#lew writes
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here's another minimal context scene from that beauty and the beast au. this one's from real late in the plot, but i think it'll make... enough sense? it'll at least sound cool
here are the other two scenes i've posted: Ren gets cursed and the knife scene, both of which come earlier in the plot
The last day of Martyn’s life is beautiful.
The sky is bright, finally. Uncertain sunlight stretches its first warm rays across winter-hardened ground, casting the illusion of spring through the window. Martyn knows better, of course—unable to feel the sunlight through the bars of his cell, all he has to work with is the blistering winter wind, a biting cold that the sunlight has not yet chased away.
The deceptive warmth is a bit on the nose, Martyn thinks, but maybe he doesn’t have enough time for anything but the most unsubtle of metaphors.
Ren had been working with Scar. Weeks of hiding out at Ren’s castle, and the whole time, Ren had been planning to turn Martyn in for his own execution. Weeks Martyn spent clearing the crumbling stone, rotting wood, dusty corners of that place, making it livable again. Weeks he’d wasted in Ren’s care, eating his food, finding comfort at his fireplace, sleeping at his side. He’d believed in Ren, and Ren had been planning to betray him all along.
Martyn really should have killed him when he’d had the chance. Maybe, if he’d been fast enough, Ren would never have been able to call for Scar at all.
Maybe Martyn should have stopped to think why Ren was cursed in the first place. Maybe he should have considered Ren might have deserved it.
Watching the sunlight prod the dead grass isn’t enough to distract Martyn from the sound of footsteps, though he pretends not to hear them until they stop right outside his cell.
“Why, hello there!” Scar’s voice is as friendly as ever, which is to say so thick with syrupy cheer Martyn’s teeth hurt just listening to him. “Beautiful day out, isn’t it? Are you excited to enjoy the day? Stretch your legs?”
“Aren’t you supposed to offer me a last meal? Even your dog was a better host than this,” Martyn bites. Scar laughs.
“Oh, I don’t know about that! I’ve given you such lovely accommodations.” Scar grins, sounding quite proud of himself, and Martyn sighs.
“A real five star establishment,” Martyn turns, glaring, “Look, whatever gloating you’re going to do, just get it over with. Is this where you tell me I should never have gone against your rule? Or that Ren is going to be in the audience to help drive home the point? I’m already—“
“What? Ren, in the audience?” Scar asks. He’s amused, his eyes shining with undisguised glee.
“Yeah, what?” Martyn asks.
“Nothing, nothing, I just realized something really funny about you two, is all,” Scar says.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Martyn asks.
“Nothing! Nothing, it’s part of his curse. Didn’t he tell you? And here I thought he trusted you!” Scar says, aghast. “He’s a dog, Martyn, you can’t let those go without some kind of leash. He’s fenced in, just as any responsible person would do.”
“He’s what?” Martyn asks, and with startling clarity Martyn remembers a hundred moments of Ren sitting just inside the gate, waiting for Martyn to return from the woods just outside the bounds of the castle. He’d stopped at the gate when Martyn had fled, too, pacing back and forth inside the entryway. Martyn gasps, “Ren can’t leave the grounds.”
“Oh, you got it!” Scar says. Martyn narrows his eyes.
“Why would he tell that to you?” Martyn asks. Scar leans in towards the bars, grinning. It isn’t wide, but it’s all teeth, perfectly white.
“He really didn’t tell you? Maybe I didn’t need to be worried about you two,” Scar says, “It’s starting to sound like Ren didn’t trust you at all.”
“Shut up,” Martyn snaps, “If he can’t leave, how did he contact you?”
“Hm… Well, that’s the thing…” Scar hums, stroking his chin with one hand, “I wouldn’t say he contacted me, so much as that I was around and decided to pay my friend a visit.”
“Ren didn’t turn me in,” Martyn repeats, “You were lying. That whole— how much of that did you lie about? Was he even working with you at all?”
“Ren and I haven’t worked together in some time,” Scar admits, feigning sadness, “My poor friend, stuck in that old castle, wasting away under that unbreakable curse.”
“Friend, huh?” Martyn asks. He’s trying to sound mocking, but he thinks he might just sound afraid. “Is that a lie, too?”
“Ren and I were great friends! Up until someone cursed him to take the form of a loyal dog, forced to sit and wait at home until someone actually put as much faith into him as he did them.” Scar says, wiping away a dry tear, “It’s too bad, though. That big, trusting heart of his… No one’s ever going to match it, not in this world. He’ll be in that kennel forever, waiting for someone to respect a dog as though he were a person.”
Martyn sits up.
“You cursed him,” Martyn says. It’s not a question.
Scar absolutely beams.
“I was starting to get worried, actually. I felt the curse weakening, so I went up to see what had happened with Ren. The fact it was my runaway rat who had pitied him was just a lucky break, but the fact that on top of that, you’d even left the bounds of Ren’s protection? Lady Luck must really like me!” Scar brags. He sighs, crossing his arms.
“You absolute basta—“ Martyn starts, hopping to his feet.
“But,” Scar barrels right over him, “It doesn’t seem like I needed to worry about anything. Not even that naive old dog trusted you.”
With that, Scar takes a step back from the cell, smiling as bright as always.
“Well,” Scar says, “Thank you for the lovely talk, Martyn. I’ll see you later tonight!”
Martyn doesn’t bother to watch him leave. He looks back to the window, through the bars and into the courtyard. He can’t see the forest from here—can’t see anything for the walls surrounding the whole castle.
He’s never going to see Ren again, and it’s his own damn fault. Why would he believe a pathological liar over Ren? If Scar had come any other time, if Martyn hadn’t already been jumping to conclusions just because he’d overheard— he’s never going to see Ren again, and the last thing they’ll ever have done together is argue.
For whatever little it’s worth, he knows now who he trusts.
—---—
Somewhere at the edge of the forest, Ren falls flat on his face.
