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your-eternal-lies · 1 month

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HEAT OF THE MOMENT (AU masterlist)

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FEATURED PAIRINGS — Fire Chief!Ari Levinson x Reader / Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x Reader / Firefighter!Jake Jensen x Reader / Small!Firefighter!Steve Rogers x Reader / Fire Marshal!Frank Adler x Reader / Firefighter!Loki Laufeyson x Reader / Firefighter!Lloyd Hansen x Reader / Firefighter!Thor Odinson x Reader / Firefighter!Pietro Maximoff x Reader AU INTRO — The local fire department, the famous and beloved Station 616, is just teeming with eligible bachelors... but not for long! Summers are for falling in love, after all.

CONTENTS AND WARNINGS — Modern AU, firefighter AU, crossover fic, language, fluff, mild angst, sexual content (ranging from mild to explicit), rom-com vibes, no use of y/n, each character gets their own Reader (not a poly fic), playboy tendencies, age gap, friends to lovers, workplace romances, enemies to lovers, allusions to divorce/troubled marriages, and possibly more as the stories are written.

NOTE — Each story is a three-part miniseries and can be read as standalones. I do not currently have any plans to write any more than what’s listed, but I will never say never. There is also no release schedule; I will post at my own leisure so please refrain from asking, thank you!

LAST UPDATED: March 31, 2024 STATUS: Coming Soon

PLAYING WITH FIRE _ ╰┈➤ ft. Fire Chief!Ari Levinson x Photographer f!Reader

Ari is the dedicated fire chief of Station 616 who runs the show with an iron fist and a heart of gold, but the one thing he can’t seem to get a handle on is his personal life—until the Station is partnered up with a new bright-eyed photographer for this year’s charity calendar photoshoot. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

MOTH TO A FLAME _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x Firefighter f!Reader

There are strict rules to be followed in life, otherwise the world would descend to chaos, right? You insist on never dating a coworker, while Bucky insists on not dating at all. Well, fortunately for the both of you, everyone knows rules are made to be broken. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

FIRE AND WHISKEY _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Jake Jensen x Bartender f!Reader

It’s tradition that the entire squad heads down to the same local hole in the wall for any occasion, no matter what it is, okay? It has absolutely nothing to do with Jensen’s insanely obvious crush on the badass bartender, capeesh? Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

COMIN’ IN HOT _ ╰┈➤ ft. Small!Firefighter!Steve Rogers x Volunteer f!Reader

At just 5’4” and 95 pounds soaking wet, Steve is the scrawniest yet the most determined member of the 616 team. Often underestimated, he finds solace in a budding relationship with the part-time volunteer at the firehouse, who seems to see right through his physical appearance. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

BURNING UP _ ╰┈➤ ft. Fire Marshal!Frank Adler x Business Owner f!Reader

You are horrified when you head to work one day only to discover that your precious store has gone up in flames. And if that isn’t already terrible enough, it seems the crabby, unsmiling fire marshal assigned to your case is already convinced that you’re guilty of arson. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

HEAT WAVE _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Loki Laufeyson x Environmentalist f!Reader

Loki, the enigmatic and secretly sensitive member of the team, is dispatched to a scene across town, he’s not expecting anything out of the ordinary. Imagine his surprise when he finds a woman from his past, chained to a tree, and leading an environmental protest that is quickly getting out of hand. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

WARM BEDS _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Lloyd Hansen x Teacher f!Reader

Lloyd doesn’t actually like teaching fire safety to snot-nosed brats, but he loves going on the prowl for his next one night stand with the single moms, teachers, and school administrators… until he meets his match in a new no-nonsense teacher, who remains frustratingly unimpressed in the face of his uniform and charm. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

HOT-BLOODED _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Thor Odinson x Grad Student f!Reader

You’re usually very level-headed, okay? You’re not usually the type to get into scrapes like this. All you wanted was a tiny bit of revenge on your cheating, lying ex-boyfriend… you didn’t expect your rage to get the better of you, nor did you expect the fire you set to his car to get so out of control. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

WORLD ON FIRE _ ╰┈➤ ft. Firefighter!Pietro Maximoff x Reporter f!Reader

Rumours begin to swirl around Station 616, calling into question the integrity of the fire department’s hiring policies. But when you meet Pietro Maximoff, the firefighter at the centre of all the controversy, suddenly the price of a potentially career-making story is no longer one you’re willing to pay. Part 1 ┊ Part 2 ┊ Part 3

NOTES — I cannot wait to share these with you!!! 🥰

#ari levinson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #thor odinson x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #jake jensen x reader #frank adler x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #firefighter au #au: heat of the moment #marvel fanfiction #chris evans character fanfiction

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pleasecallmealsip · 12 days

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"And what shall be the reward of spilling so much blood, one drop of which has more worth than all the crowned heads of the world?"

L’Ami du Peuple, No 634, from Thursday 19th April 1792. [The very next day, on the 20th April 1792, war was declared against Austria]

If it was still impossible to doubt the traitorous dispositions of the court, after all the plots that it has formed to this day, in order to crush the people, to ruin the nation, and to re-establish despotism, the scene of high scandal that the ministerial cabinet has just been playing out should have sufficed to open the eyes of all.

On the 14th of this month, the ministers presented themselves in the Assembly. The Minister of Foreign affairs [Dumouriez; he took this post on 15th March 1792] took the floor to communicate to them, after the orders of the king, of the dispatches that, he said, were delivered by an extraordinary courier who arrived during the night. He first read out the letter written [by Louis XVI] to sieur [Louis Marie Antoine, Vicomte de] Noailles, ambassador at the court of Vienna, demanding the new king of Hungary [Franz II of the Holy Roman Empire, nephew of Antoinette] to give a categorical response on his attitudes towards France. He then read out the response of sieur Noailles, containing a formal refusal to continue a negotiation that he [Noailles] said was impracticable and an announcement of his [Noailles’s] resignation. He [Dumouriez] proceeded to give a reading of a very pressing dispatch [from Louis XVI] addressed to sieur Noailles. Finally, he [Dumouriez] announced that Louis XVI had just written in his own hand a letter to the king of Hungary, and sieur Molle the field marshal was to deliver it. The response to this letter would arrive on the 10th of next month at the latest and would decide whether peace or war would be. In this epistle, one can clearly sense that Louis XVI is repeating his crude joke of professing his love for the Constitution.

Scarcely had these readings been finished than sieur Briche and sieur Guadet demanded a decree of indictment against sieur Noailles for having disobeyed the orders of the king; they must say so, for he had betrayed the interests of the nation and compromised public safety. After several light debates, this decree was given a near-unanimous pass. Already the ones that did not follow the thread of the story were singing to their victory, for they saw that he was declared a nation-harming (lèse-nation) criminal, he who is an ambassador of France, a close relative (cousin-germain) to sieur Motier [Noailles and Lafayette had the same father-in-law], a member of the Tuileries committee, and a pillar of the Feuillant club; that is to say, one of the main conspirators, bolstered by all the forces of his accomplices, and sure of the support of the vast majority of counter-revolutionary conscript fathers. But their joy was short-lived. Several hours after the decree of indictment, the veil was ripped to lay bare the juggleries of the ministerial cabinet. Sieur Dumouriez appeared on stage to announce to the president a letter that he had allegedly just received from sieur Noailles, who had finally obeyed the orders of Louis XVI and had given news that the king of Hungary refused all negotiations, declaring war on the French nation. Immediately Thuriot, Goupilleau, Vaublanc, Gentil, Dumas ＊and the other gangrenous ministers demanded that the decree of indictment be revoked. Sieur Kersaint and Sieur Delacroix ⁑ proposed that the letter of the minister [Dumouriez] and the dispatch of the ambassador be sent back to the diplomatic committee, so that the report would be done on time.

The report done, under the name of the committee, by sieur Lasource, the decree of indictment was adjourned. Such was the conclusion of the ministerial and senatorial farce against sieur Noailles. Thus, by the method of a double correspondence, the perfidious agents of the prince will always get away with their deeds, just like how pirates escape by the method of using false flags. Always the artifices of the court will render the laws illusory; always the apparent acts of justice from the legislator will be none but lures to deceive the people; and no matter how things turn out, always the public enemies at the helm of the vessel of the State will manage to throw it at the reefs, and to direct it in such a way as that shall see it broken by the storm and engulfed by the waves in the end.

So finally here is war declared on the French by the powers plotted against freedom. However, who does not see that all these pretend ministerial negotiations with foreign courts had no other goal than to amuse the nation and to buy time, until all these powers have their batteries loaded, and they are ready to shoot us? Who does not see that all these bellicose preparations, arranged by the Assembly, had no other goal than to lure the nation to sleep in deep dreams of security? Who does not see that all these sending-back to the executive power, the denunciations, the prevaricating ministers, and these complaints of citizen soldiers crammed onto the frontiers and left without munitions, without weapons, without clothes, without pay, had no other goal than to leave the patrie with no means of defence, to leave the State in the grip of the machinations of the court, of the undertakings of the fugitive plotters, of the attacks of the foreign lackeys.

Will there be war? Everybody is saying yes. It is certain that this opinion has finally prevailed in the cabinet, after the representations of sieur Motier who, without doubt, has made it the only way in order to distract the nation from the concerns within to occupy with concerns without, in order to make the nation forget the internal dissensions in favour of news in gazettes, in order to dissipate the national property into military preparations, instead of employing it to liberate the State and to comfort the people, in order to crush the Nation under the feet of taxes, and in order to slit the throats of patriots of the infantry and of the citizen army, leading them to the butcher’s, under the pretext of defending the barriers of the empire. It is always certain that he pressures the monarch to stop negotiating and to order the campaign to be started, which he regards as a means to honourably end his own career, if he runs out of ways to regain the nation’s confidence with new acts of seduction and of hypocritical devotion to the cause of liberty.

