-won't-they. Paranoid is very prickly about it, but he hides his face and blushes into his hands. Hero rolls his eyes and smiles and retorts.

But at the same time they snuggle together and they're both trying their best. Hero gives Paranoid space when he needs it but I do see them being quite touchy, with Hero being a bit of a grounding presence for Para. Hero learns his habits and his tics and shines a little light through the cracks between all his barriers.

As for Paranoid, he's always there for Hero too. He actually lets him be himself. No expectations, just a nagging little presence to bandage his wounds and prepare his supplies for the next quest. Someone who's always there no matter what. Someone who genuinely cares for the scared little voice behind the armour. The warrior and the healer. Gay.

And in the end it's not something that needs to be said. They're close. They love and want each other. One learns to trust and one learns to exist. And they won't even think about letting go.

nOTP

Paranoid x Nightmare. I know there are ways that this could work, but personally, it gets a 'nah bro' from me.

I do like the idea of Paranoid and Clarity making amends and moving on, but I just don't see them romantically in any way. I do headcanon that Paranoid feels very guilty for what Nightmare/Clarity has become, especially when he thinks about it post-construct, but I really don't think he'd actively seek her out. He's very conflicted about her in my AU.

random headcanon

Total nerd. His range of knowledge is a little strange, and he has the answers for the most random questions out there. For trusty, dependable facts, you go to Skeptic. For random tidbits of information that you're probably never gonna need anytime in your life, you go to Paranoid.

On an unrelated note, medic Paranoid my beloved...except he's also overworked, stressed about it 24/7, and frustratedly scribbling down potential ailments in a tattered notebook as two thousand different medicines and concoctions boil beside his workbenches. He multitasks too much. Also worries a lot about fucking it up, not that he'd let anyone else close to the job either way.

Also, he's grown to despise his little heart-lungs-liver-nerves chant. He still uses it when overly anxious, but it's become a symbol of what he is and what he doesn't want to be anymore.

unpopular opinion

In a post-construct AU he'd probably be doing kinda shit in the long run, assuming the other voices don't intervene enough. Oh, at first he's very helpful indeed, and then he descends into his own paranoia.

He's not just another rational fellow here to help you survive. He can genuinely get pretty insane. And his fears are quite justified in the base game because it's Slay the Princess, but take him out of a high-stakes situation and I don't think he's going to fare well.

song I associate with them

Panic Room by AuRa is kind of a given lol.

For how blorbo he is, you'd be surprised how little songs I actually think about in relation to him, but there are a few lines from Cotard's Solution that do remind me of him too. If it's a little bit off later on.

favourite image

uhhhh.

from the canon. he's a disembodied voice so

Oh but if we're talking about my favourite image in fanon I would probably settle for him.

[DIES]

PARANOIDDDD COME ON NOW, NIGHTMARE AIN'T TREATING YOU RIGHT, YOU COULD GIVE ME A CHANCE

#slay the princess #stp #stp voices #voice of the paranoid #sorry this took so long oof

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barrenclan · 7 months ago

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ok ONE more music ask bc i think this is the third one i’ve submitted for the new issue so far:

so i went back & read issue 37 while listening to “drunk walk home” by mitski (both the original and the live at palisades version), timing my reading with the listening so that certain panels & passages would line up with the right points in the song, and dear. fucking. LORD. i wanna make a rainhaze pmv with this so badly. the only question is which version of the song to use

so the best way i can explain it:

*drumbeat intro* - the title page

“i will retire to the salton sea/at the age of 23” - that comic panel at the beginning showing how much he changed

“for i’ve started to learn i may never be free/but though I may never be free/fuck you and your money/i’m tired of your money” - idk exactly how it’d line up with the issue but something something him being influenced by defiance & ranger, something something “you can love someone and still hate/hurt them”

*guitar picks up* - the canine realization and/or slug’s reaction to the murder reveal. some combination of the two.

“and i sit on the curb ‘cause it’s the prettiest night/with no one else in sight/don’t you know i wore this dress for you/these killer heels for you” - rain gets all defensive & tries to justify the murder with the sleep thing & the hypocrisy

“see the dark, it moves/with every breath of the breeze” (+ the buildup before the guitar solo) - “convince them…okay”

*guitar solo* - slug attacks him, big fight scene

and of course the screaming at the end correlates to him screaming as he’s gutted like a baked potato

Nice!! I always love how much thought you put into song choices.

youtube

As a Johnny Cash enjoyer I must say I do prefer his cover but of course I love Nine Inch Nails too. More dark and gritty does fit Rainhaze better.

youtube

I've never actually listened to or seen Repo, but it does seem like something that would be up my alley. It does fit him too, driving in what he's done and forcing him to remember killing Asphodelpaw.

I remember every dying whisper Every desperate murmur I remember when I gaze upon her She looks just like you I remember, I remember

youtube

I like this from Rainhaze's perspective, like he's constantly trying to guess what Ranger wants from him, how much he has to hurt himself to please Ranger.

The waves suck you in then you drown If like, you'd just stay down with me I'll swim down with you Is that what you want?

You hang the anchors over my neck (Saw your end) I liked it at first but the more you laughed The crazier I became

youtube

Haha aww, Pinepaw.

I lost some weight from anxious pacing talking on the telephone If I look cool I'm fooling you At any point you can assume My mind's computing every path that screws up what I wanna do

The things that I can't shoulder well I pass onto my older self And hope I learn to cope so I don't end up broke or overwhelmed 'Cause vocally, I'm not the best

youtube

Poinsettia is an interesting pull, but I can see it. I hate to say Rainhaze once again but yknow... kinda Rainhaze...