This is the last step in a process, though. The process begins like this:
The barrier of Ren’s curse is unbreakable, unyielding, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He’s been scratching at it since Scar and his men disappeared over the horizon, Martyn in chains among them. His paws bleed, a few of his claws casualty to his desperation, but the barrier stays. Ren stays, his eyes locked on the path down the hill, pleading for something he knows he’ll never see.
Somewhere in the world, Ren is trusted.
Ren’s fur falls out in patches. The claws—the ones left, anyway—disappear next, and then his ears twitch for the last time, vanishing into his hair. His face changes, muzzle shrinking, body shuddering as the rest of him follows.
The tail disappears at the same moment as the barrier, and this is when Ren pitches forward into the dirt. He hits hard ground, and what shocks him most is how cold it is—suddenly, Ren is freezing.
He scrambles up onto his elbows, tugging his cloak closer to himself. When he looks down, it’s not to thick fur—Ren finds himself staring at human arms. Perhaps a bit hairier than he remembered, sure, but pale pink, with fingers and thumbs ending in short, dirty nails.
“Oh, my god,” Ren whispers. His mouth stretches in shapes unfamiliar, a face almost too short. He licks the inside of his mouth and finds all the teeth inside perfectly regular, devoid of the long canines that have dominated his smiles for the last few years.
He’s human. The barrier is gone. The curse is broken. Ren can do… anything, really. Everything he’s put on hold, anything he’s dreamed while pacing the halls. The world is open to him once again, and he has all the money and power and freedom to find anything he’d like. He could take back the stolen throne. He could seek out revenge on Scar. He could take a walk out into the forest, simply because the barrier wouldn’t stop him.
There’s only one thing he needs, though. One which he knows needs him, too.
Ren shoves himself to his feet and runs back inside. There’s got to be something he can wear in one of these rooms. He can’t be too picky, though—he has somewhere to be, and he’s already late.
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another zero context renchanting au scene, from yet another au w cherri. this one doesnt have a name (we've just been calling it "witch au" w the vague promise to make a better name eventually that has not yet been fulfilled) but theres witches and werewolves and it's a fun time.
anyway. here's a scene where Ren doesnt know what the hell is happening. see if you can figure it out faster than he does
Ren wakes with a start. His whole body tingles; there’s pins and needles through every limb, wrapped around his spine, and laced just below every rib. The only thing he can feel is a burning in his throat, and he forces his half-numb body to roll over onto his stomach to force out whatever is lodged there. He coughs violently into the hardwood floor below him, and what comes up is sticky clumps of something red-brown.
“Woah, hey, you’re okay,” it takes Ren a half-moment to register Martyn’s hand on his back, but no time at all to recognize his voice. “You’re fine, you’re okay.”
Ren keeps coughing until he feels he can breathe again, Martyn smoothing short lines and circles down his shoulder and through his hair. Ren’s not wearing a shirt, if the immediacy of Martyn’s palm against the skin of his back is anything to go by, but he doesn’t raise his head to check.
“I’m—?” Ren says, unsure what he’s asking, because he’s having a bit of trouble thinking. His head feels full of cotton, asleep as every one of his limbs.
“You’re okay,” Martyn assures, “Can you sit up for me? I want to check you over.”
Ren does as he’s told, but the movements are awkward. When he pries himself off the ground, he finds himself to be in Martyn’s living room, though Martyn has moved the rug to make for some kind of magic circle. The two of them are sitting in the middle, candles and spellbooks about nearby. The most worrying thing Ren sees is a bloody pile of fur—normally, Ren would assume any dead animals to be his own doing, but rabbits and squirrels like the ones he sees are too small to be of interest to the wolf, and the wounds are too clean to be his claws or teeth.
If Ren had to guess, Ren would say Martyn stabbed an alarming number of small animals right beside Ren’s head while he slept off his transformation, though he has no idea why Martyn would do anything like that.
Martyn’s hand smoothes over Ren’s chest, palm flat over his heart, distracting Ren entirely from his thoughts. Ren looks down—no, he isn’t wearing anything, though it’s not like it’s the first time Martyn’s seen him like this, what with the amount of full moons he’s weathered and returned to himself from in Martyn’s company. It’s the first time Martyn’s been even remotely touchy with him, though, which Ren finds absolutely baffling.
“How do you feel?” Martyn asks. He applies some pressure to Ren’s chest, though Ren has no idea what he’s trying to do.
“I feel…” Ren has to think for a moment, but his thoughts feel difficult to wrangle, “Strange.”
“Strange?” Martyn asks. Ren lifts one of his hands, stretching and uncurling his fingers. The pins and needles feeling begins to clear, leaving his body feeling clumsy and sore.
“I dunno,” Ren says. His tongue is no exception to the strange state of Ren’s muscles, but if Martyn notices the slur in his words, he doesn’t say.
“Okay,” Martyn says, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I…” Ren trails off. He isn’t sure about that, either. Was it the full moon last night? It must be, if he’s naked on Martyn’s floor, but he doesn’t remember anything else.
“It’s okay,” Martyn says, but he doesn’t sound okay. “Do you remember who you are?”
“Ren,” Ren says, because he does know that, and he’s not sure why Martyn would think he doesn’t.
“Good. Do you…” Martyn moves his hand from Ren’s chest to his hair, twisting one of the loose strands hanging down Ren’s chest between two fingers and a thumb. “You know me, right?”
“Yeah,” Ren says, “Martyn.”
“Good,” Martyn says, “I’d be really offended if you forgot me.”
Ren laughs under his breath, but doesn’t comment on it. The harder he thinks back to his last memory, the more fuzzy he feels. They haven’t bothered with trying to sedate the wolf in months—did something change? Did he do something different? Why can’t Ren recall anything from last night?
“Did we use a new sedative?” Ren asks. He doesn’t know what else would leave him feeling this out of it, though he can’t remember taking anything.
Martyn’s hand freezes in his hair.
