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bcdrawsandwrites · 8 months

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Day 3: Sensory deprivation / Overstimulation / Isolation

Characters: Helmut Fullbear, Otto Mentallis, Bob Zanotto

Warnings: Panic attacks, references to drugs

Summary: Helmut volunteers to be the first human guinea pig for Otto's new invention. Nothing can go wrong there.

---~~~---

Helmut filed into the Heptadome with the rest of his friends, watching as they began taking their seats on their usual beanbag chairs. Seeing Bob settle into his seat, he grinned, and abruptly plopped down next to him. Bob's face flushed as he scooted over to make room. "Helmut...!" he whispered.

"Yes?" Helmut replied, leaning against Bob's shoulder.

"Knock it off, you two," Ford said as he walked past, swatting his hand in front of their faces. "We got some important business to attend toOOOO—!"

And immediately Ford was yanked by a transparent blue hand into Lucy's seat as she gave him a playful look. "I don't know, Crully, I think they have the right idea."

Helmut and Bob couldn't resist a laugh as Ford's face flushed as well.

Meanwhile, Otto cleared his throat from his place in the center of the chairs. "If you're done engaging in a study in hormones," he said, ignoring the laughter, "I have some important news!" He held up a small oval-shaped case, which he TK'd slightly above his hand for a better view. The color, a bright green with pale pink markings, sang a pleasant woodwind melody in Helmut's mind.

"Nice colors," Helmut said with a nod. "Has a nice sound to it."

Cassie tilted her head. "Isn't that just the smelling salts?"

"It was a smelling salt container, but I repainted it," Otto replied.

Bob leaned back against Helmut, crossing his arms. "So are we here to admire your incredible painting skills, or...?"

"While that would be nice, we're here to discuss something else."

"Good, because they look like a—"

"We're here to discuss what I've packed into this container," Otto went on, pulling the capsule back into his hand and holding it between two fingers. "You see, for the past week, Ford and I have been testing a new invention of mine: Super Sneezing Powder."

"Oh!" Compton scratched his head. "I was wondering where my pepper kept going..."

"I assume that's not something that's just for pranks?" Lucy asked, leaning closer as she draped an arm around Ford.

"No, this should never be used for pranks." Otto covered the capsule with his other hand. "This powder has the ability to cause someone to—quite literally—sneeze their brains out!"

Helmut exchanged a surprised glance with Bob, and noticed everyone but Ford and Otto doing the same with each other.

"We've successfully tested the powder a number of times now," Otto went on.

"Er—what, exactly, did you test the powder on?" Compton asked.

Otto avoided Compton's gaze. "We've successfully tested the powder a number of times now," he repeated, "and we believe that now is the time to move on to human testing."

"Wait, you want one of us to sneeze our brains out?" Bob asked.

"Correct. I believe we're ready to move on to that point. We just need a volunteer."

Ford nodded. "Yeah. And if y'all decide to chicken out, I'll be stepping in."

"Oh? Does that not make you the chicken, hoping someone else will take your place?" Lucy smirked, poking Ford in the ribs.

He swatted her hand away, only half-heartedly. "No, it means I'm givin' y'all to take the opportunity first if you want!"

"It sounds like a fascinating study," Cassie remarked, "but... is it safe?"

"Well, so far, we've not had a single death!" Otto replied. "So, there's that."

"What's it like?" Helmut found himself saying, leaning forward. "Like, when you're out of your body." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Bob snapping his head toward him, but his partner remained silent.

"Now that is an excellent question!" Otto said, turning to face Helmut with a smile. "And that's exactly what we hope to find out! You see, while the initial tests were successful, we couldn't get much useful information out of our subjects."

"Th-they were animals, weren't they?" Compton shrank back. "Oh dear..."

"Maybe, Otto, you should have asked one of our zoolepathy experts for help on that front," Cassie remarked coldly.

"Ah, but it wouldn't be near as useful as a human subject!" Otto replied. "That's why we're asking for volunteers."

"You are asking for volunteers," Bob snapped. "There's no we here."

"There's me, too, Zanotto," Ford retorted, raising a brow at him.

"And me," Helmut said simply, his eyes still on Otto.

"What?!" Bob jumped up from his seat and stood between Helmut and Otto. "Helmut, no! You don't have to go through with that!"

"I know," Helmut replied with a shrug. "But I want to. It sounds cool."

"Excellent!" Otto exclaimed, perking up. "That's settled, then! You owe me twenty pieces of psitanium, Ford."

"Paaah—!"

"No, it's not settled!" Bob cried, shooting a glare at Otto. "I—can you give us a moment?"

Before anyone else could respond, Helmut found himself being ushered out of the Heptadome. "Something the matter, Bobby?"

"Yes!" Several plants around Bob coiled in on themselves aggressively. "I don't trust Otto with this! We don't know what's going to happen!"

"I mean, we haven't really known what was gonna happen with anything else we've done, either," Helmut shrugged. "Isn't that the point?"

"Well, yeah, but..." Faltering, Bob looked down at the ground. "It's just... messing around with our minds is one thing, but this is your brain we're talking about. This could really be dangerous."

"Otto said it wasn't—"

"He said the animals didn't die!" Bob snapped. "Not that they were okay!"

"Hey, hey." Helmut bent down, taking Bob's hands and looking into his eyes. "Listen. If something happens to me, you have my permission to make one of your plants smack him in the face. Okay?"

Bob drew in a breath, staring into his eyes for a long moment. A pained look crossed his face. "...Why do you wanna do this, Helmut?"

Helmut frowned, glancing away. "Well... it does sound cool," he admitted. "But... also—if you're, like, just a brain, you can't feel everything else, can you? You don't have eyes or a nose or mouth or anything like that."

For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the many times when he'd stood off to the side of the stage, and even when he knew there was no audience there to greet him, the bright lights and their glare and heat felt overwhelming, not to mention the sounds of the bulbs buzzing and the stillness of the theater. Or that time he tried going to a parade—it was incredible for all of five minutes before his head started pounding from the sound, and his vision swam from the overwhelming colors and voices and instruments, and within a few more minutes he was huddled against a nearby wall, his body shaking and his mind blank. Even small moments in the Gulch could be too much, when there were six different voices all shouting over one another, even in jest rather than anger.