The feelings of regret And now I'm running to forget But know, the consequence of imagination's fear I met a man downtown the other day With ruby eyes that took my life away

Thе antidote we look so hard to find To purge yourself of fear, relax your mind But heaven only knows Where my mind leads, the feeling grows

youtube

Someone has actually recently made an incredible animatic set to Ptolemaea, actually! You can see it here.

youtube

That's alright, I usually do all the lyric quoting!

Pick up another cigarette Smoke it now and soon you'll forget If only your silver lining had better timing 'Cause there's no crown for one on the way down

Your dull blade and your dusty attire Can bring back all those burning desires So go back to the pit or roll over

youtube

I'd love to see the animation if you ever make it! It does have big synergy with "The Death of BarrenClan" event.

Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover Flee the fire that devours But the sight held me fixed like a bayonet against my throat

It was a pale white horse With a crooked smile And I knew it was my time

youtube

Not a song in the world that doesn't make me think of Rainhaze... anyways, I always like a good Hoosiers song.

Everything you love turns to dust, You'd make more of it but you felt rushed By all that's periphery, You held tight, but on the contrary

Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it, Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it

youtube

#ask #anon #music #rainhaze #ranger #pinepaw #video

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years ago

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Imperator Butterpants, my charge for the weekend, had treed a squirrel in the park. Normally, I would help out the dog - that’s what is humans are for - but there’s a complication. A nearby toddler birthday party would be ruined by the sight of my aunt’s Pomeranian ripping a domestic rodent in half for fun. That’s the tragedy of the commons, right there. Exactly what Plato was talking about.

As a result, I squat gently and prepare myself to pick up the dog in a caring embrace. This feels natural, comforting. I am communing with my ancestors who tamed his ancestors, and in a moment I will have experienced the sensation of another living thing obeying my demands. Nothing doing. Butterpants turns around, snaps at my face, and dislodges my 3M Tekk P100 respiratory-particulate-protection bayonet fitting mask slightly. We are going home, I declare to a dog that does not understand English.

Luckily for me, I have prepared a vessel for transporting the dog. It is a sidecar consisting of an old bumper car, hastily welded with leftover Home Depot fence strapping (don't worry, I ground off most of the galvanization) to the side of a Razor Pocket Mod child's electric scooter. Well, I say "child's," but we both know that's some bullshit that I trot out to make the cop think it's impossible that I break the speed limit on this pink piece of plastic. In actuality, I know that there is no way that the officer is tuned-in enough to electronic engineering to realize that the several hundred pounds of lithium ion phosphate pouch batteries ziptied together under the seat is easily enough stored energy to launch this thing into low earth orbit should I decide to whack the throttle bare open. Plus, it means I can ride in the bike lane, which is good. Have you seen what kind of maniacs drive cars?

Despite what I just told you, I pin the throttle nonetheless, knowing that the aggregate resistance of the battery cables momentarily turning to a liquid will act as a sort of dynamic throttle control. We are off, both figuratively and literally. You might have encountered in the past a dog wearing "doggles," which is a portmanteau of the word "dog" and "goggles." Eye protection for dogs is absolutely critical at these kinds of velocities, and it is for that reason that I have placed a welding mask on the muzzle of my aunt's dog, protecting him from impacts with bugs, gravel, and other multi-use-pathway users.

We get home in quite a hurry, so much so that I have to use my neighbour's garden hose to extinguish the foam-rubber tires bonded to the rear hub motor. Imperator Butterpants is dazed initially, having reached a land speed formerly only attempted by dogs named Laika, but soon recovers. And, hey! We got that squirrel after all, although I'm pretty sure I'll have to peel it off of the welding mask and run it through a strainer before I can put it in with his Ol' Roy.

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kings-highway · 5 months ago

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consider this: Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos, but as the main trouble-makers of Paranormality.

"There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword. / He will tear your city down." -> "Daichi is not one of us - the bigeneric children born of alien experimentation are like parasites on this planet, they can cast their eyes onto the yokai without belief in them, forcing them to exist without purpose, to live in uncertain circumstances."

Perhaps not a sword, but certainly his nature - his inability to let sleeping dogs lie. Every time Oikawa called on him, Daichi unwittingly answered each time as though he were a soldier following the orders of his commander. When let loose, he did not stop his hunt. He stuck his nose in the dirt and kept sniffing out the drugs buried in a dealer's backyard (metaphorically speaking). Mixing that quality with his poisonous DNA seeping into the very fabric of the supernatural universe, the product is a man who can crumble towers with each footfall, who can make the citizens tremble at the end of his bayonet.

"There will come a poet whose weapon is his word. / He will slay with his tongue." -> "That is the unfortunate burden that we both must carry as believers - there would be no power in your belief if you were able to see it so easily, would there?"

His belief in Daichi's alien heritage, or at the very least, his belief that Daichi's father was up to something shady, is what, essentially, made Daichi an alien. If he had never been told, never been given the inkling of an idea that he is anything but human, then he wouldn't have had to deal with the adverse effects of seeing yokai. Oikawa believed in his ability to perceive, so Daichi did. Oikawa believed that being a monster does not make you monstrous, that the name of the woman who died by her husband's hand is her maiden name, not the one of her murderer. He can destroy and create worlds with words in his mind, with words spoken aloud.