Lost in the heady rhetoric from Brissot, from Lemontey, from Girardin, from Delacroix, from Gouvion, from Dumas and from other scoundrels who have sold themselves to the court, seduced by a false image of national forces, intoxicated by the fumes of Gallic boastfulness, the people seem no less desiring for war than their implacable enemies do. For three years I have represented war as the last resort of counter-revolutionaries and I have not stopped working to thwart the various undertakings of the cabinet to set it aflame. Since then, my attitude has not changed, and in my eyes, war is always the cruellest curse that may be cast on the kingdom. Whatever new focus that war will draw public attention to, by only fixing it onto news in gazettes, war will leave an open field for the enemies within to machinate at their ease and to breathe the fire of civil dissensions into all parts of the kingdom, to instigate troubles, and to set traps for proponents of freedom; the war will completely squander the national property and accelerate public bankruptcy; the war will consummate the loss of everything that France has in good citizens and it will drain the State of all the patriotic youth, because it is the most zealous proponents of the revolution who have been rushing to the defence at the frontiers, and they will always do so. However fearless they may be, they are without weapons ¹, without discipline, without tactics, without idea of grand manoeuvres ², without the smallest notion of the art of war, without experienced chiefs, without shrewd and faithful generals. How would the soldiers of the patrie resist the attacks from the disciplined armies of lackeys, they who are commanded by shrewd generals?

If war happens, I repeat, regardless of the bravery of the defenders of freedom, it does not take an eagle-eyed genius to foresee that our armies will be crushed in the first campaign.

I can conceive that the second campaign would be less disastrous and that the third could even be a glorious success, since it is impossible that we would not learn at our own expense, impossible that some great man would not be given a position. Yet, to wrest victory from our enemies, we will need to suffer a long and disastrous war. Now, it would fall short of the truth, to say that our losses, over three campaigns, shall round to a billion livres and five hundred thousand combatants.

How shall we compensate for the loss of so many brave soldiers, the flower of the French citizens? And what shall be the reward of spilling so much blood, one drop of which has more worth than all the crowned heads of the world? To prevent this precious blood from being shed, I have proposed for a hundred times an infallible method, which is to take hostage among us Louis XVI, along with his wife, his son, his daughter, his sisters ⁂, and hold them accountable to what happens. A senate faithful to the patrie will speak to him thus: “King of the French, it is in vain that you (vous) hide in the detours of a tortuous policy to see us ensnared in the disasters of war; you have no escape from the avenging power of the people. We declare to you, in the name of the nation, who is your august sovereign, that we do not wish to deal with your fellowmen, the princes of Europe, that we wish to make no preparations at all for war. Whether or not you compromise with them is your choice. The duty to remind your rebellious brothers and cousins is upon you, and so is the duty to divert your fellowmen from all hostile undertakings. The barriers of the State will stay open, yet rest assured that upon certain news that the first corps of enemies shall have crossed them, your culpable head will roll at your feet, and your entire dynasty shall be extinguished in its own blood.” But a senate faithful to the patrie is even rarer than a patriotic king. How insensible the people is, that they do not sense the necessity to finally choose a supreme dictator, to give him powers that would be circumscribed, so that he would have no authority to dominate, but unlimited authority to cut down the chief conspirators that the public voice has identified, to force the corrupt legislator to put at a price the heads of kings, of princes and of the generals who will come with weapons against us, to offer sums of gold to their troops who will deliver these kings, princes, and generals to us, living or dead, and to receive these troops among children of the State. Soon we shall see their numerous legions, running with weapons and equipment under the flags of freedom, and France shall be delivered from her enemies forever.

The fate that awaits her is less consoling for the friends of the patrie, but the fate that awaits her enemies will be terrible.

At the first shot of the canon fired on the frontier, the departments agree on a plan to reduce the castles and the gardens to ashes and to slit the throats of all public enemies who can be found in cities and in the countryside. As the army will massacre its own perfidious chiefs and conspiratorial generals, and as the entire nation will rise up against its own worthless representatives to seize back the powers that they have stripped from her, the mysterious veil long hung over the intrigues of the cabinets will be torn: however impatient the cabinets are to put the French back into chains, I strongly doubt that Louis XVI shall have the humour to do nothing if he even takes a look at this terrible picture. Let some good man have the courage to put it before his eyes.

---------------------------

Notes in the original:

[1] It is an unchanging fact that sieur de Grave, despite all his civic affectations, has not given a single order to prompt the ministry to arm the national guards of the frontiers since he arrived at the ministry. It is upon their actions, and not upon their talk, that the royal agents must be judged.

[2] It was to prevent the citizen battalions from training for grand manoeuvres that the generals have kept them divided and dispersed into different posts.

Translator's notes:

＊This would be Mathieu Dumas (1753 - 1837), a colonel of the general staff of Paris, long lambasted by Marat for refusing to fight, and whose name had come from his father, and not to be confused with Thomas-Alexandre Dumas (1762 - 1806) the Haitian general, whose name had come from his mother, an enslaved and nigh-erased woman.

⁑ This would be Jean-François Delacroix (1753 - 1794) the Dantonist, not to be confused with Charles-François Delacroix (1741 - 1805) the Thermidorian, and father to the painter Eugène Delacroix (1798 - 1863).

⁂ Marat notably did not mention either of the brothers of Louis XVI, because the comte de Provence (future Louis XVIII) emigrated in June 1791 to the Austrian Netherlands, and the comte d’Artois (future Charles X) emigrated even earlier, on 17th July 1789 to Savoy.

I am indebted to @citizen-card for helping me with finding out about the relation between Motier and Noailles, and to @lamarseillasie for making me interested on "just what was Marat's view on dictatorship" in the first place.

#frev #french revolution #jean paul marat #marat

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invaderlynx · 6 months

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There’s a common headcanon that Bly took his own life after realizing what he’d done during Order 66. My brain decided to make that ten times worse for some reason:

Bly is a very competent officer. He’s a marshal commander—and a damn good one at that. For that reason, I can’t see him killing himself on a campaign, either by enemy fire or otherwise. He wouldn’t want to leave his men in a lurch, make more trouble for them than he had to, or endanger them in any way. So I’d have to imagine that if he had suicidal designs, he’d probably act on them while on leave. And where exactly do most troopers end up on leave? Coruscant.

____

Fox gets the call early in the morning. The war’s been over for weeks, but he’s still bone-tired. The fighting may be finished, but Coruscant has never conformed to the war’s schedule. He’s just as busy as he was before, if not more so. It weighs on him. Heavily.

The message is simple enough. A clone officer was found dead in his quarters with a blaster bolt through his brain, apparently self-inflicted. Fox doesn’t blame him, the poor bastard. Force knows he’s seen his fair share of suicides. Hell, he’s considered it himself.

Since the clone was a high ranking officer of the GAR, standard protocol dictates that the military police examine the body to rule out any evidence of foul play. Fox is about to dispatch a forensic squad when he finally gets to the CC number associated with the request. His blood runs cold. CC-5052.

Fox doesn’t send the requisite medical team. He goes himself. He’d trust his men with his life, but he doesn’t trust anyone but himself to care for his brother. His vod’ika.

____

The last time he saw Bly was months before the end of the war. Months before the incident with Rex’s ARC, before everything fell apart.

It was the last time all four of them were together. Wolffe, Cody, Bly, and himself, all crammed into a little back room booth at 79’s. Fox can’t remember what they were celebrating that day. Perhaps it was just the fact that they were all together again.

Bly was just on the wrong side of tipsy—his tattooed cheeks flushed red and glowing in the neon light—but he was happy. Cody was goading him on about something having to do with General Secura. Like he was any better, the hypocrite. Wolffe had loudly pointed this out and then promptly spilled his drink when Cody gave him a shove.

Fox felt lighter that night than he had in weeks, the bone-deep stress of Coruscant dissipating in the presence of his brothers. Surrounded by the people he loved most in the galaxy with the warm thrum of liquor in his veins, the war seemed distant. The incessant demands of the chancellor and Senate could wait, at least for a few hours. The most pressing thing for him right now was trying to rescue his drink from Cody and Wolffe’s play-fighting.

When the night was over, Fox was saddled with the task of getting Bly back to his rooms in one piece. The whole way Bly had gushed into Fox’s shoulder about “Aayla”, his face pressed into the plastoid of Fox’s armor as his brother carried him back. By the end, the sight of his quarters had been a relief. Fox was about ready to strangle him.

Before he’d gone Bly had hugged him, pulled him in for the most uncoordinated keldabe Fox thinks he’d ever seen, and told him he loved him. Fox can’t remember now if he’d said it back. Maker, he hopes he’d said it back.

____

Fox hesitates at the door to Bly’s quarters. His heart thuds painfully in his chest and his hands shake worse than they ever did during the war. There’s a tight, white-hot fear that’s coiled in his gut, freezing him in place. He forces himself to take a few breaths, ignoring its desperate, keening warnings.

He punches in the door code and steps inside.

There’s no mistaking the corpse that lies before him. Any lingering hope that his brother might still be alive, that there’s been a mistake, dies in his chest.

He makes the executive decision to spare Bly the indignity of an autopsy. Call it commander’s privilege. He knows enough forensics to realize that the wound was self-inflicted. He knows enough about Bly too.

He handles the body like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever carried. He gently arranges his brother’s bent limbs, straightens his uniform, closes his eyes. It won’t matter, his remains will be cremated all the same no matter how he looks, but it matters to Fox.

____

He escorts the hover stretcher to the crematorium—an honor guard of one. He’s not sure whether Bly would appreciate the gesture. They hadn’t spoken since Fox had killed that ARC, since he had been summarily declared “dar’manda”. He’s certain he wouldn’t be Bly’s first choice of pallbearer, but their other brothers are scattered across the galaxy or else marching on. Fox will have to do.