He heaved a long sigh. "I just... think it'd be nice to not have to deal with that for a little while."

Bob was silent for a long moment, and Helmut's heart pounded. Just as he was about to apologize, Bob spoke up: "...So you promise you won't get mad if I smack him in the face?"

Helmut's face broke into a grin, and he wrapped his partner in a tight hug. "Nah, you do what you gotta do, Bobby."

—-

They met in Otto's lab. Helmut set Bob down, having levitated up there himself, and did not comment on the fact that Bob could have easily used a plant to carry himself up.

"Good to see you!" Otto said with a smile. He was picking up a jar filled with a strange green fluid, and Bob eyed it warily.

"What's... that for?"

"Oh, this?" Otto lifted up the jar to indicate it. "Well, we can't have brains just lying around! This serum here preserves them and keeps them from getting infected."

Bob groaned, but Helmut stared at the fluid in interest. The sight of it gave off the pleasant taste of apple pie. "Woah, neat."

Setting the jar aside, Otto's expression turned more serious. "Eager as I am to get on with this, I do want to let you know what we know will happen next." He pulled the sneezing powder capsule out of his pocket and held it up. "I'm going to open this right beneath your nose, and you'll take a whiff, same as you would the smelling salts. Except this time, it will cause you to sneeze." Otto pointed a finger at his own head, then down to the front of his face. "Your brain will then exit out through your nasal cavity."

Bob winced. "Isn't there a better way you could do this?"

"Aside from cracking your head open, no," Otto replied flatly. "But from there, I'll place the brain in this jar to keep it safe. You should still be able to communicate with us, in theory."

"In theory?"

"After a few minutes, we'll take this—" he picked up a large metal funnel to indicate it "—and use it to insert your brain back into your body via the ear canal."

"Man, I want some of whatever you're on that makes you come up with this stuff," Helmut said with a laugh.

"Maybe later," Otto said dismissively, lifting up the capsule again. "On your end, I want you to focus on... well... whatever you can. Communicate with us, if you're able, and try to remember the sensations you experience when you're out of your body. I'll want to hear everything!"

"Got it!" Helmut nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"You're sure you want to do this?" Bob whispered, leaning close.

"It'll be fine, Bobby," Helmut whispered, patting his partner’s back before turning to Otto. "Let's do this!"

"Excellent!" Smiling, Otto stepped up to Helmut, holding out the capsule. "Cover your nose, Robert."

Bob gave him a look, but did as he said, plugging his nose and putting a hand on Helmut's shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, and Helmut was pretty sure it was mostly for Bob's sake, not his own.

When the capsule was placed under his nose and cracked open, Helmut took a whiff. Immediately he could discern the scent of about half the spices in Compton's cabinet, along with the worst itch he'd ever felt in his life, which was now directly inside his nasal cavity. His nose wrinkled as he drew in a breath, and he barely had time to register Otto scrambling for the jar of green fluid before—

"Ah—CHOOO!"

The world was gone.

There was no color, no sound, no scent, not even the taste of the crisp early morning air. He felt the slightest sensation that he was floating, but that was it.

This was definitely the weirdest trip he'd ever been on.

As weird as it was, it was the slightest relief to not be bombarded with the world around him, and he basked in the sensation of utter calm.

Yet... it wasn't—not entirely. Something was still nagging at his senses—or at least, one of them, anyway. Remembering what Otto had said, he focused on that, and realized it was his sixth sense—his psychic powers—that was still active. Curious, he reached out, and realized he could sense Otto and Bob nearby. In fact, he could roughly tell how far away from them he was. It wasn't far, and he perked up, trying to reach out to them.

"Hey, guys! This is awesome!" he said.

Except he didn't.

He didn't have a mouth to speak with, so no sound came out. It had nowhere to come from.

The thought sent a bolt of fear through him, but he shook his head—only to realize he couldn't do that, either. Okay. He reached out again, trying to figure out what he could sense, and realized they were talking. In fact, he could get a rough idea of what they were saying:

Get it under control! This is so unusual—

Him, not it! What is wrong with you?!

Yet knowing what they were saying somehow wasn't any comfort. For one, they were distressed, and two, he... couldn't actually hear them. It was them, but without their actual voices. If he thought for a moment, he could apply their mental voices to what he was sensing, but the fact that he had to do that at all was sending more ripples of panic through his mind.

It's okay, it's okay, he thought. I just need to take a breath—wait, no, I can't breathe. His eyes widened, except they didn't because he didn't have those, and he couldn't see and he couldn't hear or smell or feel, he could only think and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe—

Some nightmare loomed at the edges of his consciousness, circling around him with a speed he couldn't even comprehend, and he felt like he was surrounded, overwhelmed, with nothing to be overwhelmed by except the sheer amount of nothingness around him make it stop make it stop make it stop make iT STOP—

There was a sudden jerk, and abruptly the world was.

The fresh smell of morning assaulted his nostrils along with the remains of overly-spicy peppers and whatever earthy scents were emanating from the greenhouse below, and the water and the lab and the brain preservation juices and the awful cologne Otto was wearing. Bright colors stabbed into his eyes, from the sun screeching down into every gap in the lab, to the color of the jar on the counter, to the blue sky outside the window, and even Bob's jacket.

But even more than that—

"HELMUT, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

"GIVE HIM A MOMENT! BUT, PLEASE, HELMUT, WHEN YOU GET THE CHANCE, LET ME KNOW EVERYTHING!"

His heart pounded in his ears, his own breath sounding like the roar of a cougar.

"OTTO, HE'S NOT RESPONDING! IS HE OKAY?"

"I DON'T KNOW, HE HASN'T TOLD US! I'M SURE IT'S FINE, THOUGH. IT WAS ONLY FIVE MINUTES!"