“You don’t remember?” Martyn asks. Ren shakes his head—Martyn releases his hair to free it for the movement, dropping his hand down to rest on Ren’s leg. Ren’s eye follows it down, where he finds he appears to be wrapped in a bedsheet, spare fabric bunching around his waist.
“No,” Ren says, “I don’t— my head feels weird.”
“It’ll pass,” Martyn promises him, reaching up to place both hands on either temple. “Close your eyes. This’ll help.”
Ren does as he’s told. There’s a flash against his eyelids, and when Martyn pulls his hands away, Ren finds he can think a little clearer.
“What else?” Martyn asks, “Are you in pain?”
“I’m sore. Especially,” Ren says, reaching up to touch his neck. Before he can reach it, Martyn snatches his hand, threading their fingers together.
“Don’t touch your neck,” Martyn says. It’s the first time he’s gotten curt with Ren since he woke, Ren realizes, and the thought makes him laugh.
“Whatever you say, Doctor,” Ren says, “What happened last night?”
“You really don’t remember anything?” Martyn asks. Ren shrugs.
“No. Maybe? I'm completely at a loss, dude. If you say something about it I might remember?”
“Right,” Martyn whispers. "it was..."
Martyn trails off, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in his face. He looks Ren up and down once, releasing Ren’s hand to smooth his hand over Ren’s chest. He presses on a few points—Ren’s stomach, Ren’s shoulder, Ren’s heart—watching Ren’s face for a reaction. When he gets nothing more than a twitch and some laughter, he launches himself forward, wrapping himself around Ren’s torso.
“Martyn?” Ren asks. He returns the hug on instinct, letting Martyn settle against him. Martyn’s really warm, Ren observes idly. If Martyn’s face weren’t already tucked against Ren’s chest, Ren would be burying his in Martyn’s neck, chasing away the chill he’s only just noticing.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Martyn says. His voice is very quiet, but more surprising than that, it cracks. Ren doesn’t know what to do with that, but when he feels water on his shoulder, he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze Martyn closer to himself.
“I’m okay,” Ren says, unsure what else to tell him. He smooths a hand through Martyn’s hair, though it’s greasy, and his fingers catch on quite a few knots. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”
Martyn’s breath hitches, and Ren moves his hand to Martyn’s back. He scratches his nails gently over the fabric, hushing Martyn to soothe him. He doesn't even know how to begin to guess the cause of Martyn's behavior, and even clearing half the cotton from his head hasn't helped him to process Martyn's tears on his skin.
“It’s okay,” Ren whispers, leaning the side of his head against Martyn’s temple, “Let it out. I’ll be right here. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”
The sound which tears out of Martyn’s throat is unlike anything Ren has ever heard from him before, ragged and wretched and wet. Ren’s heart shatters for him, though he doesn’t know why.
“I’m sorry,” Martyn says, voice shaking. He curls his hands tightly into Ren’s hair, and it hurts, but Ren lets him, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ren doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A bead of water rolls down Ren’s chest. “Why are you sorry?”
Martyn can’t answer—as soon as he opens his mouth, his breath catches, and his entire body shakes with a violent sob. Ren holds him a bit tighter.
“Don’t tell me. Don’t worry about it,” Ren quickly corrects, “I’m here. We can talk later. I’m not going anywhere.”
Martyn sobs again, choking on his own tears. Ren’s chest aches for him, but he falls silent—it seems even simple assurances can tip Martyn over the edge.
Ren holds him for what feels like hours, lightly scratching Martyn’s back as he slowly loses feeling in his knees. Martyn collects himself in pieces, reigning in his tears in staggered, shaking gasps. When his breathing returns almost to normal, he pulls back, wiping his face with his arm.
“I’ll— Let me clean my face,” Martyn says, jumping back from Ren as though he’s been shocked. “There’s clothes for you on the ground. Sorry. Probably should’ve let you get dressed before I— that was stupid of me.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Ren smiles. Martyn looks almost as though he’s been struck, but he runs off before Ren can reply.
Ren collects his clothes off the floor quietly. His legs wobble when he tries to stand, and he gets dressed sitting on Martyn’s couch. Trying to tie the knots fastening his shirt proves to be a more difficult challenge—his fingers struggle with the fine movements enough he’s still not tied it by the time Martyn returns, face puffy but dry.
“Can you help me?” Ren asks. Martyn’s brow furrows.
“Can’t tie a knot?” Martyn asks, closing the distance to kneel at Ren’s feet. Ren shrugs.
“My fingers aren’t working right.”
“Right,” Martyn says. He ties the knot on Ren’s behalf, then captures both of Ren’s hands, clasping them between his own. A soft light slips out between his fingers, and Ren’s numb, clumsy fingers feel a bit more alive.
“Thank you,” Ren says, but when he smiles at Martyn, Martyn looks away.
“Least I could do,” Martyn says. “Is anywhere else bothering you?”
“My legs,” Ren says, “I was having trouble standing.”
“I’ve got you,” Martyn says. He kneels, setting a glowing hand on either of Ren's leg and moving gradually down, gentle light and fleeting touch contrasted against an expression of stony concentration. Ren's leg returns to life under his palm, and once he reaches the end of Ren's limbs, he moves to Ren’s arm without even being asked. Martyn cups his hands around Ren’s shoulder and trails his arm all the way down to his hand, healing one arm at a time. Finished with Ren's limbs, he traces soft light over Ren's torso, his shoulders, his sides, his face—anywhere he can think of, letting warmth sink back into each and every one of Ren's muscles, all without Ren needing to ask, or even mention it at all.
It's appreciated, of course, but the overwhelming completeness and care of it is a bit much, at least coming from a man whose normal concept of affection tends to be annoying Ren until he gets bored.
“Uh. Thank you?” Ren says. Martyn still isn’t looking at him. He stays where he is, kneeling at Ren's feet, his eyes locked on Ren’s hands clasped in his lap.
“Anytime,” Martyn says. He reaches out, putting one hand over Ren’s and meeting Ren’s eyes with an intense sort of devotion Ren has never seen in him before. “I mean that. No matter what, okay? I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.”