"There will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn. / Smeared with oil like David's boy." -> "Sinistrals are not inherently magic but ones born and bred from bloodlines of power and superstition have innate…"

He cannot perceive the yokai. In fact, he barely even believes in them. Yet, he is the only one who can innately physically affect them before they touch him. With Daichi, he can see them. He doesn't know how to lay his hands on them before they've already gotten ahold of him. Using your sinistral hand can be learned, but Ushijima's ability is innate. He is strong in his ancestral power. He is marked with centuries of superstition, a bloodline capable of bringing the yokai to heel. His arm can move as a separate part of him. The very oil of the yokai is smeared into his skin, his veins, his bones, to the neurons connecting to his brain.

these are not set in stone, i think, considering i could also make a sound argument for all three of them in every position, such as both oikawa and daichi in the ruler spot, and ushijima as the solider. and so on and so forth. but, this is what i'm going to go with and submit. i fear i cannot consume media normally. will i be back in the future? maybe. just wanted to leave you with this, and should you have any thoughts, of course i'd love to hear them.

(obviously i know this song is about jesus christ. but it is something to be said that when these three came together, the bigener, the believer, and the sinistral, they tore the city down, as the last line of the song would go.)

I am CRYING.

dear readers, in case you haven't been following along @mania-sama has been waging psychological warfare against me for a few weeks and I'm pretty sure it's punishment for making them enjoy an DaiOi fic

this has killed me. is it possible you understand the themes and motifs of these characters more than i do? absolutely. fuck you. Also, deeply impressed that you put Ushijima up there, because he initially was slated to be the third metaphorical heavy hitter of the story but I decided to bench him for a bit and instead he will be back in a sequal to develope what the sinistrality hand meant. BUT FU K YOU BECAUSE YOU'VE SPOILED IT. HOW DID YOU NAIL IT 100% ON A SUBJECT I BARELY FUCKING TOUCHED. YOU GOT IT. ABLE TO TOUCH THE YOKAI BEFORE THEY TOUCH HIM. SATURATED IN THEIR OILS. IM CHEWING ON YOU MANIA. IM CHEWING ON YOU SO HARD. DO YOU FEEL THESE TEETH GNAWING? MMMHMMMM TASTY MANIA MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH.

Anyways I love you thanks for this I have to go back to work and be normal for another 5 hours now.

EVERYONE should read this. If you read Paranormality: its accurate. You know that. Enjoy the extra. IF YOU HAVENT this is the best goddamn endorsement of the story I could have written.

#mania-sama prepare for a second therapy bill #haikyuu fanfiction

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mads-weasley · 1 year ago

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Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers.

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand.

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle.

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her.

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought.

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good.

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks.

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it.

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder.

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!�� Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment.

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt.

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down.

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him.

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell.

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body.

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg.

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance.

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red.

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town.

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance.

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet.

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head.

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking.

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…”

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

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x-heesy · 1 month ago

Text

Hosh Ninja 🥷

Look at my bro

The ground is in his pussy

The crappy rappers who come to the ground to make his pussy

They need to be made in their pussy, the tailors

Hosh hosh hosh!

Chop off their heads, throw their corpses into the woods

Hosh hosh hosh!

Our powers are connected to within innie court

Hosh hosh hosh!

One and every number on sokwana we close with bof

Hosh hosh hosh!

Whoosh! Salute manhood

Bobajan opens the gates, brap brap

The ground is fucked up in his fucking pussy

My bofana is clapping now I have to go and take blood

Look at the mother's fucking pussy making shit

The fucker's number changed him and the blood splattered

The blood gan drain, the blood gan spray

The blood is pissing out of his fucking mouth

Hosh hosh hosh!

Chop off their heads, throw their corpses into the woods

Hosh hosh hosh!

Our powers are connected to within innie court

Hosh hosh hosh!

One and every number on sokwana we close with bof

Hosh hosh hosh!

Let's make the Zefside holland

Very difficult

Blow blow blow!

Don't hide him in the night

Or the fucking middle of the day

Wave the flag

Fill up! Go get all the bruses

The tailors rap shit

Him!

Vedala the pussies

They fail the people

I finished seeing

Little seamstresses annie brand

Go get paraffin

Annie favors Annie bombs

Bring all magazines

Annie bet baseball

Him! I am capadine

Give me your cap! Give me your jacket! Give me sneakers tailor!

Give me your chain! Give me earrings and all those rings tailor!

Give me your phones! Give me your wallet! And your gold teeth!

Come and play old brudda! Or I'll stuff your head full of holes!

Give me your cap! Give me your jacket! Give me sneakers tailor!

Give me your chain! Give me earrings and all those rings tailor!

Give me your phones! Give me your wallet! And your gold teeth!

Come and play old brudda! Or I'll stuff your head full of holes!

Fuck!

Hosh hosh hosh!

Chop off their heads, throw their corpses into the woods

Hosh hosh hosh!

Our powers are connected to within innie court

Hosh hosh hosh!

One and every number on sokwana we close with bof

Hosh hosh hosh!

Close up

Dala crew

Catch that tailor

fuck you

You're a wannabee American rapper

Rap in your own language you fuck

Everyone knows you were born in the Cape...

Out of your mother's pussy

Trekkie pussy naked

Catch that bayonet, him!

Him! You are just dust

Put the stamp of ZEF on his chest so the tailors see...