"IF YOUR STUPID SNEEZE POWDER OR BRAIN JUICE DID SOMETHING TO HIM, OTTO, I AM GOING TO FU—"

"SHUT UP!"

The silence of the other voices made Helmut realize that the third one had been him.

But the world hadn't shut up—he could still hear his heart, his breath, the birds outside, the water, the wind, the creaking of the trees and plants and—

Bob's hand clutched his tightly, and while he felt like his skin was exploding from the contact, he gripped it for dear life as his breath came in shallow gasps, and what felt like no air entered his lungs. Already the world was starting to feel distant, now, the sounds and feelings and smells miles away from him. He was out of his body, but not like he'd been before. It was his soul, his soul was leaving his body— "Bobby—I can't breathe—I think I'm dying—"

"It's okay, it's okay," Bob whispered, squeezing his hand. "You're gonna be okay, just breathe." He forced out a laugh. "Hey, Compton's making soup tonight! I grew some really nice onions, and potatoes, and carrots, and Ford—Ford got some bacon, because of course he did—it's gonna be great, okay?"

Helmut listened as his partner continued to ramble, the soft voice gradually bringing him back as the harshness of the world began to fade. But by the time he was grounded, he found his head was pounding, and his nose ached—he didn't know his nose could feel like that—and the exhaustion he felt made it hard to move a single muscle in his body. He let Bob lift him up on his feet, and leaned heavily against him.

Abruptly he remembered what they'd been doing. He glanced up at Otto, only to look away again when he saw the agonized, distressed look on his friend's face, accompanied by clear tear streaks down his cheeks. Helmut had never seen him that distressed in his life.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Helmut," Otto choked out.

"It's okay," Helmut said, and even speaking felt like it took great effort. "I just... d-don't think I can do that again."

Otto let out a shaky sigh, and Bob led Helmut toward the doorway. A large vine reached up from the ground, ready to carry them both down, but before it did, it suddenly bolted out behind them.

Looking back in surprise, Helmut realized Bob had done the same, but his partner's face was contorted with rage. The vine, the width of a lamppost, was whipping toward Otto, who staggered back in terror.

Before Helmut could even gasp, the vine stopped inches short of striking their friend. It held there for what felt like an eternity as Bob glared into Otto's eyes, before slowly the vine pulled away, wrapping gingerly around Bob and Helmut and gently carrying them away from the lab.

#helmut fullbear #bob zanotto #otto mentallis #psychonauts #ailesswhumptober2023 #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #my writing #fanfic #don't worry--bob did forgive him and also apologized #though that didn't stop Otto from spending the next three weeks #pouring himself into making a psitanium-powered music player for Helmut as an apology #(Helmut never held anything against him in the first place he just felt really bad)

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softguarnere · 2 years

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Hiya lovely!! Could I please put in a self-indulgent request for a Lieb oneshot (or hcs, whichever you'd prefer!) where he always has to be close to or touching his S/O, whether in little ways or big? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

I have a personal headcanon that his main love language is Physical Touch so he's big on PDA & having his S/O close to him brings him a lot of comfort, whereas having them far away feels empty 😅

Thank you so much in advance!! 💖💖💖

Touch Me, Love Me, Can't Get Enough

(5 times during the war that Liebgott wants to hold you and 1 time after)

Joseph Liebgott x reader

A/N: Aly, bestie, the way that this request had me giggling and twirling my hair and kicking my feet the second I read it!!! I absolutely love this headcanon, and I'm so honored that you asked me to write it 🥹 I had waaayy too many ideas, so I decided to go with a 5 times +1 time fic for this one. I hope that you like this 💕🕊️ (As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show -- no disrespect to the real life veterans!)

Warnings: angst, discussions of concentration camps, depictions of war

It's one of those things that you don't notice until someone points it out. In this case, the someone is Sobel and pointing it out is him huffing that "Private Liebgott has no sense of personal space" when he passes the two of you heading back to barracks one night after coming back from a weekend pass. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the way that your arms bump into his every now and then as you walk due to your close proximity. You've both been drinking, though, so it's not like you really have all your cognitive functions about you; occasionally bumping into one another is like a tether making sure that neither of you falls over or wanders off. Sobel's criticism is easy to brush off.

Other people's comments? Not so much.

"It's hot as hell in here," Skip complains, using his sleeve to mop the sheen of sweat off his face. "Glad they're not takin' us to the Pacific; this heat is all I can stand."

Malarkey shoots a glare to someone passing by who jostles him as he slaps down his next card. "Speak for yourself."

"What? You tellin' me you like it this warm? Five minutes ago you were talkin' about how happy you'll be when we get off this boat."

"I meant them." Malarkey nods towards you and Liebgott. You both look up from your cards, confused. "I know that you guys have to constantly be touching each other or whatever, but how can you stand it when it's this hot?"

Constantly touching each other? What's that supposed to mean? You're just playing cards to pass the time while the boat chugs towards England, and you're sitting next to your friend . . . whose left arm is pressed up against your right. Sure, you could blame the closeness on the crowdedness of the boat, but Malarkey and Muck are sitting across from the two of you, and they have space between them.

At the same time that you start to lean away, Liebgott shifts beside you, wrapping his left arm around you and pulling you into his side. He fixes Malarkey with a cool look. "And what of it?"

You try to keep your expression cool as well, but you're having to concentrate on it. The oppressive heat from the boat is what's making it hard, you want to tell yourself, despite the fluttering feeling in your stomach at this close contact -- which is even closer than usual.

The Oregon boy shakes his head and slaps down another card. "Enjoy the heat stroke, I guess."

His point is proven, but Liebgott doesn't move his arm from around your shoulders. Instead, he smiles at you. Not his usual smirk that he throws around when he's pulled one over on someone; this smile is soft and warm.

Well, if you're going to help prove a point, you might as well commit to it. You smile back and lean further into his embrace.

"Flash!"

"Thunder!"

You lower your gun and squint through the darkness as a figure emerges from the bushes in front of you. If one good thing came out of all of those night marches that Sobel sent Easy Company on back in training, it's that you could recognize the silhouettes of your fellow soldiers in a heartbeat, even in the worst lighting. Your heart thrums when you realize who's coming towards you.