The guardsman on duty seems nervous. He’s a shiny and has likely never been around an officer for this long before, let alone one of Fox’s rank. He looks like he wants to ask something. Fox hopes he won’t. He doesn’t trust himself to speak at the moment.

Fox waits as the body is incinerated, standing at parade rest as the flames cast shadows through the small transparisteel window of the capsule. There won’t be anything to take back. This crematorium was designed to handle clone casualties that were never meant to be buried. Whatever ash is left over will be sent to a Coruscant waste facility automatically.

Fox waits anyway.

Even with the best technology the Republic has to offer, the process still takes about an hour. The kid informs him when it’s over, his voice barely above a squeak. Maker, he’s young. Fox thanks him, taking care to make sure his voice doesn’t shake. Were he and his brothers that young when they left Kamino?

The walk back to his office is torture. It takes every shred of discipline Kamino ever instilled in him to keep from breaking down. He measures his breaths, his strides, all the way down to his very heartbeat to keep up the appearance of the dutiful commander he’s meant to be.

It’s a mercy when he finally arrives at his destination. The moment the office door is locked behind him his facade cracks. His legs give out at last and he braces his back against the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest. He rips off his helmet, letting it clatter unceremoniously at his side. He curls in on himself. His body shakes with wracking sobs. His vod’ika is gone. He’s gone marching on somewhere Fox can’t follow.

#tw: suicide #commander fox #commander bly #clone wars #tcw #commander cody #commander wolffe #blyla #mentioned codywan #post order 66 #coruscant guard

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corrieguards · 1 year

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Cody x reader Summary: Cody's in a sour mood, injured both in pride and flesh. So when a cute medic comes to check up on him, they are faced with one grumpy Cody. Word Count: 1,9k T/W: none, just Cody being a little shit

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Today had not been a good day for Cody.

His first misfortune of the day happened when General Kenobi was transferred over to reinforce another battalion, right in the middle of his own raging battle. Not only that but he also took both his medics along with him, leaving Cody as the sole commander of 600 men, some of them seriously injured.

To make matters worse, when he sent a request for backup, the Council replied by dispatching the only other available battalion. And when the gun ships arrived, a relieved Cody rushing to meet them as they landed, who did he see stroll out of them?

Anakin fucking Skywalker.

Hopes crushed, he reluctantly began to brief the general on the current situation and offer up some of his own opinions on counter attacks only for Anakin to dismiss them. Plans he has spent all kriffing night making replaced with another one of Skywalkers idiotic ideas that was probably going to get them killed.

Then, to add salt to the wound, half way through the battle he got caught in the crossfire of a thermal detonator that some shiny had accidentally thrown too close to him. Not only did he get thrown across the room, but a piece of shrapnel hit him in just the right spot between his armour platings, getting firmly and painfully lodged into his side.

So here he now sat, safely in hyperspace on the way back to the capital. His dignity wounded not only by the fact that Anakins' stupid plan had actually worked, but also because he, Marshal Commander Cody, had got wounded in battle. And not by a clanker or a seppie, no. By a fucking shiny.

All he wanted to do now was take a weeks long nap, but instead he was stuck in the med-bay of the Resolute waiting impatiently for a medic to show up. But apparently even the medics of the 501st were horribly unorganized.

Scowling at the time display on his wrist comm, he scoffed, already itching to get up and leave. Maker, how much longer was this going to take?

He didn’t even need to be here for kriff sake, he was fine. He still had piles of reports to sign off and injured men to check up on. But Rex had made him promise that he would at least let one of his medics take a look at him and Cody was nothing if not a man of his word.

Sensing a movement out the corner of his eye he turned lazily towards the door a bored look on his face.

“Hi, I’m here to be your medic” you smiled as you made your way over to your patient.

“Fucking finally” he muttered under his breath. Your head shot up from your datapad, raising an eyebrow at the trooper in front of you. What was his problem?

Brushing the comment off you plastered on another smile, admittedly less genuine that the first one.

“Ok then, let’s get started shall we?”, you introduced yourself to him, telling him your name and finishing it off by offering him a handshake.

He glanced down at your outstretched hand then back up at you face, eyebrows raising before slowly accepting your offer. His hand engulfed your own as he gave it a small shake, pulling back almost as soon as your hands had touched.

A couple beats of silence passed as you looked at him expectantly. His frown deepened “We gonna get this over with or what?

Your eyes widened, taken aback by his bluntness. Seriously, what was this guy's problem?

“I was waiting for your name...” you said, but this only made him look even more confused.

“Y’know, I tell you my name, you tell me yours…” you explained hesitantly “at least that’s how introductions usually work.”

“I know how they work” he scoffed “I just assumed you already knew who I was. Most people do.”

“Oh. Well I’m kinda new around here. I haven’t even really worked with other battalions outside of the 501st yet”

“Clearly.” he grumbled “The name’s Cody. Marshal Commander Cody.”

Ok so he was definitely wayy to full of himself.

You flashed him an awkward smile “Ok then Cody, how about you lay down for me and we can get started?”

Turning, you started rummaging through ypu med pack when he scoffed, making you look up abruptly only to find him still sitting on the edge of the bed with a bored look on his face.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked harshly.

"Well, that really depends on how bad your injuries are commander, I-"

"Great" he cut you off "then I believe we're finished here” He jumped of the bed, wincing slightly and clutching his side but quickly recovering and playing it off

You caught the movement and opened your mouth, beginning to protest “But commander, you're obviously injured-“

“I’m perfectly fine” he said, pointedly cutting you off yet again “Now if you’d just sign me off I’ll be on my way.”

He held his hand out expectantly, already looking down at his comm as he waited for you to hand him the med report card.

This guy was getting on your last kriffing nerve.

When you didn’t react he slowly looked up at your face “I said-“

“I know what you said” this time you cut him off. He raised an eyebrow at you before straightening up to his whole height and taking a step closer to you.

“Good, then how about you follow orders and hand me that report card, medic”

Oh so this is how this was gonna go. Ok then, two can play that game Cody.

Matching him you took a step closer, now almost chest to chest “I don’t care if you’re Marshal Commander or the fucking Chancellor, when it comes to medical care I outrank you”

He looked taken aback by your outburst but maintained his firm gaze nonetheless. Refusing to back down you glared straight back up at him. Eventually he scoffed “Fine, but make it quick.”

“It will take as long as it needs to take Commander," you replied snarkily “Now please if you would be so kind as to lay down.”

He let out a small huff of disbelief, but settled back down onto the bed anyway. You had balls he’d give you that.

“Not many people talk to me like that y’know” he said as he watched you set up your supplies.

“Yeah? Well maybe they should” you scoffed, making him narrow his eyes at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem like you could be taken down a couple notches is all." You shrugged, gentle hand begining to detach the armour plating covering his chest and stomach. Then as an after thought you added “No offense.”

“How the hell is that not offensive?”

You smirked, an odd satisfaction at getting under his skin.

He sucked in a sharp breath as you carefully peeled up his blacks, your own breath hitching as it revealed the wound hidden underneath.

“And you said you were fine?”

“I am fine” he replied through his teeth. “Minor wounds are an occupational hazard. I’ll live.”

“Cody. This isn’t a ‘minor injury’. This is an open wound that, if not treated correctly will get worse”

“S’nothing I haven’t dealt with before”

“I don’t care if you’ve dealt with it before, right now it’s my job to take care of you and you’ve got to let me do it”

He shot you an annoyed look but settled down nonetheless “Fine”

You nodded satisfied and walked over to the sink, Cody’s eyes following your every move as you picked up a cloth, letting it soak completly under the tap before carefully wringing it out.

Turning around, you jumped slightly upon seeing the commanders gaze watching you intently. You cleared your throat, walking back over to him and taking a seat on the stool next to the bed. Gently, you pressed the cloth to his skin but quickly pulled it back when he hissed.

“Sorry” you mumbled “Is it too hot? Too cold?”

“No, no it’s fine, just stings a little”

Nodding you carried on rubbing of the dried blood and dirt spread around his wound, making a conscious effort to be as soft as you could. Once you were satisfied you lent in, taking a closer look at the now clean wound. You hummed and began rummaging in your med pack as he watched you closely.

“What? What is it?” he asked almost as if he was... nervous? No, it couldn’t be.

“It’s just gonna need a couple stitches that’s all, nothing to worry about”

He swallowed as you carefully threaded your needle and lined it up near the start of his cut. Taking one last glance up at him to make sure he was ok you found him clenching his fists tightly by his side, eyes firmly shut and chest rising and falling quickly.

Who knew he would be so nervous about a tiny needle. You shook your head smiling softly at his nervousness before slowly pushing the needle in. Immediately he flinched, sucking in a breath and clenching his jaw.

You stilled, glancing up at him again “Hold still for me please.”

“I’m trying” he muttered angrily, “but you’re fucking stabbing me”

You chuckled, focusing back on your work “On come on now, I thought you were ‘big tough Marshal Commander Cody’. People won’t find you nearly as intimidating when they find out you can’t handle a little needle and threat”

“I can handle it.” he growled.

“Sure doesn’t seem like it” you smirked finishing up the last stitch and tying a careful knot. “But no need to worry Cody, I wouldn’t dare tarnish your reputation like that”.

Taking out a bacta patch you ripped the wrapping off.

“It can be our little secret” you teased, sending him a wink. He rolled his eyes at you, only making you smirk wider when you saw him trying to hide a smile. Huh, maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

You lined the bacta patch up, before giving him a warning “This is gonna sting a little”

He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as you pushed it down, looking up at him apologetically and muttering a quiet “Sorry”

Finally you straightened up, dusting off your hands “Okay the Cody, you’re as good as new”

He groaned as he sat up, watching you fill out the report card before finally signing it off and handing it to him. He took it from you muttering out a quiet “Thanks”

Smirking, you put a hand behind your ear teasingly “Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that”

He rolled his eyes at you, ghost of a smile gracing his lips “I said” he enunciated each word carefully “Thank you”

“My pleasure Marshal Commander” you grinned, giving him an exaggerated bow. He let out a small huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before re-attaching his armour and heading towards the exit.