We took our ground back with bof

HO$H HO$H HO$H by Die Antwoord, Bobajan, Skelm

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embersoftheorder · 6 months ago

Text

DWC - August - Day 7 - Victory

"He's been down there a long time," murmured one of the miners as the pack of workers stared at the cave with worried glances. They shouldn't be this frightened but after so many years of torment by the Coven, Hexsworn, demons, and Tides knew what else had climbed out the gloom they had every right to be. Things in the night rarely didn't bump.

Foreman Strohnev crossed is arms and shook his head at the miner's whine, a loud 'hrmph' coming out from under his thick walrus mustache. "We jus gotta give em time."

For weeks things had been going well at the silver mine. Resources plentiful, work steady, and morale high as the profits that lined their pockets. The New Lion Mining Corporation was on it's way to becoming one of the most successful business ventures of this new Drustvar. A small work town had begun to spring up nearby in hopes of perhaps beginning an actual settlement as money was pumped back into the community.

Then the wailing had begun.

Most had hoped it would be some kind of soft cooing in the depths of the mine, something that would cause the willies and startled heads to rise thinking something was over their shoulder. This voice would have none of that. As a pick had struck rock, it came sharp and clear as a meal time whistle exploding through the carved tunnels to reverberate against stone and into flesh. High above in the upper corridors of the mine, men and women had cast aside tools to clutch at their ears in shock as they looked for the source. All eyes had traveled to the elevators further into the depths, whispers of those who might remain below.

None had come back up.

A search party was sent to investigate, the supervisor a hardy dwarf who had been down in the dark for years in the old country hills of Ironforge and Dun Morgh. Troggs, trolls, and beasts had plagued his life since he was a young beardling. He could handle a wail in a cave with a few other muscles to help him out.

The New Lion Mining Co was now short 12 men and had put up a posting for a new supervisor.

They hadn't had an interview yet.

Since the initial wail and disappearances, no one had dared to go down into the mine and memorials had already been scheduled along with letters of condolences to the families of those lost. Sad letters and pocket watches did not fill bellies or pay for supplies though, and word was sent east for aid from House Waycrest. Perhaps the guard would come or maybe a wizard to blast out the mine for the growing tragedy of New Lion as it was being whispered about. Foul moods, broken hearts, and no profits were stunting the fragile growth of this new colony.

The inquisitor arrived on a Tuesday afternoon upon an old black horse with a matching silent crow astride his shoulder.

He was an older man, his hair thin and gray to match the shabby beard he wore but his eyes spoke of a steel that ran deep and true despite the feet at the corners of them. With a crooked nose, chapped lips, and a voice to make men grimace as hard as him he had come to the office of the foreman. Broken leathers, tattered tabard, and an eclectic assortment of Tides knew what clinked among his carried belongings. The Order of Embers was always in dire straights with finances, but in service of Drustvar and House Waycrest there were none better to handle this sort of thing.

This inquisitor said his name was Eldridge. Eldridge Candell.

On Wednesday morning, the inquisitor had tied off his old horse and gathered his assortment of oddities to make his way into the mouth of the mine. He hadn't said anything to anyone, only asking for extra oil and a couple of lanterns to match some rough travel rations. With an old axe strapped to his belt to match an even older bayonet, Candell had swung a pack over his back and entered the mouth of terror.

The crow had planted itself in silent watch as the inquisitor disappeared.

Wednesday came and went.

Thursday passed without a sound.

Friday the miners began to murmur.

Saturday they gathered a watch.

Sunday broke with burning red sunlight and night fell with a spring storm.

Monday came with talk of what to do with the horse.

Tuesday was gone with the wind.

A week had gone by. No work. No news. No sound. No money.

No hope.

The crow sat silent in it's vigil. Was it waiting for the inquisitor's return? Or was it guarding the mine from the miners going in?

Or from what might come out?

Strohnev rubbed his mustache as he ordered the workers to get back to work. What work they would do, he didn't know but he wasn't getting anything for his coin having them worry and fret staring at a hole in the ground. He was not looking forward to writing to the Stand about needing another inquisitor or for them to at least come pick up the remaining effects of the missing man. Another man dead for this, what the hell was he gonna tell the authorities?

The crow let out a sharp croak, that made the foreman nearly jump out of his skin as he looked back to the mine entrance.

"Tides preserve," came a whisper that Strohnev was more shocked came from him as he stared at Inquisitor Candell.

The man leaned wearily against the frame of the door, his face grim and coated in thick layer of coal dust as his grimace caused the wrinkles to crack white lines across him. His pack was missing, his tabard was black and indiscernible of the colors of the Order. His knife was in his belt and a broken lantern hung loosely from the same. The man looked like hell had given him a proper chewing and spitting like he was the bitterest chew.

The foreman strode forward as the other miners spotted him and began to call out at the return of their 'savior'. A sick wet thud stopped him in his tracks as a stained leather sack flopped into the loose gravel.

A few tentative steps forward brought him to the sack as he leaned down to gently peer into the rank leather bag. The torturous withered face of an eyeless woman stared back at him, her face pockmarked with holes like a termite ridden floorboard. Her tongue languished out of her mouth, stained with black much as the stump that might have been her neck.

Foreman Strohnev shuddered as he quickly covered the bag back up and looked up to find the inquisitor standing over him looking grim. The older man grimly reached up to his shoulder and growled as he plucked something from his neck, a soft high squeal much like a piglet. It was insanely unpleasant as he felt his hands come to his ears, holding them tight as he looked in the inquisitors hand.