"Joey!" You really shouldn't put your gun down, not now that you're on the ground and in the midst of chaos, but you throw both arms around him. He does the same. He smells like the war -- that cologne that war produces that's a mixture of fuel from the C-47s, the sweat of excitement, and the faint smell of his shampoo that still lingers in his hair.

He melts into your touch. At some point between the boat ride and the news that you would be jumping into France, you two had decided to make it official, even though in some ways, you had always been a couple. Joe has been more open with the ways that he initiates physical contact with you since then. In a way, you can't really blame him; he comes from a big, affectionate family. Being away from their love and warmth has been harder for him than most people realize. It's like he craves physical touch. Good thing that you like his affection.

"Are you okay?" He whispers, still holding you tight.

"I'm fine. Are you?"

He nods. Reluctantly, he draws back from your embrace so that he can look at you. In sunlight, you love the way that his brown eyes turn into pools of amber honey. Now, in the darkness, they remind you of the new moon -- mysterious, but a comforting presence that never leaves you.

"There were some paratroopers back that way." You jerk your head slightly to the left. "Stuck up in trees. I was worried . . ."

"I know. Me too."

Off to your right, the sharp staccatos of machine gun fire pierce the night. On instinct, you both ready your guns and crouch down.

"We gotta move," Joe whispers. Then you both push through the darkness and into the bushes that he had stepped out of moments before.

He leads the way, but moves slowly, keeping you close. It’s like that the rest of the day, too, after you link up with other people from E Company and finally find where you’re supposed to be. It’s subtle, but Joe bumps his shoulder against yours throughout the day, like he’s got to remind himself that you’re near. That, coupled with the glances that he casts your way when no one else is looking, is enough to make your heart clench.

That’s the thing about Joe Liebgott – he’s great at physical affection and showing you that he wants it, but words don’t come as easily to him, and telling you what he wants and needs is an entirely different matter. You’ve always wondered if maybe a past lover scorned his verbal affections, because he seems so unsure of himself whenever he uses his words, which is so unlike the cocky, confident Liebgott that everyone else knows.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you finally have a moment alone.

Joe immediately holds out his hand to you. When you take it, he intertwines your fingers and squeezes. He starts to shrug, but when he catches the look on your face, a crease appears between his eyebrows as he thinks. “I just wanna keep you close.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know. It just feels like if I can hold onto you . . . then nothing will happen.”

A memory of fellow paratroopers and their parachutes all tangled in the trees earlier that morning hits you. You had worried that Joe might be one of them, and he had worried for you as well. War is an uncertain and fickle thing. Anything can happen to anyone. You had accepted that fact when you joined the airborne division. Sure, you would do anything to keep Joe safe, and he would do the same for you. Having him by your side is a comfort, and you know he feels the same way.

Anything can happen in a war zone. But if anyone is stubborn enough to stop anything from going wrong, it just might be Joe Liebgott.

III

Nothing is guaranteed in a place like Bastogne. Least of all who you get to share a foxhole with. Most of the time your foxhole partner ends up being whoever was in the nearest one when a fresh round of shellings begins and you need a place to hide. You spend many nights curled up against your fellow soldiers for warmth, leaving the next morning knowing more about them than you ever had before.

If you had it your way, you would be sharing with Joe, to make sure that he’s alright. But as it is, you really only see him occasionally when you get to line up for warm food – a commodity that’s becoming more and more rare as the quality of it gets worse and worse. Sitting with the rest of Easy, he’s subtle, knocking his knees into yours whenever he sits beside you, or even kicking the side of your boot with the toe of his; anything to establish contact. There’s hardly any time to talk, but the longing in his eyes is obvious enough.

If you knew that you wouldn’t get in trouble, you would hold his hand, or wrap him up in your arms. Being away from him is hard for you, so you can only imagine what it must feel like for him.

“Funny, I always thought that hell would be hot. It’s a little colder than I pictured,” a familiar voice says as Joe drops down into the foxhole beside you. He winks. “Hiya, sweetheart. This foxhole taken?”

There’s no use in trying to hide your smile. “I don’t know. Usually I require a reservation, but for someone so handsome, I think that I can make an exception.”

“Come here.” He lifts his arm and throws it around your shoulder, pulling you into his side as you open your blanket and throw part of it over his legs before all the heat can escape you. The helmets you both wear cause some difficulty, but he rests his head against yours as best he can. He sighs. “I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N).”

You plant a small kiss on his cheek. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“God,” he groans. “I swear it’s killin’ me, being away from you.”

A joke he once made at the start of your relationship flashes across your mind. If you move out to Frisco with me after the war, I’ll have to invest in a better air conditioner, you keep me so warm.

“Why?” You tease. “Do you miss having your own personal radiator?”

A cloud of condensation forms as he huffs a laugh, his warm breath fogging the cold air. “You remember that?” He smiles when you nod. Pressing your helmets together again, he shakes his head a little. “No. I just miss holding you.”

You lean further into his side. “Well then hold on a little tighter. We gotta make this last before the next shelling starts.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “We always make it count.”

“Oh thank Christ, look who’s back!” Luz exclaims when you walk into CP.

“We saw each other earlier, Luz,” Webster laughs.

“Not you.” Luz smiles at you, either not noticing or not caring about how it makes Webster’s smile falter. “(Y/N)! They finally let you outta the hospital?”

You smile as you drop your bag onto a nearby chair. “Something like that.” You lower your voice to a stage whisper, offering the radioman a wink. “Had to go AWOL. Don’t let any of the medics know.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He winks right back.

From the couch, Sergeant Lipton coughs. He offers you a smile when he catches his breath. “It’s good to have you back, (Y/N).”

“Thanks, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, maybe now things won’t be so depressing around here.”

“Awe, Luz, you really think I liven things up that much?”

Lipton reaches up and smacks George with his stack of paperwork. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear that he’s said something that he shouldn’t have.