“Okay,” Ren says, unsure what to make of the certainty burning in Martyn’s expression. Is this really the same man who had rolled his eyes at Ren wanting to come over to spend the full moon together just a few hours ago?
“Okay?” Martyn snickers, not impressed with Ren's lack of real response. Ren flushes.
“I don’t know. You’re being weird,” Ren says, “Good weird. But still weird. What happened last night?”
Martyn's face falls. Ren regrets asking.
“You don’t have to tell—”
“You died.”
“…What?” Ren asks.
“You died. I— We got caught. Your neighbors found you. They cornered you after you changed back. I couldn't do anything about it, I'd— They'd have known I was a witch if I said anything to defend you, so I—” Martyn cuts himself off, deciding just to get to the point: “They had you beheaded. It was… it’s better if you don’t remember, if I'm honest.”
Ren reaches up to touch his neck. This time, Martyn doesn’t stop him. Ren's fingers brush over rough stitching and a rougher scar, and his stomach turns. It doesn't hurt, not really, but he can recognize the thick stitching for what it is.
Suddenly, Ren is very grateful Martyn stopped him from touching his neck earlier. He drops his hand, resolving to avoid making this mistake again.
When he looks at Martyn again, he suddenly understands the guilty, sad look Martyn's been giving him all morning.
“I’ve been trying to bring you back for a week.”
“I’ve been dead for a week?” Ren’s voice comes out almost as a squeak.
Even with the gravity of the situation, Martyn still laughs at him.
“Yeah. So tell me if you feel off—stiff muscles, brain fog, anything else. I was preserving you with magic the best I could, but I don’t know if I completely stopped brain tissue death or muscle atrophy.”
How Martyn manages some semblance of doctoral composure even now, Ren can’t begin to guess. Decades of hiding his identity by passing himself off as a doctor seem to have done wonders for Martyn's nerves.
“Oh,” Ren says. He doesn’t know what else to say, honestly, though Martyn lifts his other hand to hold both of Ren’s. He’s still kneeling at Ren's feet, and he squeezes Ren’s hands in his own.
“It’s okay. I was thorough. You’ll be just fine. I'm the best at what I do, so you've got nothing to worry about,” Martyn says, “And if you aren’t, I’ll fix it. I promise you. Anything that happens, I’ll fix it. You’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” Ren says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Martyn seems to take that as disapproval, though it doesn't deter him.
“Are you upset with me?” Martyn asks, “I won’t apologize for bringing you back.”
“I’m not upset with you,” Ren says, “I don’t— I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to. You have plenty of time to sort through it,” Martyn says, “You’re safe. No one even knows I have your body. I’m going to buy us passage far, far away from here, and no one will ever hurt you again.”
Ren nods—Martyn squeezes his hands one more time, then stands.
“Let me make us something to eat and clean up my mess,” Martyn says, shooting a glance toward his pile of books and animal bodies. Ren makes a face.
“You’re going to clean?” Ren asks, “Not just kick it under the couch?”
“I’m definitely kicking half of this under the couch,” Martyn says.
“Don't you dare kick any of the dead animals under the couch.”
“I won't! Jeez, have a little faith in me,” Martyn protests, “I just don’t want to look at the necromancy stuff anymore.”
“I’ll help clean, then,” Ren says, but when he tries to stand, Martyn pushes him back down to the couch.
“You’re going to relax,” Martyn says, “You were dead not even an hour ago. Let your body adjust to having blood flow again.”
“And watch you make a worse mess of your house?” Ren asks.
“You can clean it again later if you hate it so bad,” Martyn says, “But for now, let me take care of you.”
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it's december 9th, meaning today is my 23rd birthday (which is my favorite number!), which means it's time for...
Lew Writes Wrapped 2023!!!
im including anything that happened after my last bday, so we have some works from december as well. this one's a bit of a weird one for the total word count, you'll see why
it's all treebark from my sideblog / alt ao3. i cannot change. i will not change. for these im just gonna specify the relationship that's the main focus bc thats easier than fandom bc all but like one are third life
dandelion wishing
(Dec, 2.4k, treebark, oneshot) (link)
op movie 6 au for dogwarts in which Martyn is the baron and Ren doesn't know he's dead
id actually plotted out a whole third life au for this movie like months prior and really wanted to write it, so i took it for treebark week and focused it just on these two. it's my fave movie of all time and i obvs had to give it to my fave completely dead team <3
i will admit tho. it did make me back search martyns twitter to see if hes ever posted abt watching this movie. bc i know he likes One Piece and i realized this would bring me into the danger zone (he hasnt ever posted abt it if hes seen it)
A Romance Route for the Doomed Villain?!?
(Dec, 5k, treebark, oneshot) (link)
treebark dating sim isekai parody that spiraled out of my control made in a day-long possession
im still baffled by this one. why was the response to this one so insane?? there was smth in the water the day i posted this bro. a 1:2 kudos to hits ratio for the entire first day is literally fucking unbelievable. 70 comments?? what hold did this fic have on you people. i got fic written about this one?? my friends goncharov'd me in front of my face
really fucking fun to write and the insane response was smth im always gonna remember. i appreciate you guys so much
treesekai also turns a year old in a few days!
Until the Angels Realize You're Not One of Them
(Feb, 7.2k, emerald duo, oneshot) (link)
a traitor phil au which was mostly just me talking about all the reasons i love technoblade
this one... wasnt actually written this year for the most part? i didnt want to not acknowledge it, since it's on my ao3 in this year, but i wont be able to count it toward the total
still. traitor phil au my beloved. hearing him say on his stream he and techno wanted to do a betrayal arc made me feel insane bc i already had this written at the time
missing or obstructed
(2022-present, 12.9k, Grian & Ren, ongoing) (link)
post 3L fic about Ren and Grian seeking out closure with a lot of funny little sleep metaphors
same deal as the last fic, i, uh dont think i actually wrote anything new for missing or obstructed this year either? just uploaded chapters i wrote last year,,, i didnt wanna now acknowledge it, but i wont count this in my total later
i miss her. one day ill actually sit down and write more missing or obstructed. in my doc im JUST at introducing Martyn and i havent written it yet
to reach my mangled debut
(Sept, 4.2k, treebark week, ongoing) (link)
it wouldnt be me if i didnt have an execution somewhere in here. another op au!