Squirming in his gloved hand was the oddest bug he'd maybe seen in his life. Bulbous red eyes, black body, orange legs with crystalline orange wings to match. It buzzed and flitted a bit in his hands as it struggled to right itself in his palm, the flecks of the old man's blood still shining on it's pincer mouth as it continued to wail.

It didn't last long as Candell closed his hand around it and squeezed hard enough to shake with as much violence as it took to snuff out the insects life.

Strohnev gaped at his hand and looked up into the inquisitor's face as he finally spoke with a dry cough and hoarse growl.

"Get back to work."

@daily-writing-challenge

#augustdwc2024 #augustday72024 #embersoftheorder #eldridge candell #victory #witch hunter #order of embers #world of warcraft #wyrmrest accord #moon guard #roleplay

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therewasatale · 2 years ago

Text

Don’t fall for me

On Ao3

Based on prompt.

The small balcony was the only place in the cottage that wasn't covered in blood. It was supposed to be a normal hunt, they should have just bickered like they always did before going home.

"Don't fall for me."

For a second Alucard's eyes changed, a cold wave ran through his heart, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't put on his false grin properly. Instead, he let out a small scoff. "How idiot do you think I am?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" The priest answered without turning around. Slowly he played with his broken glasses between his fingers before putting it in one of his still working pockets. He had to do something that would occupy his thoughts.

As always, they were sent out to kill every monster inside the building. They were made for this, and only for this. To fight, and kill, and get up over and over again.

Alucard watched the iscariot's back, waiting, and not knowing what to say. Everything changed, he just wasn't sure how much did he lose.

"Don't fall for me," Anderson repeated, and gathered himself so he was finally able to face the vampire. There were shadows around his eyes, drawn by the full moon light.

He really shouldn't, right? Alucard still just watched his rival. This was so sudden, too sudden.

The silence waited around them, nothing dared to move deep inside the thicket of trees.

Anderson knew he should get away as far as he could. With a heavy heart he stepped beside the vampire, not even looking at him. He had to follow his faith, he offered his life to being a weapon, so he could serve his Lord to his last breath.

After another step a hand stopped the Iscariot.

"Why?"

"Don't ask question you already know the answer for," still he avoided the vampire's eyes. "I'm a priest, you're a vampire."

"Everything comes back to that in the end, doesn't it?"

"I vowed to serve God, to be his weapon, to send every monster to Hell."

Alucard's fingered clung in his coat. "So, you would still kill me after all we gone through? If I'd have only one life?"

"Yes," he lied.

After a second full of sorrowful silence the vampire nodded, and let his arm go. "Good."

Anderson glanced down at his arm, he ached for that touch. But that was it, wasn't it? They couldn't, and must not step over the line, or they would be lost forever. No matter what they felt, monsters like them must follow their orders.

Behind them the wind rose and playing with the tree's leaves as if they were feathers. They got picked up, dancing around in the moon light. It should have been a beautiful night for hunt.

And yet, Alucard couldn't even look up at the moon. No matter how many ungodly, powers he had, his pierced heart didn't heal.

Something changed forever.

"Go back to your master, we're done-"

A hand grabbed his coat and the lips on his own silenced him. It was so sudden, his heart started to hammer in his chest, and his mind became occupied with thoughts rushing and running into each other.

Finally, the depth of his soul had the chance to take over, without thinking he closed his eyes. As he kissed back, the fingers desperately gripped him drawing him closer.

It was a short kiss, he only let it go before his mind wrestled back control.

He pushed the vampire against one of the walls, a bayonet slid inside his palm and he stuck it hallway inside the wallpaper next to Alucard's head.

"What are you doing, you fool?! I just said-"

"You kissed back." There was no mocking tone in the vampire's voice only warmth.

"I-" Anderson had to swallow as he was forced to look into Alucard's eyes.

"You kissed back!"

That smile sent a shiver down om the Iscariot's spine.

"Shut up! You shouldn't have down that, can't you understand?!"

But the vampire kissed him again, he held into his coat and pulled him closer.

It wasn't right, his mind told him. But every part of his soul urged him to step closer to vampire and kiss back again.

It was wrong, he shouldn't have focused on his rival's desperate yet gentle lips. And yet he couldn't think about anything else. He felt Alucard's hunger, and he let it take over him too.

His arms locked around the vampire's waist, pulling him even closer, filling that tiny space that still remained between them. A tiny shiver ran through him, as he felt fingers playing with his hair.

Seconds turned to minutes, and he only pulled away when he finally needed to take a breath. He was as flustered as his rival, but even after the kiss he couldn't let him go.

"We-, shouldn't have-"

The gentle fingers now stroked his chin. When did the vampire took his gloves off?

Alucard didn't say anything, his adoring eyes told more than enough. Carefully he touched the scar on his rival's chin, it was something that reminded him that he still had a lot to learn about Anderson. A warm smile that even reached his eyes spread on his face as the priest moved closer to his hand.

Alucard then stole another kiss from him.

"Don't fall for me." Anderson swallowed, as a crimson blush spread under his eyes.

"I won't."

Alucard's voice made his heart skip a beat. As he moved closer, the tip of their noses brushed against each other.

"I can't fall for you," he whispered to the vampire's lips, and kissed him.

#hellsing #hellsing fanfiction #alucard #alucard hellsing #alucard fanfiction #alexander anderson #father anderson #andercard #alucard x anderson #copper

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 7 months ago

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by Martin Kramer

So why did the Mufti fade into obscurity? (By 1951, he was on his way out.) Many mistakenly believe his collaboration with Hitler and the Nazis discredited him. It didn’t. Not only did the Arabs not care, but Western governments eyed the Mufti with self-interest. The general view in foreign ministries held that he had picked the wrong side in the war, but not more than that.