“What?” Luz asks. “It’s not like she wouldn’t know.” When you offer him nothing but a confused look, he shakes his head. “Liebgott’s been all weird since you got taken to the hospital back in Foy.”

“Weird how?”

“Oh, you know: moodier than usual, distant, quiet, quick to anger.”

“So just regular Liebgott then?” Webster asks.

George shakes his head. “Like, if someone tried to draw him from memory or something, I don’t know. He’s just not himself.”

“Well, where is he?” You and Webster are supposed to be waiting for someone to tell you which platoon to join, but you’ve already made up your mind that you’ll be damned if you don’t join your old one. This far into the war, it’s unlikely that anyone would really care if you just walked back in and took up your former place, but still – red tape, and all that. But now the thought is even more tempting. What’s wrong with Joseph? You want to find him.

Lipton offers a vague wave of his hand. “Around here somewhere. Listen, (Y/N), why don’t you join back up with your old platoon? I’m sure they’ll be glad to have you back.”

“And I’ll be glad to be back.” You nod your appreciation and then grab your bag, trying not to leave the room too quickly. During your time in the hospital, all you thought about was getting back to Easy Company, and back to Joe. Now that he’s so close, it makes you feel a little giddy and a little nervous, knowing that in a few seconds, you’ll be together again.

In the hallway, you go to turn a corner and nearly smack into someone coming towards you. They reach out and grab your elbows to steady you. “Are you okay?” Babe asks when you’ve regained your balance. His eyes light up as he takes you in. “(Y/N)! You’re back!”

“What?” A voice from further down the hallway calls. A few of the other Easy boys step into view, and quickly engulf you in a warm cloud of welcome backs and good natured handshakes. All except for one, who hangs back.

You catch Joe’s eye through the crowd. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost; he’s still, staring at you like you might disappear if he blinks. When you finish shaking Tab’s hand, you step towards him and it’s like a spell breaks. In a few quick strides he’s in front of you, and then suddenly his hands have come up to caress your cheeks as he takes you in.

“You went AWOL,” he guesses.

“I had to get back to my company,” you say. You throw your arms around him and squeeze him into a hug, whispering into his ear, “I had to get back to you.” He squeezes you tighter.

“I don’t wanna let you go again,” he whispers. You hear him draw a breath, like he’s going to say more, but he stops himself and rubs his hand up and down your back.

Behind you, you hear some of the boys quietly make their exit from the scene. (Most of them, anyway. You can hear Talbert telling Shifty that he owes him a dollar, and Babe is muttering to someone that he knew it – you don’t have to guess what it is.)

Joe doesn’t seem to mind. He’s always been open in his affections for you in the little ways in public, like bumping into you, and this very open gesture isn’t technically very different since it serves to confirm what most people already suspected . . . as well as telling some of the ones who didn’t to back off.

Still, it’s a little unlike him. Something has changed.

You card your hand through the back of his hair. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just missed you is all.” He huffs a small laugh as he pulls back from the embrace, casting a smirk over your shoulder. “And giving the others something to talk about ain’t half bad.” You swat his arm affectionately, but there’s no malice in it. This is just how Joe is when it comes to voicing how he feels; giving you a bit of his feelings and then deflecting before he can be scorned. You want to show him that you appreciate the effort.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. When you start to pull away, his gentle fingers catch your chin and bring you back into his orbit, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

As if he can read your thoughts, he assures you, “I’m okay. Better, now that you’re here.”

Hot, salty tears have been burning your eyes for the better part of the afternoon as you fight to keep them back. Back before the war, your teacher used to make you do breathing exercises in school in the mornings. You try to remember them now as you gasp for air, trying to look calm as you head back towards the town, following the trucks carrying to men back to CP or to where they’re billeted.

“(Y/L/N)!” Someone calls up ahead. In the back of one of the trucks, Nixon leans down, holding out his hand and motioning for you to hurry.

Despite how sluggish and out of breath you feel, you increase your pace to a slight jog, catch Nixon’s hand, and swing yourself up into the back of the truck, taking a seat beside him. His hand pats your shoulder but then stays there, like a tether that helps bring you back down to earth.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to cry in the back of this truck. There’s no shame in it, but the afternoon has been so hectic that you would rather have a moment alone to unpack the horrors of what you’ve just seen.

“It’s just as bad down the road at the women’s camp,” you tell the intelligence officer over the roar of the engine. Even just thinking about it causes you to shudder.

Nixon pats your shoulder again. “Do you need anything?”

“Where’s Liebgott?” You want to be held. You want someone to comfort you and tell you that this has all been a bad dream. You want that someone to be Joseph.

A deep frown settles on Nixon’s face. “We sent him back already. He . . . needed some time alone.” He thinks for a minute, then says over the sound of the trucks, “You should go to him, (Y/N). He needs you.”

And you, him.

When you got back to Haguenau, during a moment alone, Joe had opened up a little more than usual. It had been late at night, lying beside each other on one of the small bunks. Something about the cover of night makes it easier to whisper your secrets, and it’s especially true of Liebogtt. In the quiet of the room, his arm around you, he had said that he felt like one of the ruined Haguenau buildings while you were away in the hospital. “A skeleton,” he had described them. “They’re all crumbled and half-alive. I don’t know if that makes sense. That’s what it felt like with you away; like I’m something only half here, half a memory. Unstable. Lonely.”

That’s what you feel like now. The horrible things you saw have confirmed any thought you ever had about pure evil existing in the world. Anger starts to burn in your chest like an ember; this is why you’re fighting in the war. And if that’s how you feel . . . You need to find Joe. Now.

It’s tempting to run to the house where he’s billeted, but you don’t want to make a scene. You walk as fast as you can, only breaking into a run once you’re inside, sprinting up the stairs.

“Joe?” He’s lying on the bed, his back to the door. He goes still when he hears you come in.

Shutting the door behind you, you press further into the room until you’re standing over the bed. “Can I sit?”

When you take a seat, he pushes himself up and turns to face you. Red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks tell you that he feels the same way that you do about what you saw. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back all afternoon finally spill over, but your ignore them and bring your hand up to Joe’s cheek, using your thumb to brush away his tears.