THIS. I LOVE HER. when rev and i were plotting out the whole storyline for smop renchanting i was begging please give me this scene i need it and i had so much fun writing it. i rlly need to finish soon but i haven’t had time but please. please check out smop. she’s top of my priority list to update
Three-Dog Night
(Sept, 6.7k, treebark week, oneshot) (link)
BIG DOG. beauty and the beast au!
god im so fond of this au. there’s some rlly good scenes written for this and unposted bc i just need to link them together. honestly i think if i took a month and focused it on this fic alone i could fucking finish it but i don’t have the time ;-;
that said i’m so enamored w this au genuinely. o dunno what else to say i just think. puppy
Cover Me In Roses
(Sept, 3.3k, treebark week, oneshot) (link)
lamplight roleswap! put Martyn in a flower pot
i don’t feel as motivated to work on this one when i have lamplight unfinished so it’s lower on my priorities but know i have like an entire arc of this written and unposted. we just have a few paths for this one and i have to decide which one to use
it’s so wild to me lamplight has like. aus. like this isn’t even the only one? a roleswap. that’s insane? it’s wild that you all like lamplight enough i can even get away with this
First Sign of a House Fire
(Sept, 2k, treebark week, oneshot) (link)
i love superhero stories for two reasons: plots about secrets and adapting the characters to give them powers. this had smth fun for both of them
yellow rose isn’t super high on my list of priorities to update (i think the oneshot is interesting on its own) but one day,,,, it’s part of the many aus cherri and i have but it’s the longest for sure. the doc for just this au is like 100k words long on its own. at the time i draft this cherri and i are actively writing smth else for it in another tab. theres like 4 offshoots and im obsessed w all of them. we had to make ocs about this one. i’m excited to eventually add more to this series
actually that’s one of the scenes i’m most excited for and most dreading adding. we made a backstory oc and im SO attached to him and im excited to post a thing out there w him but. ough. whatever cringe is dead i’ll get there eventually and brute force my way into attaching you to our funky little robot guy
also love that this fic forced me to be decided on a docv characterization that i have to stick to. he may be a canon guy to martyn’s vtuber lore but he’s my oc now too
Blindsided
(Sept, 2k, treebark week, ongoing) (link)
pirate au and royal au based on a big secret and also stuffing a guy in a box and it's all stupid dramatic literally what else do you want or need in life
this is my wife. my favorite. my most beloved. blindsided gives me new illnesses and diseases. i have just one scene to write before i can update it and then i can continue unleashing her. god i love this fic the drama of it is SO fun.
the funny thing abt blindsided is i know all the plot chronologically but now how to Present it which is part of why i haven’t continued too much. eventually i will but until then know that one of the scenes im sitting on which has been fully written is one i think about constantly. hopefully when i post it cherri’ll let free the comic she did for it
i actually have the ending of this fic written i just need to get there lmfao. second on my priority list after smop i think
Cradle of the Leviathan
(Sept, 1.5k, treebark week, oneshot) (link)
i just love mer aus man. whats the point of it all if you cant have mer aus. just get a big ol fish
i have the ending of this au written as well and literally so little of the lead up. but this is pretty low on my priorities. i think this one stands just fine on its own. mer aus are nice like that
we actually have a few mer aus but for now i’ll be focusing on this one. i do have a few sweet post story things written for this one. maybe one day i’ll write enough to post em lmao
Lamplight AU
(2022-present, 47k, treebark, ongoing) (link)
renchanting dnd/fantasy au, martyn's a paladin and ren's a lamp
so i started this au last year. my wrapped last year said my total was 20k, so that means this year's total is.... 27k!
and… it was just lamplight’s birthday and i did all my appreciation for the fic and its readers then, but god. i love this fic so much and i love you all who have read it and been so kind about it. the amount of popularity it has makes it a bit nerve wracking to work on, but i still really want to see it finished. i hope to see the bulk of it done by this time next year!
Six Sentence Sunday
six sentence sunday is a challenge where i try to post six sentences i wrote that week every sunday, to keep me writing every week of the year! i do it over on my writing blog, @driflew
i did not keep up on my six sentences,,, i had a lot of sunday fencing tournaments. i did for ~33 weeks this year! thats a pretty good amount! i’ll have to be more on top of it next year tho
unpublished work
the last few years i havent included unpublished work, but with the extreme bulk of it, i wanted to note it down. cherri @/cherrifire and i have been writing a lot back and forth at each other in discord dms this year, and i wanted to include those in my count! bc holy fucking shit is there a lot of them
i didn’t include collab pieces, just pieces i wrote alone. i also only included the renchanting aus i share w cherri and scarian aus i share w flowey, nothing else—no unfinished lamplight or other independent pieces or oneshots, no original fiction for class, nothing. i also missed a few u haven’t moved to docs yet. so i’m lowballing by a few. thousands. of words
the total for those is...... 135k words! there is,,, something wrong with me
total and end notes
our total this year is...
187512 words!
that might be my highest word count yet! because i caught treebark disease. wild.
something really fun about this year to me is i really loved everything i wrote.
if you want to get me a gift or support me on my birthday… maybe try reading my work and reblogging it or leaving a comment! you can find my writing at driflew or skelew on ao3, follow my writing blog at @driflew, or even consider tipping my kofi!
thank you for sticking with me and supporting me this year! i really appreciate it! hopefully i can break 100k next year too!
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ALERT LCB
UWAGA! Dziś (24.02) pełnia księżyca! Przygotuj się na ewentualne zniszczenia spowodowane aktywnością wilkołaków. Zabezpiecz zwierzęta domowe i gospodarcze. Zostań w domu, jeśli możesz.