“Oh and Commander” you shouted when he was half way out the door. He hummed, turning to look at you.

“I’ll see you around Cody” you winked playfully. He shook his head, rolling his eyes but not trying to hide the smile rising on his face.

“Sure, I'll see you around” he replied, winking back before slipping out the door.

You stood, staring dumbly at the empty space where he’d just been standing, feeling a blush slowly creep up to your cheeks.

Did- did he just wink at you?

---

Pt.2 here

A/N: I can't shake the feeling that I didn't get Cody quite right in this? Idk something just feels off. So please feel free to send me some constructive criticism. Key word being constructive. I will most definitely cry if you are mean to me lmao

Anywho, hope y'all enjoyed it anyways ❤️ :D

my masterlist

#my fics #commander cody x reader #commander cody x you #commander cody #cody #tcw #clones #the clones #the clone wars #star wars

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shelyue99 · 7 days

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Some thoughts about Operation Varsity, which Nix served as an observer and nearly died, portrayed in the Ep 9 of BoB—I’m not sure who actually assigned Nix to be the observer. In Dick’s memoir, he wrote he dispatched Nix, but in Biggest Brother, it seems it was Sink assigned Nix. If it was Dick and if Nix got killed in the operation, I just can’t stop myself imagining what kind of guilt Dick would feel.

Here is an excerpt from Dick's memoir, Beyond Band of Brothers:

The next evening, March 23, Field Marshal Montgomery launched Operation Varsity, a massive attack across the Rhine at Wesel with his entire 2d British Army. Though Ridgway's XVIII Airborne Corps, of which the 101st Airborne Division was an integral part, had originally been slated to participate in the offensive, changes in the troop list resulted in William (Bud) Miley's 17th Airborne Division being the only American airborne division participating in Montgomery's highly touted offensive. The 101st was allowed to send observers, so I dispatched Captain Lewis Nixon.

Fortunately, for Nixon, he was assigned to be jumpmaster of his aircraft. As he approached the drop zone, his plane was struck by heavy antiaircraft fire. Nixon and three other men made it out of the plane, but the rest were lost when the plane crashed. Nix remained with the 17th Airborne Division for one night and was then returned to 2d Battalion at Mourmelon on a special plane. Nix's brush with death left him visibly shaken, particularly when at this stage in the war, no one intentionally put himself in danger now that victory was at hand. Captain Nixon found his usual retreat in alcohol that evening, but I was glad to see him safe. On a side note, Nixon's jump with the 17th Airborne Division qualified him as one of two men in the 506th PIR eligible to wear three stars on his jump wings: Normandy, Holland, and Operation Varsity.

An excerpt from Biggest Brother, the Life of Major Dick Winters:

For his S3, Winters soon reclaimed the man he wanted most. Ever since Lewis Nixon had been elevated to Sink's staff, the colonel had become increasingly frustrated with the man's drunkenness. In late March Sink had assigned Nixon to jump as an observer with the 17th Airborne Division during Operation Varsity, the assault on the Ruhr, the industrial center that still propelled Germany's sagging war machine. Nixon was jumpmaster and in the first seat by the door. On March 24, as the plane lumbered over the drop zone, it was hit by flak. Nixon and three others managed to launch themselves out the door before the plane exploded. A day later Nixon was back with the regiment, and while he was drowning the memory with Vat 69, Sink was visiting Winters' headquarters.

"I have a problem, Dick," he said.

"It's Captain Nixon."

Winters knew what the complaint was, so it came as no surprise.

"Goddamit, the man's drunk all the time," Sink said. "I mean, I certainly tip a few myself at night and when off duty, but with him it's all the time. I can't get any damned work out of him. How did you find him to work with?"

"Captain Nixon and I get along very well, sir," Winters replied.

"That's what I had thought," Sink said. "Do you want him back? Can you use him?"

"Oh yes, I can use him," Winters said.

"You got him," Sink said. "Hell, every time I need him he's always here with you anyway. He may as well stay."

So Lewis Nixon, now the only man in the 101st to make three combat jumps, returned to 2nd Battalion.

(And, the operation was launched on March 23, 1945. Nix returned the next day. The same day Dick wrote a rather bitchy letter to DeEtta. The tone of this letter is so out his usual character, just Dick being sassy and also mean. Dick was exhausted. His best boyfriend Nix nearly escaped death and was shaken, withdrawing himself into alcohol. It must have some kind of effect on Dick's mental state, if not serious.)

The letter from Dick to DeEtta on March 24, 1945:

Dear De-

What kind of stuff are you reading nowadays? From the line of icky stuff you wrote about my picture it sounds like 15¢ worth of pulp magazine. Something that would be called "Ten thrilling love stories" or "True confessions." Anyway don't hand me that kind of stuff. I get to look in the mirror about once a day when I shave and when I'm honest with myself, I just say, "Boy, are you ugly." So to be brief I am just glad I don't have to go around all day looking at myself.

Then you talk about my hair being darker. Hell, no, it's just dirty. I don't get a chance to wash it but a couple times a year. Then there's worry muscles on my forehead. My aching back! I've worry muscles all over my face and the longer this war continues, the deeper they'll grow for I've got over 600 big individual worries myself when I get time to think about my future.

Now we come to the part [in your letter] where my "eyes are keen and seem to follow you wherever you go." This is too much for me, I quit! Hell, that's the way I sleep!

Next, my "mouth seems firmer, and my face broader, yet muscular." Naturally, if you'd been beaten around for so long and eaten noth-ing but K rations, you'd need more than a lipstick to look ----

"When I think of what your eyes have seen, I just can't visualize or imagine that much." Have you read these combat stories in the newspapers and magazines and seen these movies on combat? It makes me shiver too. "Do you jump when somebody slams a door, hit the ground if a car backfires?" Well, that's about all there is to it. Once you've seen one French village, you've seen them all, Holland, Belgium, Alsace-Lorraine, Germany-all the same.

So you met a boy from the 511 [Parachute Infantry Regiment, 11th Airborne Division]? Is that outfit in this man's army? Never heard of them doing anything! Gee, that sure must have been interest-ing to hear what the lad had to say about what paratroopers must go through. Terrible, I imagine. I'lljust bet they run him to death. And if his officers don't work him to death, he'll most likely get killed on a practice jump. Did he tell you about the time he killed three Germans with his bare hands? Or about the time he got a letter from his girl and he was so inspired he went out and killed ten more of those dirty old krauts?

Yes, yes, those poor, poor, tired old krauts, just aching to give up. All you have to do is walk over there and invite them to give up. Why, I imagine he told you how a Yank is better than any three, old, tired krauts. Then there's the one about how they can't shoot worth a damn, can't hit a thing. I know, I've heard them all. To be brief, that's about the same grade as the stuff you handed me in the letter I just went over with you.

Sort of tired tonight. This thing of running a battalion can be rough if you want to make it that way.

On the radio they just announced that the 101st jumped east of the Rhine today. Mighty interesting!

Wish they would have told me so I could have gone along.

Well, here's to the end. This letter looks and sounds like I must have been drinking but I am about as sober as a judge. Only just so tired I am too lazy to lift my pen, let alone think.

Well, I'll be seeing you in church-

Dick

#dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #winnix

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josefavomjaaga · 3 months

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Marbot and his memoirs

It’s occurred to me that I have been rather harsh in my judgement of Marbot’s memoirs, so I thought I should give an explanation. For those who read French this article may be of interest: Ètudes critiques sur les sources narratives […] - Les mèmoires de Marbot. This attempt to figure out how much of Marbot’s memoirs is actually true (or rather, how little) dates back to 1902 already, i.e., mere ten years after the memoirs were published.

For those who don’t read French, some major lies in Marbot’s story:

He was not the one who brought the message that Masséna had given up Genoa to Napoleon, meaning that all the compliments Napoleon flatters Marbot with at this occasion are also an invention

As he was still in Genoa at the time, he also did not take part in the battle of Marengo.

He most likely was a total nobody at the time and not in contact with anybody higher up the ladder, as he had problems to see his provisional rank of sous-lieutenant confirmed after the campaign.

He was not at the battle of Austerlitz as he claims, he probably was not around the imperial headquarters at all during the important combats.

He was not present during a meeting of Prussian ambassador Haugwitz with Napoleon at Brünn, because such a meeting never happened.

He did not save any Russian officer from drowning in the lakes of Satschan because… well. This has been discussed to death over Ridley Scott’s movie. Thanks for providing that Brit with ammunition, Marcellin!

He was not sent to Berlin in August 1806 in order to bring to the Prussian king an ultimatum from Napoleon, such a letter does not even exist.

After he had been wounded at Eylau, he did not miss out on the decoration of the Légion d’Honneur due to a confusion with his brother Adolphe; Adolphe had been decorated before that battle.

After Eylau, he was sent back to Paris to take care of his wounds, and he stayed there for the rest of the campaign. So he was not transferred to the staff of Marshal Lannes, he did not take part in the battles of Heilsberg and Friedland and he was not present at the meeting between Napoleon and Alexander at Tilsit.

He did not bring the news of the Dos de Mayo uprising to Napoleon, as a matter of fact, he was not even in Spain before mid-June.

He also was not charged with taking the news of the victory at Tudela to Napoleon by Lannes, who at this occasion, according to Marbot, refused to give him an escort, he was not wounded in an ambush on the road during that trip and was not replaced by Lannes’ brother-in-law, who then received a promotion for having delived a dispatch "bathed in Marbot’s blood". It was even a different aide who took that dispatch to Napoleon.