He brings up his own hand to rest on top of yours. “You saw it too?”

You nod. “I had to spend the afternoon at the women’s camp down the road.”

Joe leans forward, pressing your foreheads together. “Did you have to tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

“That they had to stay in the camp.” Anger bleeds into his sadness as he says it. He sounds disgusted and hurt.

Almost none of the women prisoners you had encountered spoke any English. You and another female paratrooper had had to attempt to communicate with them using scattered English and a few German and Yiddish words that you had learned from Joe throughout the war. Joe is fluent in both of those languages. He probably had an easier time talking to –

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: he had to tell them that they would be staying in the camp.

“Oh, Joey.” You throw your arms around him, pulling him in closer. Your earlier thoughts of wanting him to hold you feel almost selfish now, when he so clearly needs it. Carefully, you card a hand through the back of his hair. You desperately wish that you could do something to help him, but what is there to do in a situation like this? “What can I do?”

He gasps, harsh and wet sounding, and you wonder if he also held back his tears all afternoon. “Just hold me.”

That, you can do.

+ I

Joe is either a night owl or an early bird. There’s not really an in between. Some nights he falls into bed early, and then quietly gets up and takes his leave in the morning, ready to help usher the other early risers of San Francisco to work. Some nights he stays up late, wandering the apartment and smoking on the balcony until you wake up to find the bed empty, and then keep him company.

The nights when he heads to bed early are your favorites. You’re not sure when you started to notice it, but at some point you learned that, no matter how deeply asleep Joe seems to be, if you come to bed after him, he immediately rolls over and throws out an arm, searching for you across the expanse of bed. Once he finds you, he pulls you close to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and nestling his head on your shoulder. You’re not sure if he knows he does it or not. It might just be something that his subconscious automatically does. It might be a conscious choice. Either way, it’s sweet, and you don’t bring it up for fear that he might stop.

He's also taken to muttering in his sleep, which is a more recent development – he never did it during the war, that you’re aware of, but now you sometimes catch broken sentences and soft I love yous thrown out while he searches for you in the bed.

Tonight is no different. As soon as you slide under the blankets, you feel him roll over, and a second later, his arm is wrapped around you and he’s very close. You run a hand through his hair as you settle in, and his deep, even breathing momentarily hitches in his throat. His arm squeezes you tighter.

“You always hold me so close,” you giggle, watching his sleeping face. He likes to hold onto you, to have you near, and it must say something that he prefers it, even when he’s unconscious. A piece of hair has flopped across his brow, and you gently push it back so that you can see him better. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. Not worried about anything at all.

Suddenly, you remember something he said back during the war. I don’t wanna let you go again. “Don’t worry,” you whisper, just in case he can hear you. “I’m not gonna slip away.”

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nenyabusiness · 10 months

Text

Four Hours a Day

Fandom: Rings of Power Pairing: Galadriel/Halbrand Rating: E Words: 12k Summary: When Galadriel moved into her new apartment, she quickly discovered that her landlord’s laidback approach to 'a bit of noise' during 'acceptable hours' was a double-edged sword. You didn’t just get away with playing the piano for four hours in the morning—you also got away with spending just as many hours on whatever it was that her neighbor was doing to his obnoxiously loud bass every night. Galadriel leaves a note on Halbrand’s door and unintentionally starts a war. Modern Musician AU.

Excerpt When she looked up at Halbrand, she found him standing a few feet away, his gaze flickering between her and his bass.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. His body was tensed up, ready to rescue his beloved instrument if needed, but his eyes were glazed over with heat. Her common sense finally caught up with her when she realized why. She’d entered a man’s apartment wearing nothing but slippers and a thin night robe. The way she was holding the bass had hitched up the hem of the garment, leaving very little to imagination. From his point of view, he’d probably gotten a pretty good look at her upper body too.

She shuddered as she met his gaze, cradling the bass against her chest. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever looked at her with that level of barely restrained hunger before. Celeborn certainly hadn’t. Even in the bedroom, he’d always been calm and collected. Just by looking into Halbrand’s eyes, she could tell that there would be nothing calm and collected about him if he let that hunger loose.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach when she recalled the note where he’d described the time signatures of his work in progress.

Sorry princess, I don’t do vanilla.

“I should probably leave,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

He cleared his throat. “You probably should.”

She stood up, carefully handing him the bass. He snatched in from her hands, throwing the strap over his shoulder before trying out the freshly tuned string.

“Perfect pitch?” he asked as he played a quick scale, his fingers sliding over the frets with ease. She wouldn’t have been able to close her hand around the instrument’s neck, but he certainly could.

She swallowed hard. “Perfect pitch.”

“Must be nice.”

“Overrated.” She tried to tear her eyes away from his hands, but the smoothness of his movements held her gaze captive. She’d heard the fast hammer-ons and pull-offs in his works more times than she could count, but she’d never seen them in action before.

There was some serious strength in those fingers.

“If you keep looking at me like that, you’re staying the night.” His low voice rippled through her body, awakening something raw and primal deep inside her. She wasn’t sure whether his statement was a threat or a promise, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant it. If she didn’t leave, he would devour her.

She fled.