O ile nie jesteś jedną z lokalnych czarownic, pod żadnym pozorem nie zbliżaj się do szczytu Łysej Pały na Nieszczerym Polu.
Jeżeli jesteś jedną z czarownic, zabierz ze sobą na sabat kożuszek, bo bez słońca nadal jest zimno. I najlepiej też czarno kurę, jeśli dasz radę, bo Halina nie zdążyła załatwić w tym miesiącu.
#kłykcie#kłykcie lewe#poland#polish#polska wieś#polski tumblr#polska#wieś#polish tag#polblr#polishposting#polskaposting#polandposting#polishcore#alert LCB#pełnia książyca#sabat czarownic#oc#oc writing#mockumentary#parody#unreality
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my dear friend is distressed about the lack of martyn fics so although i am not clever enough to write martyn inthelittlewood i can offer you some situations i propose he be put in:
- overworked volunteer at an animal shelter. his favorite animal is a giant german shepherd named ren who never leaves him alone. his least favorite animal is a bird named grian who does nothing but imitate human screams and bite.
- amateur comedian. he does stand up every tuesday night and the instant he gets heckled he gets super defensive and starts saying shit like ‘you people don’t understand true comedy’ and ‘you’re just jealous you’re not on my level’ and ‘ren said i’m hilarious screw all of you’
- firefighter. he spends 90% of his shifts chasing down and extinguishing a very handsome man who has the unfortunate habit of setting himself on fire to prove his passion. no one asks him to do this. martyn is very distressed by this. etho and bdubs think it is hysterical that martyn hasnt noticed this only ever happens while he’s on duty.
- renaissance fair employee. i think its obvious where im going with this so instead of the obvious he gets way too into the roleplay and almost commits first degree murder bc someone cut in front of ren in line to get a funnel cake ill talk instead about how there’s a pirate themed booth for some reason at the renaissance fair and martyn hates it bc of the historical inaccuracy and also bc he is convinced joel and etho set his and ren’s tent on fire on purpose.
- burger king employee. there is a mcdonalds across the street and they hate each other’s guts. one day grian breaks in while scar is distracting ren and martyn and smashes their ice cream machine with a baseball bat bc martyn made one too many jokes about their ice cream machine always being broken. martyn’s manager ren takes this personally, dubs himself the burger king, puts on the shitty cardboard crown and declares war on the mcdonalds. by the end of the week every single employee of the burger king and the mcdonalds have been fired and their story is featured on national news.
update: that last one is now written. you’re welcome/i’m so sorry
#lew this is just for you <3#to other martyn enjoyers i hope i did him justice#im just incapable of writing anything serious so for angsty martyn fics youll have to go to lew#i've actually done a shit ton of worldbuilding for the mcdonalds v burger king third life au#but that is a post for another day#inthelittlewood#renthedog#cats words
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happy 30th birthday lewis james pullman !!
#YO it is the 29th in sweden#so like hbd babe!!!#also in the first gif he's 18!!! precious!!!#also first and probably last time writing on gifs man that was painful and they look not too good but like it's the thought that counts!!#lewis pullman#lewis pullman gifs#rhett abbott#bob floyd#miles miller#robert bob floyd#can't get over that my first bf was born in 93 too#wild#i'm so fucking old ahhh#my gifs#pls don't tell me if these are ugly lmao just look at how pretty lew is
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need one of lew's characters to be a hockey player frfr
#just went to my first hockey game last night#love the sport but never seen it in person!!#(although my team brutally lost 6 - 0)#idc tho bc i love them no matter what#but ahhh it got me thinking#like i never understood the hockey romances but i get it now!!#and i fr really need someone to either write one of lew's characters as a hockey player#or for him to play one asap!#anyways someone pls write it or send recs my way pls pls pls#sara:speaks#lewis pullman#hockey
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Epiphany Pt. 4: Evermore
Lewis Nixon x Reader
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
A/N: thanks for patiently waiting for this chapter!! it's filled with angst, so be prepared! also, i took a little bit of creative license and added a little something to the end of the chapter, so let's pretend that easy moved to some form of housing after Arnhem...haha.😅😅 this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Summary: As the operation in Holland crumbles, (y/n) and the rest of Easy are forced to retreat from Arnhem, and a stray bullet makes (y/n) reconsider her anger toward Nixon.
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: mentions of blood/injury, major angst
SEPTEMBER 1944, HOLLAND: OPERATION MARKET GARDEN
Operation Market Garden had begun with high hopes and lofty ambitions, but now, it was undeniable: it had crumpled into a resounding failure. From the moment Lieutenant Brewer was shot, a sense of impending doom had settled like a lead weight in (y/n)'s stomach.
If she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t get a good feeling about it after Eindhoven and what she'd seen there. The mission was already teetering on the brink of disaster, and now as Easy retreated through the war-torn streets of Arnhem, that gut-wrenching feeling had transformed into a harsh and unforgiving reality.
In the fray, (y/n) found herself separated from the rest of her squad when the Tigers opened fire. She took shelter behind a blown-out corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she pressed her face against the cool stone. Her eyes scanned the buildings before her for krauts, and when she deemed it safe, she signaled for two fellow soldiers to follow her lead.
Bullets zipped through the air dangerously close as they sprinted for their lives, crouching and weaving to evade the deadly rain of fire. (Y/n) pushed through some sheets on a clothesline, her focus on the path ahead, but then the man beside her fell with a heavy thud. Before she could even turn back to help him, a powerful force yanked her behind a nearby building.
“There ya are! We’s was worried about ya!”
A strong Philadelphian accent filled her ears, and she leaned against the brick wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She peered around the corner and closed her eyes with a sigh, seeing the frozen stare of the fallen soldier, along with the blood streaming from his forehead. Guarnere’s firm hand on her shoulder pulled her back behind cover.