Marbot in fact is the only of his aides whom Lannes does not mention by name in his reports to Napoleon, which makes you wonder if he was even there

And so on, and so on. Marbot is a brilliant writer, but he seems to have been one of the young, still rather insignificant officers in the shadow of the giants from the Revolutionary Wars, who had to wait their turn and who never got the chance to truly rise because the empire fell too soon. So, if we call Ida’s memoirs (in part) a self-insert fanfiction, the same is true for Marbot’s. And in his case, the lies even can be proven.

#marcellin marbot #napoleonic memoirs

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armagnac-army · 2 months

Note

I DEMAND YOU CREATE ANOTHER POLL !! And do not call it a “pity poll” unless you want your house flooded with my vikings

-Bernadotte

MARSHALATE PITY BALLOT

VOTE FOR ONE OF THE LESS POPULAR LES GRANDE CHAPEAUX!!! SOMEHOW BERTHIER THE NERD WON THE FIRST POLLE WITH ME IN SECOND PLACE SO LETS DO THIS SHIT AGAIN

IN CASE YOU DONT KNOW WHO WE ARE WE HAVE A "OUIKIPEDIA PAGE" ALL ABOUT US AND OUR BIG HATS BUT LONG STORY SHORT WERE NAPOLEONS TOP COMMANDERS WHO FUCK SHIT UP FOR HIM

SO ONCE AGAIN VOTE FOR WHOEEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT WHETHER THATS THE BEST OR THE SEXIEST OR THE MOST PATHETIC

YOU CAN EVEN STUFF THE BALLOTS IF YOU WANT THE EMPEROR DID IT SO WHY NOT YOU

This is a public service announcement. Do not engage in vote manipulation. -Maréchal Soult

IVE DEFINITELY NOT FORGOTTEN ANYONE THIS TIME AND THERES NOBODY SNEAKING ONTO THE BALLOT!!!!

FEEL FREE TO POST PROPAGANDA OR ANTI PROPAGANDA WE WILL SHARE IT IF ITS FUNNY

ALSO DO SHARE THIS SO THAT WE CAN SEE WHO WINS THE PITY VOTE AND MAYBE PIT THEM AGAINST BERTHIER IN A CAGE FIGHT

WHERES GROUCHY

#exchanges with that guy who is now swedish #dispatches from the marshal #napoleon's marshals #marshalate popularity poll #marshalate popularity ballot

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shepherds-of-haven · 2 months

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Are there the equivalent of cowboys or lawmen (excluding Chase, I count him as more of a gunmen/gunslinger) in Blest? Like Sheriff's and such

I wouldn't consider Chase to be a cowboy or lawman of any sort, haha! There are cowboy equivalents, especially in the western frontier of Blest--literal horse-riders hired to rustle, herd, and protect cattle trains, especially to and from big fairs or during seasonal migrations, and who live the general lifestyle of classical cowboys, but they're not generally referred to as "cowboys" and are instead "cowherds" or "cattle herders" (same as "shepherds" = sheep herders).

There is technically the concept of a "sheriff" in small towns in the West, as in a government official dispatched to keep an eye on an outpost and ensure taxes are collected for the Autarchy appropriately, though these are more akin to the sheriffs of Old England (e.g. the sheriff of Nottingham) rather than an Old West sheriff. In terms of just like a local Guy that the townspeople elect to be their lawman or peacekeeper or constable or civilian law enforcement officer (like an Old West sheriff), this is generally just referred to as the town guard, the captain of the guard, or very rarely the local constable. Most of the time, the tasks of a lawman or Old West sheriff are either handled by a fiefdom's private militia (Lockwood = Lavinet's family appoints and funds their own military force/guard to keep the peace), a city's Vice Guard (major cities only), or the local military garrison (tiny rural village would call upon an Army of the Sun base located X miles away, because typically they don't need an outright assigned official to handle their troubles and keep the peace). For other cases, an independent, unclaimed, and un-fiefed town's mayor, leader, or council would be in charge of finding a Guy to keep the peace, which would result in something like an Old West sheriff, but again, these situations are fairly rare, and the Guys are referred to as the town's "guard" or "constable," sometimes its "marshal" or "castellan" or "chief"--but not as a "sheriff," because that means a different position.

Hope that all makes sense!

#Shepherds of Haven #worldbuilding #cowboy #sheriff

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angeloverangelo · 1 year

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"Glowing Halo, Guardian Angel"

And I dream of being braver

A/N: I really got nothing to say other than this is inspired by Operation Ashring's OST. Enjoy being the one that's kicking ass. WARNING: Mentions of blood, injuries. Reader is gender neutral. ----

This is a situation in which you, the reader, is a 'noncombatant' within the VALORANT protocol, basically, support in simpler terms. Beloved by all, they try to keep you save. Yet when a mission goes awry, the dispatched agents are in for a surprise that they have a guardian angel watching.

---- It didn't look good for everyone. Out of energy, bullets, and their weapons jamming, they were being cornered by their omega counter parts, dodging death in every turn until they were cornered, their cover slowly breaking down from the hail of bullets. "YOU. ARE. POWERLESS!" Viper cursed underneath her breathe as the KA/YO sparked the unstable radianite within their body, further incapacitating the team in the corner. Out of options, out of ways to run and somehow get an advantage. "It was nice knowing you all..." Killjoy coughed, panting, tired from running. Holding her Classic, with only three bullets in the magazine. "To die here..." Omen muttered, it was hard enough to keep his body still. Any more damage to him and he'll be truly gone. Reyna gripped her Sheriff hard as she waited...if she was going to die here, she would die taking at least one of them with her. Sova can only sigh as he felt his quiver empty, his bow was useless and now he can only hope that a miracle happens. "I knew this was too good, dammit! Dying here...this is pathet-" Viper's words cut off as the Reyna from Omega Earth came from the corner, Vandal on hand and- *BANG* Viper closed her eyes, but the bullets didn't came, she opened her eyes to see the Reyna dead, a hole from her head. Blood pouring to the ground. She looked back, no one fired a single bullet. More shots came, seemingly coming from the sky as the Omega counterparts shot back, but one by one they seem to fall. Until after a minute, silence came. The agents slowly crawled out of the corner, to find a massacre. Five shots was heard before. And there was now five bodies. If you count the KA/YO's robotic frame as a body. "What...just happened?" Killjoy managed to ask, "Did they shot themselves or something." Omen looked up, the rooftops was someone cladded in dark clothing, face, on hand was a Marshal and the person seemed to staring at Omen. "...Looks like someone saw us." Omen spoke. The person dropped a rope and quickly they grappled down before landing on their feet, their faces was covered as they looked at the five agents. "Uh...thanks?" Killjoy smiled nervously before Reyna pressed the barrel of her gun at the person's head. "Yes, thank you...but we would like to see your face now...can't be too careful." She spoke. The person stared at all five before they took off their mask, and everyone's eyes- if you count the slits of Omen's face as eyes- widened. "...Y/N?" Viper choked out. You let out a sigh as smiled. "Didn't expect me of all people to save you, now?" Reyna froze as she quickly lowered her gun and pulled you into a hug, if anything went wrong... "Whoa, whoa...hey chill! Hey!" You let out a chuckle as you hugged Reyna back. "Uh, surprise!" It was rather a surprise to see Reyna to be physically intimate...well if there was people anyways. Everyone took their turn hugging you, Omen being tightest, if there was another reason to keep himself together, it was you. And the longest being Viper. The hug was out of possessiveness, care and love for you. Though she won't admit the last one, just yet. Killjoy however... "How did you do it?! Are you hurt? When did you even start practicing?! H-" The hug felt more of a barrage of interviews but it was nice to see Killjoy being the dork you enjoy being with. And of course... "That was amazing!" Sova practically scooped you in his arms, hoisting you up, you playfully smile and hugged back. "You've grown, I'm proud!" Seem that they were more than happy than upset that you were willing to put yourself at risk there. That and you did saved them. "Thank you...we should go now. I already called our KA/YO to head to the LZ. He should be at the LZ in 3." There was no need for other words as they all agreed that they need to head back now. As you and the others headed back... Killjoy swore that there was a halo forming in your head. "...Too tired..." She muttered. Probably just her brain messing with her. Probably.

#valorant #valorant x reader #valorant viper #valorant omen #valorant sova #valorant reyna #valorant killjoy

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itsmythang · 6 months

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In 1960, Ruby Bridges was escorted by federal marshals to her first day of first grade as the first black student to attend a previously all-white Elementary School. A riotous white mob gathered to protest her arrival, screaming hateful slurs and threats.

As soon as Bridges entered the school, white parents pulled their own children out; all teachers refused to teach while a black child was enrolled.

Only one person agreed to teach Ruby and that was Barbara Henry, from Boston, Massachusetts, and for over a year Mrs. Henry taught her alone, "as if she were teaching a whole class."

Every morning, as Bridges walked to school, one woman would threaten to poison her; because of this, the U.S. Marshals dispatched by President Eisenhower, who were overseeing her safety, only allowed Ruby to eat food that she brought from home.

Another woman at the school put a black baby doll in a wooden coffin and protested with it outside the school, a sight that Bridges said "scared me more than the nasty things people screamed at us."

At her mother's suggestion, Bridges began to pray on the way to school, which she found provided protection from the comments yelled at her on the daily walks.

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ragingbookdragon · 9 months

Text

Stand And Deliver

Kotallo x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K Warnings: Fighting, Violence, Wounds

Author's Note: Yeah...I forgot how much I loved this guy. -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“How’s the new Focus treating you?” she asked, repositioning the gauntlet between her knees as she nimbly worked the threads with her hands.

It is odd…if I’m being honest. Aloy and you have always been open about using yours and while I was always curious, I never thought I’d be using one myself.