Read on AO3

#saurondriel #haladriel #rings of power #my writing #trop #fanfic #just a smutty music rom-com honestly #LOTS of music

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star4daisy · 10 months

Note

Hey babe, it's me, wifie 😎

I'm curious to know about the 8, 11, 14, and 20, please.

oh I thought u looked familiar hsdadhsaua performing ur wifely duties I see 🩷

8. If all of your fics were in a horror movie which one would die first?

THIS IS SO HARD they are all kinda darkish, Addicted to You is the only one without murder or blood so probably that one but it's rosekiller so not really, Power Over Me is the one where they're more tame so maybe that one

11. If you had to give an album to each of your fics which album would you choose?

I DO NOT LISTEN TO ALBUMS and the ones I have listened do not fit at all so I'll choose songs that inspired me in each one or that I listened to while writing lol my taste in music does not reflect my fics at all this is very random (I listened to Ludovico Einaudi while writing most of these too)

Arsonist's Lullabye: obviously Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier, Mother Mother - Hayloft II, Angel of Small Death and The Codeine Scene by Hozier and I listened to ptolemaea by ethel cain while writing it ever since I heard it for the first time

The Devil in your eyes: Me and The Devil by Soap&Skin (I listened to this on a loop), The Monster by Eminem ft Rihanna and Hail Mary by 2pac (it's actualy very fitting ok)

You Hold My Heart in Your Hands: Animals by Maroon 5, Sucker For Pain by Lil Wayne, Heartless by Kanye West, I Can't Go On Without You by Kaleo

Power Over Me: Power by Isak Danielson, Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy, Way Down We Go by Kaleo and Cinematic Fairy Tale Music with ASMR Ambience lol

Addicted to You: Toxic by Britney Spears, Woo by Rihanna, Him and I by Halsey and G-Eazy, Drunk In Love by Beyonce, The Hills by The Weeknd

THIS IS WHY I DON'T DO PLAYLISTS FOR MY FICS LOL people would be wondering what I was on while writing it (I did write most of YHMHIYH while drunk so there's that)

14. Assign each of your fics a season.

They are all autumn to me but Addicted to You and You Hold My Heart in Your Hands could be winter

20. If you had to pick a fic to make a sequel of which fic would you choose?

I already answered this here ;) but I forgot about Power Over Me so there's that

Thanks babe this was hard but fun ❤️

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halseyobsesser · 1 year

Text

If I can’t have love…. I WANT POWER

• Credit: @arseneserpentine

#halsey #halsey music #halseyroom #halsey fanfic #if i cant have love i want power

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bookgeekgrrl · 10 months

Text

My media this week (20-26 Aug 2023)

my absolute fave line in all of heartstopper, so glad they left it unaltered

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😍 how a resurrection really feels (LiarsandThieves22) - 176K, steddie - post s4 fixit with a timeline merge - just brilliantly executed, lots of great emotional moments as well as even more laugh out loud ones. Big, big rec.

🙂 The Wedding Bait (Golden Years #1) (Adele Buck, author & narrator) - novella; cishet romance but MCs in their 50s, which was a nice change

😊 Murder at the Village Fair (Miss Underhay Mysteries #13) (Helena Dixon, author; Karen Cass, narrator) - Matt & Kitty are on a sort-of delayed honeymoon & get involved in murder in Yorkshire while visiting his aunt

😊 here there be dragons (theundiagnosable) - 66K, original hockey fic - epitome of sunshine/grumpy - POV char has extreme anxiety/anxiety-induced paranoia/anger outbursts due to fear etc - he gets better & it does end very happily but first we gotta watch him train wreck everything & suffer (to be clear, I did enjoy reading this! but it's a lot!)

🥰 Lemon Meringue Lies (Nejinee) - 111K, technically stucky modern no-powers AU but honestly such an AU that it's really more of original fic WHICH ISN'T at all bad - best friends to lovers, lots of oblivousness, pining, angst, emotional dumbassery but also a really great external setting & compelling supporting characters (who just all happen to have names/physical traits as MCU characters) [reread]

😍 if I'm gonna get back to you someday (napricot) - 46K, post Endgame fixit with "a clusterfuck of Steves" from different multiverses [reread for stucky bookclub]

😍 Golden Handcuffs (seekwill) - 70K, Good Omens human AU where they're both professors at a small Scottish university - brilliant fic, great characterizations, solid story development, absolutely loved it

💖💖 +246K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

Mandatory Fun (One-EyedBossman (desert000rose), SecretFandomStories) - MCU: stucky, 39K - Part 11 of Differently Okay Local Idiots; Bucky & Steve go suit shopping with Natasha & together navigate another bump in their road

To the Waters and the Wild (rainbow_nerds) - MCU: magical shrunkyclunks, 23K - selkie!Bucky finds Captain America frozen when he's 10 years old, but no one believes him; ~15 years later, Cap finally thaws out

To Kiss the Tender Inward of Thy Hand (circ_bamboo) - Band Sinister (KJ Charles): Ned Caulfield/George Penn, 32K - beautiful backstory of how Ned & George met

Sit (fandomfluffandfuck) - MCU: stucky, 21K, Part 1 of You Can('t) Teach An Old Dog New Tricks - modern, no powers AU - promising start to a series about older/old guard dom Steve & newbie dom Bucky

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Game Changer - s2, e1-4; s3, e5-8; s5, e9

Make Some Noise - s2, e6

Um, Actually - s8, e11

Heartstopper - s2, e1-8

Only Murders In The Building - s3, e4

Harley Quinn - s4, e7

What We Do In The Shadows - s5, e8

D20: Mentopolis - "F For Freezer" (s1, e3)

D20: Adventuring Party - "We Are Feeling Machines That Think" (s14, e3)

Much Ado About Nothing (Wyndham Theatre 2011) {Tate/Tennant version}

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Re: Dracula - August 20: We Shall To-night Play

Re: Dracula - August 21: Goods are Delivered

Vibe Check - A Special Conversation with Emily King

Ed Zitron's 15 Minutes In Hell - Episode 3 - Taylor Lorenz, The Washington Post

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Embracing Adventure in Fayetteville

⭐ Shedunnit Book Club - Murder-on-Sea

⭐ Switched on Pop - Wonders: "Stacy's Mom" and Adam Schlesinger

⭐ 99% Invisible #550 - Melanie Speaks

Vibe Check - Did AI Write That Song?

Re: Dracula -August 23: Ominous in His Calm

ICYMI - How to Make Millions Playing Dungeons & Dragons

⭐ The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Mysterious Sinkholes of Mt Baldy

Twenty Thousand Hertz+ - The Voice Inside

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Arthurdale

Re: Dracula - August 24: Some Terrible Shock

Strong Songs - "Soul Vaccination" by Tower of Power

Dear Prudence - My Wife Goes Braless Around Our Teenage Sons. Help!