The above-quoted American report expressed this view perfectly: “While the Zionists consider him slightly worse than Mephistopheles and have used him as a symbol of Nazism, this is false. He cared nothing about Nazism and did not work well with Germans. He regarded them merely as instruments to be used for his own aims.” If so, why not open a discreet line to him and let him roam the world unimpeded?

Nakba stigma

What finally discredited the Mufti in Arab opinion, where it mattered most, was his role in the 1948 war. It was a war he wanted and believed his side would win. In late 1947, the British sent someone to see if there might be some behind-the-scenes flexibility in his stance on partition, which he had completely rejected. There wasn’t. He explained:

As regards the withdrawal of British troops from Palestine, we would not mind. We do not fear the Jews, their Stern, Irgun, Haganah. We might lose at first. We would have many losses, but in the end we must win. Remember Mussolini, who talked of 8,000,000 bayonets, who bluffed the world that he had turned the macaronis back into Romans. For 21 years he made this bluff, and what happened when his Romans were put to the test? They crumbled into nothing. So with the Zionists. They will eventually crumble into nothing, and we do not fear the result, unless of course Britain or America or some other Great Power intervenes. Even then we shall fight and the Arab world will be perpetually hostile. Nor do we want you to substitute American or United Nations troops for the British. That would be even worse. We want no foreign troops. Leave us to fight it out ourselves.

This underestimation of the Zionists proved disastrous, even more so than his overestimation of the Axis. He later wrote his memoirs, blaming “imperialist” intervention, Arab internal divisions, and world Zionist mind-control for the 1948 defeat. To no avail: his name became inseparable from the Nakba, the loss of Arab Palestine to the Jews. His reputation hit rock bottom, along with that of the other failed Arab rulers of 1948.

Upon his death in 1974, he received a grand sendoff in Beirut from the PLO. In 1970, Arafat had transferred the PLO headquarters from Jordan to Lebanon, and the funeral finalized his status as the sole leader of the Palestinian people. Four months later, Arafat addressed the world from the podium of the UN General Assembly, achieving an international legitimacy that the Mufti could never have imagined.

#haj amin al husseini #grand mufti #grand mufti of jerusalem #nazis #nakba #the nakba

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 months ago

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Yuanfen

(n.) a relationship by fate or destiny; the binding force between two people

It seemed like yesterday Before it washed away Hey don't wait for me there Just find your own way Hey don't wait for me there Cause I'll be there soon enough

- FFDP: Crossing Over

"Lovely moon isn't it? Unworthy abomination..."

That voice...

You could hear the heavy thud of boots creaking on the floor, until the shadowy outlines of an imposing man came into your field of view. He was standing there menacingly, covered in the blood of your allies and with a manic grin stretched across his face.

"But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are Gods servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment to the wrongdoer. (Romans 13:4)" He forms a cross with his bayonets, the thrill of a promising battle making him rejoice. "Amen!"

You're frozen in place as the dim moonlight reveals his features. Tears of blood form in the rim of your eyes, unbelieving to the familiarity of it all.

As soon as Anderson takes a proper look at you, he is hit by a raw emotion he couldn't quite decipher. For a split second he is overwhelmed by fractions of memories invading his mind, both foreign and familar at the same time.

He manages to pull himself together, the grip around his weapons tightening as he sneers in disgust at your ridiculous display. "Ah c'mon, whining at your imminent demise? Pathetic."

The internal turmoil inside of you was apparent, yet he was mistaking it for cowardice. "I was told the Hellsing vermin put up more of a fight" he taunts, approaching you with firm steps. "I'm here for a challenge. So come at me, fiend!"

You choke on a sob and the priest is shocked at the pang of guilt the sound rips through his chest. "Sorry to disappoint..." Your voice is low and defeated, sniveling slightly as you turn around. "...but I'm not going to fight you. Farewe-"

A bayonet hits the wall right next to your head but you don't even flinch, just stare at him in a mixture of numbness and exasperation.

"Never turn your back on an enemy" he warns with that authorative voice of his, "I'll enjoy myself one way of another...so if you don't want me to tear you apart to get my fill, you better fight back."

Some things never change, huh?

His violent temper had always caused you nothing but trouble, but usually you were never on the receiving end of it - rather being the only method to calm him down.

Meeting him again like this was devastating. You always knew he'd be reborn and cross your path eventually, since your fates are eternally intertwined...

...however those circumstances are just too cruel.

Maybe it was punishment by a wrathful god for your transgression of becoming a creature of the night.

"You really are the bane of my existence, you know that?"Wiping your tears away you try to regain your composure, taking on a defensive stance and waving him over. "Then so be it."

Anderson narrows his eyes at you, the gears in his head visibly turning. "Have...we met before?" You certainly acted like it. Yet on the other hand he had a reputation among your kind, being feared in all the underworld.

No. Instilling fear in his victims was his daily bread, and it was certainly not what was driving you. No matter how he wrapped his head around it, your behavior didn't make any sense.

"Yes and no." You sigh, scoffing bitterly at his question. "Hard to explain, but in a certain way we did."

That cryptic answer left him visibly irritated. "You're just playing some mind games" he hisses the accusation, "Stalling for time until reinforcements arrive, aren't ya?" Deciding to stop falling for your traps, he lunges forwards for a straightforward attack.