“What’re ya thinkin’? Tryin’ to get yourself freakin’ killed?” he yelled, voice tinged with exasperation as he fired rounds around the corner. “We’ve gotta fall back! Luz!”
Luz? George was there?
(Y/n)’s head snapped to her right, and there he stood with a radio to his ear, frantically relaying critical information to CP.
“We have infantry everywhere!” he cried, covering his other ear with his hand. “Repeat, armor has cut the road! We are covered in infantry!”
Bill took cover behind the building and pushed (y/n) and Grant forward roughly. “Fall back! Fall back!”
George, however, remained against the wall as he continued to repeat his urgent message. ”It’s a hold down! We are falling back! Over!”
(Y/n) knew they couldn’t wait any longer, so before Bill could, she grabbed George’s arm, her voice urgent as she pulled him with her. “George! Let’s go!”
As they sprinted away from the building, a deafening explosion rocked the air, and a mortar struck the house behind them. Stone and metal fragments hurtled through the air around them. The sheer force of the blast sent (y/n) tumbling to the ground, her body crashing in a heap.
George was quick to react, grabbing (y/n) and pulling up as she scrambled to her feet. Their hearts raced in the aftermath of the explosion, and together they pressed forward, following other paratroopers out of the town. Bill and Chuck ran ahead of them, weaving in and out of the streets. The rest of them followed closely, their boots pounding against the uneven cobblestone roads. But their frantic sprint came to an abrupt halt when they stumbled upon Skip and Don forcefully kicking down the door to what appeared to be a chicken coup.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Bill shouted, alarmed by his friend’s actions.
The boys grabbed the door. “Help us!”
Following them into a ditch, (y/n)’s eyes widened seeing Buck bleeding on the ground.
“What happened?” She asked, kneeling beside him as the others hoisted him onto the door from the chicken coup.
Buck winced in pain but managed to speak. “It’s Easy Company tradition, (y/l/n). I just drew the-,” he winced again, his voice strained, “-short straw.”
She patted him gently on the shoulder as Skip, Don, and Bill began to drag the door behind them, struggling with Buck’s weight. He was a college football player, after all.
As they finally reached the waiting trucks, the exhaustion had taken its toll on the three. They were on the verge of collapse, their bodies pushed to the limits by the harrowing events of the day. Thankfully, a few paratroopers had already descended from the trucks and rushed to help. With a collective effort, they carefully loaded the injured lieutenant onto the transport. Lip appeared, ushering more troops toward the waiting trucks.
(Y/n), Bill, and Lip stood behind Bull. “One bullet, four holes,” Bill quipped with a wry grin, gesturing to Buck’s wounded butt with his thumb.
Carwood patted Buck’s boot with a relieved smile. “Yeah. It’s almost a miracle.”
The sergeants nodded at her before walking away. As she prepared to blimp onto the truck, a familiar voice calling her name brought her to a halt.
“(Y/n)!”
She turned to follow the voice back to its source, her expression hardening when she recognized Lewis Nixon. The memories of their encounter in Eindhoven flooded back, and her anger surged anew as he approached.
“What?” She spat, crossing her arms defensively.
Lew sighed, concern evident as he looked her over. “You alright? I heard it wa-”
“Why do you care?” She interrupted him sharply, her tone dripping with resentment.
He was taken aback by her coldness. “Because I care about you," he stated, his words slow and deliberate, though he knew that his feelings for her extended beyond mere friendship. "We're friends."
“Whatever, Nixon,” she muttered dismissively, climbing into the truck and plopping beside Malarkey with an exasperated huff.
Lew watched her for a moment, his jaw clenched, as he processed the rift that had grown between them.
So that’s how things were going to be.
With a shake of his head, he turned away and went searching for Dick, determined to find a way to mend the damaged bond between himself and (y/n).
Don observed Nixon walking away with a puzzled expression on his face. (Y/n)’s cold demeanor toward the intelligence officer was a stark contrast to the adoration Don had witnessed in the pub just a few days prior.
He nudged her gently, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What happened?” he inquired, voice filling with concern.
“With Nix?” She confirmed, and he nodded.
“Well,” she began, clearing her throat. “I was trying to stop one of the Dutch Resistance men from hurting a woman in Eindhoven, and he stopped me.”
Don raised an eyebrow. “And that’s all?” He pressed, sensing there was more to the story.
She bit her cheek, her eyes avoiding his. “Yep. That’s it.”
The sergeant didn’t quite buy her explanation, but he also didn’t want to push her too hard, “Alright,” he conceded. “Have you thought about it from his perspective?”
(Y/n) scoffed bitterly. “What other perspective, Malark? What do-”
He held up a hand, interrupting her. “The one of the guy who didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Her expression shifted as his words sank in. She hadn’t considered that angle. In the moment, she had already been angry at him for what he did with the Dutch girl and allowed that rage to fuel her actions.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted, her tone softer. “The guy was getting pretty aggressive with me.”
Don nodded, starting to understand the complexities of the situation. “See, he cares about you, (y/n/n). We all see it. And we know you care about him, too.”
Her eyes widened in surprise at his words. “Don, please don-”
But he cut her off gently, a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me and the boys.”
A relieved sigh escaped her lips, and she offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
As they drove away to safety, (y/n) shifted her gaze downward and noticed a bloodstain against her already dirty hands. Her heart raced as she peered down at her boots, where a few crimson droplets clung to the dark leather. Confusion and concern gnawed at her, and her eyes drifted over to Buck, whose pants were completely soaked with the red substance. (Y/n) couldn’t shake the unease that washed over her.
She was fine. Right? She must have brushed against Buck.
(Y/n) wiped her bloody palms on her pants with a grimace. On top of dirt, sweat, and grime, she now had streaks of blood marring her uniform.
“Buck, next time you get shot, try not to bleed so much, alright? It got all over my boots,” she quipped, her tone lighthearted despite the weariness that weighed her down. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the truck’s canopy, finding a moment of respite.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll try,” Buck replied, his voice tinged with pain.