Re: Dracula - August 25: Another Bad Night

What Next: TBD - TikTok's Shady Deal with the U.S.

Into It - Did Taylor Swift Curse Scooter Braun? And Will Fyre Fest Fool Us Twyce?

Endless Thread - PARKS! Pt. 4: Death Sea

⭐ Smart Podcast, Trashy Books - 577. Killing Folks with Deanna Raybourn

Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me! - WWDTM: Mark Ronson

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Soft Rock Ballads

'80s Soft Pop

Relaxing '80s Rock

Unreal Unearth [Hozier] {2023}

'80s Training Montage

Tower of Power

Presenting The Doobie Brothers

Presenting Steely Dan

Presenting Electric Light Orchestra

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lunaticus-platina · 2 years

Text

The song I listened to while writing this:

Fluff and teensy bit of angst 'cuz Travis being Travis. Stubborn dork.

Heart

"Are those papers just for today?"

"Yes."

He kept his replies as curt as possible. Maybe that'll make the other exasperated enough to leave quicker. No such luck.

"You can't be serious."

He didn't answer this time. He didn't even look over the stacks of papers that were taking up all the possible spaces on his desk, the ones right next to him almost towering over his head.

"I'm going to be here for awhile. If you're just going to stand there the whole time, you might as well leave now."

"Travis."

He didn't like that tone. Little more of that and he knew what effect it'll have on him. He took a breath.

"I said, leave."

A beat passed between the two, him still stubbornly refusing to look away from the document he's writing on. He almost didn't hear the soft utterance.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

That made him involuntarily grit down on his teeth. Why? Why not? What else was he supposed to do? He had works to do. He always had something to do. It was his job. His duty.

All that he's good for.

"You know you can take a break, you've more than earned-"

"I decide, whether it's time for a break or not. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I have a paperwork that requires my attention, and I'd appreciate it if you would just stop being a fucking nuisance."

For a whole minute Travis continued to scribble down without any interruption, which significantly calmed his nerves.

"Okay."

The pen halted in its track.

He looked up just in time to see his office door shut without even a click.

.................That.....it-

He looked down at the half written report. At the pen. A gift. The gift from the person who he just called a nuisance and told off. His mouth pulled at one corner, a sigh leaving between the thinned lips. His exhausted eyes swept over the mix of papers and clutter that was his desk. Something small and black caught his eyes. When he reached for it, he realized that it was a black thermos.

As soon as he popped the lid off, rich aroma of coffee engulfed his face, and he instantly relaxed into the familiar scent. Small sip confirmed that it was made exactly the way he liked it. Then, it dawned on him.

"Shit..."

He almost jumped out of the seat as he hurried for the door. Maybe if he sprinted all the way he could still-

Had it not been for a set of firm hands holding onto his shoulders, he would've crashed into the very person who happened to be standing there when he all but slammed the door open.

"Jesus christ are you trying to give me a heart atta-"

Frown settled over the other's face at his rigid posture.

"Are...you okay?"

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Quickly regaining his composure, all he muttered was a cracked "Yes."

An arched eyebrow, but no more questions were thrown his way, so that was good.

"I just, uh...I came back to give you this."

He looked down at the neatly folded, tiny yellow paper being handed his way. It turned out to be a post-it, and inside it said,

'You have a good heart. Hold onto that, yeah? Not many are deserving of it.'

"It was supposed to go on the thermos but I kinda forgot. Sorry about that."

He slowly looked between the post-it and the sheepish face, dumbfounded.

"You..you came here to give me this? A-and the coffee?"

"Yeah but...you can get the coffee anywhere. I shouldn't have come unannounced anyway. Didn't know you're so busy."

The shitty, instant coffee in a paper cup that's lukewarm when he chugs it down, yes. Not the strong, freshly brewed(with good beans, by the smell of it), hot coffee, that was thoughtfully stored in thermos so it'll stay warm during his work and won't accidentally spill all over the documents.

"I won't bother you anymore. I promise. You go do your work, officer."

The same quiet, dejected tone he heard before he looked up. If he felt bad before, now something in his chest just tore in the middle.

When he snapped out of his stupor all he saw was their retreating back. Panic settled in his gut, the siren going off in his head screaming 'Say something you idiot!'

"Wa-wait!" The moment the word left his mouth he was speechless. When he saw a head turning, looking over the shoulder, he felt his mouth dry. Shit.

"I, uh," God, he was acting like a shy teenager, not a jaded, world-weary cop who's well on his way to the life of a senior citizen. What was wrong with him?! "Thanks for the...coffee. A-and the note."

A nod. Eyes lacking their usual spirit. Fuck. Fuck, he had to fix this. He could fix this.

"......Are you hungry?" Good job Travis, what a great ice breaker, he told himself. The more he continued the more he felt like digging into his own grave.

"........Uh.."

"There's uh...a diner that I go from time to time. If you haven't had lunch yet, we could...go there."

"But you're busy."

He was. Made it pretty damn clear. Like a moron. They were just trying to be nice and he was being a dick about it. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sigh escaping between the chapped lips.

"You were right. I could use a break."

Cautious eyes swept over his definitely not nervous face. He didn't realize when his palms got so sweaty. Only when he saw a faint smile and the blooming warmth in those eyes did he let himself sag with relief. Just a little. Hopefully the other didn't notice.

"Can't say no to that. Well, lead the way then, officer." The cheery attitude was back. For once, Travis thanked whatever deity there might be for not letting him fuck this up.

Later, with the other being all peppy and happy with dishes full of hearty meals between the two, Travis thought of that little yellow post-it.

He didn't know about the 'good heart' part. For all he knew it was blackened and rotten, bruised to the point of festering after decades of abuse this world put him through.

But now...with a laughter that tickled him in a strange way, stories of daily shenanigans, and a soft, easy gaze directed his way, he was sure.

At least it was in good hands.

#the quarry #travis hackett #sheriff hackett #officer hackett #travis hackett x you #travis hackett x reader #fluff #by the power of sweetness have at thee #fanfic #writing practice #music #song inspired #my writing #writing

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