She gave an amused smile. “Seeing the world in a new way is odd. You’ll get used to it though.” Tying a new line of beads into the thread, she started a new braid. “How’s Marad handling the slack I left behind?”

How he always did before you arrived. Did your squad make it to the Memorial Grove safely?

“They did,” she answered with an annoyance. “Thanks for telling me they were on their way. It sure wasn’t a major surprise at midday when Kotallo and I were still asleep.”

Well, as Tashid probably mentioned, you didn’t leave instruction behind for them.

“Oh, for the love of God, it was implied that they were supposed to go to Marad for instruction, Avad.” She inhaled deeply and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now though.”

How are they managing the transition from Carjan society to Tenakth?

“Not too terribly. Kotallo and I have been pairing mine and Tenakth soldiers together for training exercises. The hope is to make a strike squad of infiltration soldiers.” She leaned over to her side and shifted around the three bowls of light blue, dark blue, and yellow beads until she found the one she wanted. “It’s coming along nicely. So far, we’ve seen reliable results. I assume the next time Hekarro calls a Kulrut, we’ll have the squad in place.”

Kulrut? What’s that?

She glared into the distance. “Out of all I said, that’s what caught your attention, Avad? Really?” Rolling her eyes, she said, “The Kulrut is essentially the tournament that Hekarro holds to make his Marshals from. It’s what saved Fashav’s life when they brought him here.”

Yes, you’d mentioned he was a Marshal…what does the tournament entail? Physical prowess?

“In a way,” she answered, tipping her head side to side, even though he couldn’t see her. “Challengers are dispatched from all three of the Tenakth clans to fight against machines in the arena a few hundred meters from the Grove. Those that manage to survive and make something of themselves are made Marshals and serve Hekarro directly.”

Your lover, Kotallo, he’s one of the Marshals that survived the Embassy Massacre, yes?

She grimaced at the mention but felt a warmth in her chest from his name. “Yeah, technically he’s the senior Marshal now. It’s a shame Fashav died…those two could’ve been a new generation of Marshals.”

How so?

“Well, I’ve no doubts that Fashav would’ve come back here after spending time in Meridian. He probably would’ve brought Carjans to perform in the Kulrut.”

They can?

“Well, it saved his life, so, I’m assuming. Though there were many, like Regalla, who were opposed to it. Probably still many who are.”

…Have you ever thought about it?

Her hands stilled in the middle of the braid, and she blinked. “What?”

The Kulrut. Have you ever thought about performing in it?

“Avad, if I were to perform in the Kulrut, I would have to forsake being a Carjan citizen to be in service of Hekarro. I couldn’t hold my position at your side anymore.”

I understand. But have you ever considered what advantage it would be to be a Marshal? You said Fashav pushed Carjan relations with the Tenakth farther than ever before by being one.

“Well, yeah,” she answered. “But you have to remember that Fashav becoming a Marshal was originally the plan to save his own ass. I don’t think he intended to survive and become a Marshal. From what Aloy told me, he wanted the win to request a boon of being delivered back into Carjan custody.”

I think you should strongly consider becoming a Marshal.

“I think you should strongly consider what you just said to me a little bit longer,” she griped. “Avad, if I pass the Kulrut, I cannot serve any other leader other than Hekarro. I would not be under your command anymore.”

And when have you ever truly been under anyone’s command? I know what I’m telling you. You forget that while physical prowess might not be my strong suit, intelligence is. Besides, you’re practically married to your Marshal anyways. Are you really going to leave his side?

She fell silent, cheeks heating and she looked down at her hands, knowing on some level that he was absolutely correct in his assumptions.

Are you still there?

“I’m here,” she muttered, fumbling with the ties. “Even if I wanted to fight in the Kulrut, Hekarro probably won’t call one any time soon. Not since the last with Aloy where they were replaced.”

Did any fall during the assault on the Grove?

“I think one or two, but not many. Most survived.”

Then there will be a chance when he calls a Kulrut again.

“Avad…think about this, please,” she begged. “Do you truly want this?”

I think you should ask yourself if you want this. Being the ambassador to the Tenakth allows you to travel to and from Meridian to the Forbidden West, but being a Marshal would solidify a position amongst the Tenakth. In a way, you’d become one. You’re not Carja, but if I had to give you my most honest opinion, and not as your King, but as your friend…you are more at home amongst the Tenakth then I have ever seen or heard you. From what you’ve said of your homeland…the Tenakth are just like your people.

She tied the last braid on the gauntlet and set it aside. “Avad, I—”

If you truly don’t want to fight in the Kulrut, you don’t have to. But…I encourage you to put your roots somewhere. You’ve spent so much time afraid to be tied down in one place, but I, honest to the Sun, think that the Tenakth are where you belong.

A noise sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder, seeing Kotallo coming her way. “I have to go, Avad.”

I understand. Just…think about what I’ve said, okay?

“I will,” she answered, and tapped her Focus, ending the call to the Sun-King; Kotallo reached out his hand and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. “Hey.”

He frowned. “You sound upset. Is there trouble?”

“No,” she said, giving him a tired smile, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Nothing’s wrong, my beloved.”

Kotallo pulled back and gazed at her, dark eyes drifting over her face, then he murmured, “You don’t wish to speak of it now?”

She huffed a laugh and ultimately nodded her head. “Something like that.”

“I understand. Just know that whatever is weighing on you, my heart, I will help you all I can.”

“I know you will, and I appreciate that.” She smiled, then bent down and picked up the gauntlet she’d been working on. “I fixed your laces for you and added a few new designs. Some from my clan.”

Kotallo took it in his hand and lifted it up, gazing at them, then handed it back to her so she could tie it on his wrist. “Thank you, I’ll carry you and your people with me wherever I am.”

She smiled at him and patted his arm. “C’mon, let’s go bug Hekarro into letting us take a scouting mission down by the beach.”

His usual stoic expression split into a calm grin, and he slipped his hand into hers. “I would love to get down to the beach again.”

“And we’re about to bug the Chief into letting us go!”

“You mean bugging him into putting us out there just so we’ll leave him alone?”

“Same thing, more words.”

***

The call for another Kulrut came faster than she’d expected it to. A few challengers from every tribe came, as they had when Aloy had been helping the Tenakth, and the arena was filled with a palpable, electric energy as cheers and cries sounded from the spectators.

A churning feeling in her stomach made her sick as she fumbled with the weapon at her side. Moments before, she had left Kotallo and the Chief from the stop of the arena and come back to her and Kotallo’s shelter to put her gear on. She paused as she grabbed her mask and stared at the mirror set up in the corner, a makeshift vanity for her morning routine.

Something unclear was in her eyes, just as cloudy as her heart felt. She felt torn between her obvious desire to be something closer to Kotallo and the Tenakth, and her understanding of what would come after the Kulrut should she survive. Avad’s words kept running through her mind, only clouding the turmoil she felt. The cheering reached her ears and she inhaled sharply, putting the mask over her face, shoving the internal churning deep down and let the desire to fight come over her.

By the time she got back to Kotallo and Chief Hekarro, the Kulrut was about to begin, and she walked between them, both turning to her with confusion. “There’s one more challenger ready to compete.”

“Who?” Kotallo asked, and rather dumbly for such a smart man.

She glanced at him. “Me.” It was all she said before leaping off, raising her arm to unleash the vibrant blue glider, courtesy of Aloy. Her feet hit the sand and she didn’t speak as she stood up and walked to where the other challengers were waiting, some glaring at her, others with looks of shock at the insert of her. She looked up to where Hekarro was watching her; she nodded at him.

Chief Hekarro raised his hands. “Let the Kulrut commence!”

She waited, her heart picking up in her chest as the gates began to open all around the arena, the echoes and cries of deadly machines coming from their bellows. Her eyes met another woman’s around the same age as her and they shared a look of hesitation before a flash darted between them. Dodging back, she lifted her sword and watched as at least fifteen Clawstriders darted between her and the other warriors.

The Tenakth in the pit with her began furiously attacking, intent with claiming victory with their life, yet she climbed up into one of the taller wooden platforms and watched, scanning the ground and the combatants below. Something didn’t feel right. The fight she witnessed Aloy in was full of much more deadlier machines, and yet, this many Clawstriders against a group of trained warriors seemed like child’s play. She continued to watch when something slammed into the platform below her and she gasped in shock, looking down to see one of the warriors stuck to a post, a Clawstrider screeching at him.

Her eyes narrowed and she shifted, leaping below to slam her sword down into its head; it jolted, electricity crackling as it died and she pulled her sword free, kicking the machine aside. “Are you okay?” she asked him, and he breathed heavily, holding his side; crimson soaked from below his fingers. “You need to get up to safety.”

“I can still fight,” he shot back but she was hearing none of it as she hefted his arm over her shoulder and started to lead him back towards the easiest ledge of the platform.

“Over here,” she said. “You’ll be able to climb up and provide support fire for the rest of us.”

“A Marshal is supposed to fight along his fellow warriors.”

“A man won’t become a Marshal if he’s dead,” she retorted and looked at him as he stared back. “Just because you’re not in the thick of it, doesn’t mean you won’t be fighting. You’ll be surviving.”

“Why would you help me?” he questioned, watching as she shoved a cloth beneath his armor.

“Tenakth, Carja, or even my people, the Pumarians, we all bleed red in the end.” She gave him a tight smile as an arrow pierced a machine a few feet from her. “And if we survive, we’re all on the same side.”

“Your words carry—”

A duel set of roars echoed through the arena and the two turned their heads, eyes widening at the Slitherfang and Thunderjaw coming out of the two opposite openings.

“Get up,” she commanded, bending down to give him her hands for his feet. “Get up now and do not be seen.”

He obeyed and disappeared into the platform as she ran to where the other warriors were huddled behind a wall; bodies from the other tribes littered the ground but she paid them no mind, yanking free a bow and set of arrows, as she skidded to a stop behind the wall.