The assassin lands several blows, leaving you astonished by his superhuman abilities. He's as skilled as you remember him, but today's technology truly rose him to another level against the undead.

"Stop holding back!" Anderson growls as you block yet another of his strikes, having done nothing but dodge instead of fighting back. You mutely shake your head but his wrath is unyielding, amplified even by the invisible pull he feels getting stronger the closer he gets.

At some point he's worn you out enough to land one fatal assault, one bayonet impaling your shoulder, thus effectively pinning you against the wall. You almost peacefully close your eyes, awaiting for him to finish what he started but instead he keeps his distance, staring at you like you were a myth yet to unfold.

For him to sink so low as to get confused by some wicked temptress...just thinking about it makes his blood boil. The priest curses under his breath, countless prayers dropping from his lips to ground himself.

"Did ye put a spell oan me?" he ultimatively asks, accent growing thicker with the weight of those confusing feelings. You chuckle, not meeting his eyes and instead try to pull out the steel from your flesh. It's made of consecrated esilver, burning deeply into your palm. As you let out a pained whimmer he's instinctively compelled to help you, reaching out but stopping himself just in time, outraged at the contradiction of his thoughts and actions. "...anwer me, demon."

"I'm not capable of such feats" you explain almost callous, but he looks at you with a stubborn incredulity. "I think we both know your spirit is indominable, papist." Oh, you've witnessed many try and fail before.

With him being so close now you clearly see his cleric collar, stifling a laugh at this irony of fate. "Counterquestion, why would a man of your calibre chain oneself down through religion?" Your tone was derogatory, and yet laced with an incredible forlornness.

"It's necessary." He wonders why he even bothers responding. "There are men walking this earth that need to be restrained in order to remain human...monsters like you would never understand."

Oh. Things really came full circle. Everything is the way it always used to be...

...except your presence in his life had been replaced by a greater force.

"So you seek solace in faith because you yourself are beast that needs to be caged-" Another bayonet hit your stomach, making you sputter blood. Furious emerald eyes bore in your crimson ones, his face only inches from yours as he threatens "Do not twist my words, wench. You don't know me."

The sight of blood pouring out of your mouth makes his stomach turn, all those conflicting and alien sentiments raising panic in the usually steadfast man. You on the other hand laugh as you break down, crescending into a mixture of pain and amusement, echoing off the walls like a haunting melody.

"Oh, you'd be amazed what I know..." As your eyes locked, he caught himself wiping the blood from your mouth, thumb lingering on your lips far longer than necessary before he managed to tear himself away from you. "I know that you carry a darkness inside of you that makes you no different from those you punish. You spend your life hunting down the guilty so you'll only hurt those deserving punishment. Because you're afraid that otherwise the bloodlust inside of you will turn you into the evil you sought to destroy. You're terrified, aren't you? About what would happen if you lose control, so you try to reduce yourself to nothing but a tool...since being unfeeling is easier than to carry the burden that comes with being part of mankind."

Then, suddenly, your laughter shattered like fragile glass, replaced by gut-wrenching sobs that wracked your entire frame. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the remnants of laughter, creating a surreal portrait of sorrow.

Countless times it was you that kept him from committing a severe mistake in the past. And even if you failed you stood alongside him in the aftermath of his destrucive frenzy, vowing to love him despite all of his shortcomings.

It's part of his nature, after all, necessary for the deed only he could fulfill. In order to defeat a monster, one has to cast aside their humanity as well.

And until now you thought that it was the sole purpose of your existence, being one thing that kept this behemoth on the side of light and righteousness.

Anderson is stunned into silence, backing away from you still writhing against your tormenting confinements. He gulps harshly around the lump forming in his throat, fists clenched tightly as he wrung out "Just...who are you?"

There was a long pause of silence before you were able to respond again, bottom lip trembling as you spoke.

"Alucard used to tell me about his mortal foe, his equal...a man that's seemingly put on this earth again and again justto rid the world of the No-Life-King." Your words sound almost like flattery, but they were obvious nonsense, at least that he told himself.

Cracking a saddened smile, accepting of whatever he plans to do to you, your voice is barely above a whisper as you confess "...and 46 years, 7 months and 3 weeks ago, I mourned that very man's death."

Neither his birth date nor any other information was known about the paladin, but the age you stated was admittedly quite fitting for his physique. He wanted to accuse you of lying, of using dirty tricks with this sfoolish attempt at saving your own skin - but his subconsciousness was screaming at him to spare you.

"Seems like god really cannot afford to let you die..." The sheer devotion in your voice makes him shiver. "I didn't think we'd meet again so early, my love."

You weakly raise one hand to his cheek, the gesture sending shockwaves through his entire system. He is tempted to just melt into the touch, yet instead he rips it away, reminding himself about the insanity of this situation. "What in god's name are you even talking about, woman?!"

"I don't know how many times we've met before I was turned into...this..." your voice cracked and yet your smile wouldn't falter, not wanting him to remember you suffering at his hand. "...but it doesn't matter. Kill me and I swear after I received my punishment in hell, I'll be reborn and find you again!"

"...Y/N?" The name drops from his lips before his mind can catch up on, but there's a flash of recognition on his face, repeating it with a firm lucidity. "Y/N...Y/N!" Your heart clenches hearing your name wrapped in his voice, a spark of hope lighting in your eyes again. "Yes darlin', it's me..."

With a frantic move he tears the blades from your flesh and you collapse right into his arms. The cross around his neck burns against your skin, but you'd hurt forever as long as it means being at his side again.