“I need you all to focus on the Slitherfang.”

They looked up at her and one glared. “Who made you leader of us? This is a fight for us all.”

“All for one, one for all,” she growled. “If we don’t fight together, we all die. I can take on the Thunderjaw by myself, but I can’t kill it if the Slitherfang is spitting acid at my back.” She stared them down. “This fight makes us Marshals under one banner. Not Carja, not Tenakth. Marshals of Hekarro. We have to work together.”

For a moment, no one spoke, and she felt her heart thump ominously in her chest as the screeches echoed again, until the woman she met eyes with at the start rose and said, “I can keep it tied down with ropes.”

Another nodded. “I have fire arrows.”

More began to agree and she gave a huff, gripping the bow in her hands. “Then let’s get out there and win this thing.”

As they dispersed, she went the other way, watching as the group began attacking the giant metal snake, and she saw the Thunderjaw coming towards them, but she raised the bow and pulled an arrow back, pointer out as she inhaled, focused on the disc launcher on its left. Exhaling, she let the arrow go and it hit the launcher, burrowing deep inside, parts shattering off it.

It did the trick, as the Thunderjaw turned to her, glowing eyes angered and it shifted, bending low as the cannons at its jaw fired up.

“Ah crap,” she growled, ducking behind a rock that seemed to shatter bit by bit as the energy blasts hit it; she waited until the fire ceased and she rose again, firing an arrow at one of the blasters.

It exploded in a hail of sparks and the Thunderjaw let out a cry as it turned away and seemed to cradle its wound. Without wasting time, she threw the bow down and pulled her sword out and ran towards it, slamming the blade deep within the joint of its right knee as hard as she could. The machine screeched, slapping her with its tail but it started to wobble and went down onto its wounded leg.

Her back hit the wall of the arena, blood splattering the sand in front of her as she slid down, hands hitting the floor. She coughed, reaching up to wipe her mouth and cursed again as she heard the remaining disc launcher start up. looking up, she saw multiple discs coming her way and she exhaled, pulling up her glider. The first disc missed her as she rolled out of the way, ignoring the pain in her back, the second and third discs hit her head on, but she hunkered down in the sand, using the glider as a shield. The third disc shattered the glider, and she threw it down, rising to her feet as she broke out in another dead sprint, narrowly dodging the cannon fire.

She neared the Thunderjaw, sliding to her feet and bending back as the tail swiped inches above her face; kicking up, she grabbed a fistful of metal and put her foot on her sword, forcing her way up the side of the machine until she was on its back. With as much grip as she could, she ambled her way along the Thunderjaw’s back, trying to hold on as it thrashed around, hoping to dislodge her. She grabbed hold of the radar and slung down, slamming the heel of her boot into the piece of metal protecting its core. Once it knew what she was going for, it started rampaging, slamming itself against the arena walls and she had to stop whenever she slipped, dropping a foot down, no longer grasping the radar but wires on its back below the detection device—but she was face level with the core.

Unsheathing her knife, she stuck it between the back and the panel, forcing her way until it was pried away, exposing the pulsing core. A jerk threw her again and she dropped her knife in the sand below, holding on for dear life as the Thunderjaw began thrashing even more wildly. She couldn’t even try to take it down without a weapon and she started looking around for anything, eyes darting up to meet her lover’s; Kotallo stood on the edge of the platform, his heart in his throat as he watched his love dangle helplessly from the side of the massive machine.

As her grip began to go slack, an arrow shot past her head and into the tip of the core and she turned, glancing towards where it possibly had come from, only to see the Tenakth she’d helped sinking back down behind the wooden wall. It was her only assist and she wasn’t about to lose it.

Grasping the arrow, she shoved it between her teeth and curled her fist tight, slamming it down repeatedly into the glass covering the core. Blood splattered along the cracking glass as her knuckles, beaten and battered, continued to meet it. All at once, the glass gave way, heat scorching the back of her leather-clad hand and she pulled her hand out, grabbing the arrow, and jammed it down into the core with as much force as she could manage.

The Thunderjaw bellowed, thrashed a few times, then the lights began to snap out as it went down and she jumped, rolling a few times in the sand. Coming to a stop, she pushed herself up, yanking her sword from the dead machine’s leg, intent to help the others take out the Slitherfang when it hit the ground moments later, cheering echoing from the other side.

A smile passed her lips as the arena erupted into cheers and they found their way to the center, watching as their people screamed for them. The man she’d helped managed to make his way there as well and as he spoke to her, she couldn’t help but feel that his words were so far away.

And she suddenly realized as the world tilted and she swayed, feet coming from beneath her as she hit the ground, the faces of the other Marshals in her gaze being the last thing she saw as darkness overtook her.

***

Someone’s hand was soft against her head, a gentle caress that had her groaning and turning her head to the side, eyes still shut tight, body aching from every limb. The hand stilled, then drifted down beneath her jaw, fingers softly tracing along her jugular.

“You were phenomenal, my heart,” they said, and she recognized the voice, even in her haze of exhaustion. “You are a Marshal now.”

“Yay,” she muttered beneath her breath. “How bad am I?”

“Severely broken ribs. A concussion. Many cuts and bruises. You took quite a beating with the Thunderjaw. Your hand it broken too.”

“Killed it though.”

“You could’ve been killed,” Kotallo stressed, and she finally opened her eyes to see him bent above her, expression drawn in concern. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you keep me in the dark about joining in the Kulrut? Did you not trust me?” he seemed extremely upset at her lack of honesty.

“It was kind of spur of the moment to be completely honest,” she admitted, looking away. “But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was on my mind. I should’ve.”

He was silent for a few moments then he let out a sigh and lowered himself to lay beside her, pressing his forehead to her temple. “It matters not now. You survived and are a Marshal.”

Turning back to face him, she asked, “Are you upset with this? Becoming a Marshal?” her tone seemed downcast. “Avad, he said…he said I belonged here, with the Tenakth…with you. That I felt most at home here because of the similarities with my people. I just…I kept thinking about leaving you behind and if I were a Marshal I would never have to and I—”

Kotallo reached over and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and she was shocked—she hadn’t even realized she was crying. “My heart, I am honored that you chose this for me.” He nuzzled her cheek, pressing his lips to her skin. “It makes me even happier to know that we will always fight together now. We will lead our people to peace.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m mad that you put yourself in harm’s way,” he replied. “But what good would being mad do? It’s passed and you are a Marshal now. We are Marshals.” Kotallo smiled softly at her. “Together. Always.”

She leaned into him, tucking her head between his neck and shoulder. “Together.”

#kotallo x reader #kotallo x reader imagines #kotallo x reader imagine #kotallo imagines #kotallo imagine #kotallo #kotallo hfw #horizon forbidden west imagines #horizon forbidden west imagine #horizon forbidden west #hfw

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deandoesthingstome · 1 year

Text

Night Moves

Chapter 7

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra Pierce)

Series Summary: When Walter Marshall is called to investigate a homicide by the railroad tracks, he quickly uncovers an unsettling pattern. Alexandra Pierce just wants someone to find out what happened to her friend. She has some secrets, too. And Walter’s going to uncover them.

Word Count: 2504

Series Warnings: In general, this series will depict assault, murder, stripping, hooking, rough sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex in various positions, self-loathing, failed relationships, smoking, alcohol, general violence, makeup sex, and maybe some comfort. +18, Minors DNI. Edit: If you were here before, know that I removed drug use and drug addiction. I had a plan and things changed, as they so often do.

Chapter Warnings: Angry Walter, police procedure (sure), more misogyny, some serious assault, self defense, pain, death.

A/N: I will not lie. This did NOT go the way I thought it would. It’s pretty dark and ugly. I think it’s important to the story though. I also didn’t get to the scene for the song I wanted, so there WILL be at least one more chapter. Please don’t cry.

Disclaimers: I do not own Walter Marshall, Night Hunter (Nomis), or any other characters from that movie, but I do own this OFC (Alexandra Pierce) and these words. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header made by me, with pics found from Pexel.com and the internet. Dividers are not mine, but check out the masterlist for credit.

Playlist: Night Moves Songs 23-26 Direct Spotify Link

Masterlist

“Alright, listen up!” Walter bursts into the dispatch room with all the anger and energy of a man who has realized exactly what has been going on and whose life is at stake now. “I need someone to pull plates for Detective Mick Jonas and then scan all traffic cams starting at the intersection of 10th and Vine. I want to know where that car is heading like 5 minutes ago.”

The switchboard is lit up and it isn’t as if the operators are slacking, but the blank stares he gets do not help his demeanor.

“Is everyone deaf??? Get on this. Now!” He marches to the nearest desk to loom over the tech, and stares daggers at her while her fingers begin flying over the keyboard.

“Is that our Mick Jonas?” she asks.

“You got the plate?” He ignores her question with a glare.

“Coming right up. Okay, yeah, here it is, but I don’t…”

“Who’s got the cameras?” he interrupts her. His skin feels like it’s on fire and at any moment he’s going to break something if he doesn’t get an answer. When Rachel steps in the room, she sees his behavior as well as a familiar attitude. If she had to hazard a guess, it’s the reason he showed up in yesterday’s clothes but she knows it’s neither the time nor the place to ask about it. Only that she can’t let him run this search.

“Walter,” she puts a hand on his shoulder with enough pressure to let him know it’d be best not to shrug it away.

“I need to know where he’s going, Rachel!”

“We all need to know where he’s going. Yelling at the crew isn’t going to speed up the computers.”

“He’s not alone. He’s got another victim with him right now! Fuck!” Nothing about Rachel’s speech has calmed him down or gotten him to lower his voice.

“Who’s with him?”

“Alex… Alexandra Pierce.”

The way he says her name, Rachel knows. And she knows she can’t stop him, but he won’t be going alone. She pulls out her cell to call another detective and tells him to be on standby for the chase. Dispatch’ll put a call out to officers in the area once they have a location, but she needs someone who can take charge of the scene, because it isn’t going to be Walter if she can help it. Not in the state he’s in.

We are so close I can barely contain myself. One more corner, one more long stretch of road, one more gate to open and close, one more winding, tree-covered lane into a deep forest of pine.

When we reach the bus, I’m on fire.

I can see the bitch starting to shift, move about. I look over and see her blink her eyes open and I just wait for the terror to creep into her eyes. And then I laugh.

I taunt her. I don’t even know what words are coming out of my mouth anymore, I just know she doesn’t like them and the more she doesn’t like them the more I say them. Over and over and over.

I keep a close eye on her when I open my door. I was careful to hit the switch to lock all the doors when I put her in the car, but now I just flip the lever for my lock. I can’t stop laughing when she thinks her door will open, too. She struggles just long enough for me to get around to her side so I’m ready when she finally finds the switch and opens the door. I'm right there ready to take her in my arms.

And then she does what none of them ever did. The thing I’ve been waiting for what seems like my entire life.

She hits me.

It’s kinda my fault. I grabbed her under her arms. I let my guard down cause it’s been so goddamn easy lately. Well, all except that asshole that showed up the other night. But the ones I just beat up? The ones I thought for sure would fight back just a little? Nothing.

They ignored me. Ignored the things I said to them. Acted like they had someone coming. Tried to walk away. Pulled out their phones, which were so easy to strip from their hands. But the best part? The thing that always got me going?

They would trip. Stumble. Those fucking ridiculous heels would end it for them every time. And I’d catch ‘em. Rush forward and grasp an arm or sometimes even get in front of them. But set ‘em right either way. Hold on just a beat too long. Smile. And they would know.

The right hook would come before they even took a deep enough breath to let out the scream they thought would save them. If I got it right, they’d spin just a little more off balance again so I could grab ‘em with my left. It was just more convenient than having to reach down to pick ‘em up off the ground just to get to hitting them again.

And if they didn’t fight back? Which they never fucking did. I’d just rough ‘em up. They were obviously easily swayed if they weren’t going to fight back. If they didn’t want to try to stop me, clearly they just didn’t care. And maybe that would be just the thing, the sign telling them it was time to be done with the whoring and the screwing around. TIme to stop flaunting their bodies for money and never for anyone who really deserved it.

But this one. She hits me again before I can comprehend what has just happened. And I’m just coming to my senses when I see she’s trying to draw her knee back so I know what’s coming and I jut my hips out of the way. I pull her close and butt my head against hers, knowing it ain’t going to feel great but it’s going to hurt her worse.

It gives me enough time to shore up my hold on her. I grab both her wrists in one hand and yank ‘em up hard over her head and I give her two more solid jabs, right in the eyes.

She is positively stunned and I think I’m good. But then she starts struggling again. She spits in my face and there is enough blood hanging around from the previous hits that some of what lands in my eye is colored and it burns. Stings. I can’t let go but I have to get this shit out of my eye.

So I’m still holding on to her arms when I lift my free hand to my face and fuck, right when I do, she connects her knee to my nuts and I let go of her hands to drop to the ground.

I can stand the pain a moment longer while I clear my vision and then I swallow hard because I see her trying to get back in the car and so I have to get up and to her fast. I grab her by the hair and pull her back against me, then turn her around and smack her across the face.

She’s shocked enough again that I get a few more good solid hits in before she gets her wits back and tries again.

This is so fuckin’ fun! That cunt from the other day was better than most which is what got her dead, but still was nothin’ compared to this bitch. Fuck, I think I’m hard right now.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Walter shouts. He can’t believe what Rachel has just said to him. After everything they’ve been through.

“It’s because I’ve been through it with you that I can’t let you lead on this, Walter, and you know I’m right.”

Walter is seeing only red as he stares at Rachel with crazy eyes, but she’s staring right back and she isn’t going to budge. He could move her physically out of the doorway but that’s going to feel like assault and he can’t risk it.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, nostrils flaring before he huffs the breath out and back in again. A few more times and he can see a little clearer and he knows she’s right as much as he can’t admit it.

“I’ll ride with you. Detective Greeves and his partner will take over when we get there. The patrol units are already on the way. From the traffic cam footage and a few more conversations with Lila we were finally able to pinpoint an old family plot a little out of town. So you know that also means the sheriff. It’s going to be a fucking mess out there, Walter, and I need you to stay the fuck out of it. Do you hear me?”

Walter nods, slowly, still breathing in and out. He shifts his head to the left to crack his neck and steps back from the doorway. With Rachel sure he’s under control, she steps back into the hall and turns to nod to Greeves. He hands a vest to her, then one to Walter when he finally leaves the dispatch room.

And now they are off. Walter’s got the GPS coordinates plugged in and he’s gritting through the instinct to drift around the lead car in front of him, but he promised. He doesn’t know what Rachel thinks she could do if he changed his mind right now, but he also knows if he does, he’s probably off the force.

Because if he gets to them first, he’s gonna kill him. And since he’s not actually on the case anymore, even if there weren't jurisdictional concerns, a shot from him isn’t going to be official. It’s going to be murder.

Alex can’t stand up any more. She’s on her knees and he is still hitting the side of her head.

There’s some flashing lights and sharp, high pitched sounds and Alex can’t tell if it’s from the club or if maybe the apartment's electricity is on the fritz again and Mrs. Travers is calling for help.

But these lights are blue and red. And yellow. And there are a lot of them. And the sound just doesn’t stop.

Alex hears someone yell ‘freeze’ and she hears a few more people yell ‘down on the ground’ and she can’t figure out why because she’s already on the ground but she collapses all the way anyway because no one is holding her up anymore.

And she hears her name. Someone is shouting her name. They are getting closer, but then not.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Walter shouts as he pushes past a uniformed officer and rushes to Alex’s side. “Alex, Alex! Can you hear me?”

He’s on his knees just next to her and he’s touching her shoulder and he wants so badly to pick her up and hold her in his arms but he doesn't know the extent of the damage and he can’t be the one to do more, so he runs his hand down her arm to grab her hand and he holds that instead.

Her hand is warm but there is no movement. He bends down low and turns his head so he can put his ear next to her mouth and watch her chest. It’s low, but it’s there. A little rise and fall. And he can hear a small gasp.

“Waller?” she croaks out.

“Yeah! Yes, yeah. I‘m here, Alex. I’m here.” Walter jerks his head up to see if her eyes are open. And they probably would be if they weren’t puffing up and sealing closed as they spoke.

“Where here?” a little muffled.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got an ambulance on the way and we’re gonna get you out of here and to some help. I just need you to hold on, okay. Keep talking to me, okay?”

“O-ay.”

Walter can see her jaw isn’t sitting right and even though he’s not a doctor or EMT or whatever the fuck ever, he sure as fuck knows he can’t leave it hanging like that. He reaches down under his vest to rip a wide swatch from his t-shirt and tears it once more at a side seam to pull it all the way off so he’s got a long strip he can maneuver around her head. He knows he shouldn’t move her jaw to the side, so it’s gonna have to stay off-kilter while he presses it gently up so he can shorten the bandage and tie it as loosely-tight on top of her head as he dares.

And this means she can’t talk to him now. Fuck.

“Alex? Honey? I know you can’t talk right now and I don’t want you to even try anymore. And I know you can’t blink your eyes once or twice for me either. Don’t worry. Can you huff for me? One for yes, two for no.”

For a brief moment Walter wants to kick himself because if it’s no, she can’t huff even once. What a fucking moron! He hangs his head low.

But then he feels a short puff on his neck and he almost gives himself whiplash to turn his face to her again.

“That’s good, Alex. That’s really good.” He wants to smile so she can hear it in his voice, but he’s terrified right now. Terrified he’s about to lose the best thing that’s happened to him since Faye. There’s no smile covering that sound.

“Detective Marshall?” a voice calls down. “No questions about the case, okay?”

“You’re fucking standing right there. You can hear anything I ask her.” Walter pulls himself up a little so he’s not shouting directly in her face, even as he tries to temper it with gritted teeth and little sneer.

“We can’t hear her response. And it seems like you’re the only one who’s gonna feel it. Let’s just get her to a hospital and then figure out how to get her statement.”

Walter grits his teeth again and bites in the response he wants to give as he sees Rachel make her way over.

“The ambulances are here.”

“Plural?” he asks as he turns to look. One gurney out with a board and clean bed, one gurney out with a black bag. He never even heard the shot.

The EMTs shift him out of the way, slip a spinal board under her, and hoist Alex to the gurney before rolling her away. Walter turns to Rachel with a look of despair and she sends him off with a quick ‘go’.

Walter hoists himself into the back of the ambulance before they can shut the door. He doesn’t care whether they think he’s officially on duty. He sits down beside Alex and grabs her hand, leans in and whispers in her ear.

“Hold on, Alex. Please.”

Taglist: (If you asked for a tag and it’s not here, Tumblr likely isn’t letting me tag you. Ask if you want me to try again.)

Chapter 8

Anything: @kittenofdoomage @fvckinghenrycavill @mayloma @sillyrabbit81 @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 (Also throwing in a few from the old days for old times sake ;) @littlegreenplasticsoldier @anotherwinchesterfangirl @sebbytrash @feelmyroarrrr)

NM: @enchantedbytomandhenry @kingliam2019 @henryownsme @littlefreya @identity2212 @marantha @angelcavill66 @sweetdreamsofgelato @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @greensleeves888 @dinoswierdmom @geralts-yenn @wabi-sabi1090 @bourbonwithice @used-to-be-bourbonwithice (this one doesn’t work for me, sorry!)

#walter marshall #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #night hunter fanfic #night hunter fanfiction #night moves #mine

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