"I-I..." He visibly switches through several emotions at once, being forced to remember always inevitably bound to suffering. Unable to do more for him you simply pull his head against your neck, soothing him as he allows the memories to resurface.

Anderson's hands tremble as they stroke your face, taking in every detail of your features before engulfing you in a bonecrushing hug. "I'm so sorry, I almost...I-I...I can't..."

"Shh, it's alright" you assure him, smothering his face in kisses as if to make up for all the lost time. "You're back, that's all that counts."

All the hatred he formerly directed at you had been replaced with sheer reverence, the oath of his current life insignificant compared to the bond that transcends the borders of life itself.

Warmth blossomed in his chest as your lips brushed closer, tentatively kissing for the first time - in this life, at least. It feels like home, instantly consuming him in the sincerity of everlasting bliss. His fingers trail across your jaw, a lovestruck haze in his eyes when he repeated the words he told you all those years ago, on his dying bed.

"No matter what, I'm yours forever."

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alexander anderson #alexander anderson x reader #reader insert #writing #drabble

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lamarseillasie · 1 year ago

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When Marat meets Jeanne D'Arc

This is a little Marat anecdote that I discovered recently, reading some of the issues of L'Ami du Peuple: apparently, Jeanne d'Arc has been venturing into revolutionary France as a true patriot - she even appears in Marat's newspaper!

In February 1791, Marat received letters from a certainly somewhat mysterious person who signed them "Jeanne d'Arc". In the March 4 issue, Marat displayed one of the letters in L'Ami du Peuple, along with some other letters he had also received:

Jeanne d'Arc's letter denounces the Marquis de La Fayette in particular, and also recounts an episode in which his officers apparently violently intimidate some citizens in the Tuileries. In the letter, she refers to La Fayette as 'Mottié', which was also the way Marat used to call him in his newspaper. I'm not sure if it was Marat himself who changed his name to 'Mottié' when transcribing the letter or if it was actually originally written that way. In any case, it's interesting and a little funny to think that Marat might have induced other citizens to "defame" La Fayette by calling him by his family name. Here's a rather poor translation I made of the letter itself:

"The officers of l'état-major entered the Thuileries last Thursday, bayonets out to repel the people. Vinezac pushed the indignity to the point of striking a peaceful citizen with his sword, another citizen who blamed this violence was arrested by the aide-de-camp who usually accompanies the king's wife: but the people soon forced him to release him. A cent-suisse assured me that yesterday they had a man in bourgeois dress at their head to command them; he added that Mottié was a scoundrel who was betraying us; and that l'état-major was made up of nothing but brigands who had sold out to him. Mottié was heard to tell the king "that he had nothing to fear from the populace, that he was going to make them see that this scoundrel was not ready to reason, that the Parisian guard was devoted to him, that he had them marching to the beat, and that he would reply that everything would go as he might wish": a discourse that he had held at Gutgnart dit St.-Priest, when he wanted to withdraw. He knows you, Badauts, this vile scoundrel; he treats you as automatons who do his bidding, as brute beasts who know only the voice of your leaders, as ferocious satellites who would disembowel your mothers, and he does you justice. This is only for the flat soldiers who blindly obey their officers, against their fellow citizens, against their brothers. Among the large number who refuse to treat them badly, and who know their rights, how can there not be someone with a heart, who will put the bayonet in the belly of a Vinezac, a la Jarre, a d'Arbelay, and other brigands on l'état-major? Ah! If only one of them had the courage to put a bullet through the head of the counter-revolutionary Mottié, he would be the liberator of the fatherland, and France would be saved!

Signée Jeanne d'Arc.

Ce 29 février 1791."

Curiously, this is not the only time that Jeanne d'Arc appears in L'Ami du Peuple. In the issue of February 13, 1791, Marat briefly evokes her, praising her and asking her to get in touch.

"Warning.

The excellent patriot who signed her letters Jeanne d'Arc, is asked to give her well hidden address to the doorman of the Hotel de la Faudriere, rue de l'ancienne Comédie. We have something interesting to pass on to her: until now, she has been advised to remain silent, and we wish to obtain information on the important facts she has denounced. We will gratefully receive her new information,

Marat, l'ami du peuple."

It's not known whether Jeanne d'Arc passed her address on to Marat or whether they actually got in touch, as I couldn't find any other record in his newspapers, pamphlets or correspondence that mentioned her. Apparently, her identity was never revealed either and, considering that Marat received numerous letters from various readers of L'Ami Du Peuple, it is practically impossible to deduce who the real person behind these letters was. However, it is clear that she did at least pass on important information to Marat.

Doing a bit more research on the subject, I came across a short thread by historian Paul Chopelin on Twitter, in which he talks about this anecdote. According to him, the year before Jeanne d'Arc appeared in Marat's newspapers, the "Chronique du Manège", a royalist newspaper, mocked the militant activist Théroigne de Méricourt, calling her an "anti-Jeanne d'Arc". In this context, the Jeanne d'Arc who wrote to Marat may have adopted this pseudonym as a way of avenging Madame de Méricourt... Who knows!?

Although there is no concrete proof that can tell us who the mysterious person who signed her letters to Marat as Jeanne d'Arc really was, there is no doubt that this is all very fascinating: It shows us, in the end, that Marat really did have all sorts of people in his secret network of informants and patriotic companions!

#marat #jeanne d'arc #l'ami du peuple #marat anedoctes #jean paul marat #frev #french revolution #my posts

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