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the events of the day, she allowed the rumbling of the truck’s engine to lull her into a fitful sleep.
A gentle hand on (y/n)’s shoulder roused her from her much-needed rest. Her eyes fluttered open in the darkness and she tried to focus, but a sharp pang of pain surged through her head. With a soft groan, she brought a hand up to her temples, massaging them in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort.
As she continued to rub them, she realized that she was feeling much more than just a headache. The world around her seemed to spin slightly, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.
With a deep breath, she pushed through the dizziness and sat up, steadying herself against the side of the truck. Don’s hand shot out to steady her.
“You okay?” He asked, his voice filled with concern.
(Y/n) nodded slowly, worried any sudden movements would tip her over. “Yeah. Just got up too fast.”
Don gave a reassuring nod. “Alright,” he replied before letting go and exiting the truck.
The other men were already getting out of the vehicle, and (y/n) knew she couldn’t stay any longer. Despite the lingering disorientation and the discomfort of her headache, she summoned her strength and climbed out of the transport, her legs feeling a bit wobbly as she joined her fellow paratroopers on the ground. The world around her gradually steadied, and she then focused on finding George in the dark landscape.
As (y/n) wandered from group to group, looking for the radioman, her attention was suddenly diverted by a hushed conversation nearby. She overheard the whispered words that made her heart stop.
“I heard Captain Nixon got hit today.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could think, her voice escaped her lips involuntarily. “What?”
The men in the group turned toward her, recognizing the (y/h/c) immediately. It was More, Smokey, and Shifty who shared the information.
“Yeah, while we were retreating. Took one to the helmet,” Smokey replied.
Tears welled up in her eyes as worry and dread washed over her. “I-is he alive?”
Shift sensed her destress, rolling his eyes at Smokey. “Come on, Smoke. Stop torturing her.”
The man couldn’t help but grin. “Alright,” he conceded. “He’s okay, it was a stray that just grazed him.”
A deep sigh of relief escaped her, and the dizziness she had felt earlier hit her again. The overwhelming emotion of the moment left her feeling weak, but the important thing was that Lew was alive.
“He’s okay. He’s alive,” she repeated to herself, the words providing a soothing balm to her anxiety. She had to see him, had to make things right.
Turning to Shifty, she asked with urgency, not even looking at the others. “You seen him?”
The Virginian nodded in response. “He was up on top of the dike with Winters earlier.”
(Y/n) thanked the man and quickly made her way in the direction of the dike. However, with each step she took, it felt like the next one became harder and heavier. The adrenaline that had carried her this far was starting to wear off, and the physical toll of the failed mission was catching up to her.
By the time she made it up the steep hill to the top of the dike, she was panting heavily, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The world around her swam in a haze, and she clung to the rough surface of the dike, using it to support her trembling body as she tried to regain her composure.
Although she felt like falling over, she knew she had to find Nix, and nothing was going to stop her from making things right between them. With every ounce of willpower she could muster, she steadied herself and pressed forward.
A few minutes later, (y/n) finally found Lew leaning against the side of a jeep, his gaze fixed on the distant town of Eindhoven, which was illuminated by the fiery hues of its ongoing bombardment. The night sky blazed with shades of bright orange and red, casein an eerie and unsettling glow over the landscape.
A quiet knock broke the solemn silence from behind Lew. He turned to see (y/n) leaning against the driver’s side door, concern etched across her weary face.
“Hey,” she began softly. “Are you okay?”
Lew raised a hand to his sore temple, his gaze lingering on her battered form. “Yeah,” he replied in a hushed tone, his eyes silently tracing the evidence of the battle. “Just a minor concussion.”
(Y/n) slid away from the doorframe, her steps sluggish as she made her way over and sat up on the hood, with much difficulty. The dim light cast delicate shadows across her face, revealing her ashen complexion, the dried mud and blood staining her ODs, and the thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked much worse than when he saw her a few hours earlier.
Lew’s brow creased with growing concern. “Are you alright? You’re not looking too good, (y/n/n).”
Her response was laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Why, thank you,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “You sure know how to flatter women, Nixon. Did you use that charm on the Dutch girl in Eindhoven?”
The air between them grew heavy, filled with unspoken emotions, and Lew found himself captivated by (y/n)’s tired, yet expressive eyes. He couldn’t quite decipher whether her gaze held anger or sadness, but he still felt a pang of guilt.
He hung his head, his voice filled with remorse. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” She scoffed bitterly. “I can’t tell you who or who not to kiss.”
Lew sighed heavily, pushing away from his hood. “I know that. But I am sorry,” he murmured, voice dropping to a rasp. “I’m sorry about those women, too. You know I cou-”
“Couldn’t do anything. Yeah, I know that now,” she interrupted, her voice heavy with regret.
She lazily ran a hand across her forehead, her eyelids drooping as if weighed down by invisible burdens. Nausea slithered its way up her throat, and she could taste the sour bitterness at the back of her tongue. It wasn’t even that hot, yet the oppressive air clung to her like a second skin. (Y/n) struggled back to the ground, the world swaying slightly around her.
“It’s like an oven out here,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
He glanced at her, concern etched across his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His instincts pricked with worry.
“I’m just tired,” she whispered.
Her eyelids drooped further, fatigue tugging at her like an anchor. Slowly, she began to peel off her OD jacket, as if shedding a heavy burden. Nix approached her, his touch gentle as he grasped her elbow.
“How about I take you to Doc and get you checked out, all right?” He suggested, voice laced with concern.
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, shaking her head and shrugging off his concern, determined to downplay her discomfort. Her jacket dropped to the dirt, revealing the sweat-soaked undershirt clinging to her skin. “I’m okay, Lew.”
Nix’s worry deepened with every passing moment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. “Please,” he pleaded softly, his hand gently guiding her toward other men, resting on her hip. She finally relented and began walking beside him, though her steps seemed unsteady.
As they reached the path down the dike, Lew reluctantly removed his hand. But his relief was short-lived when he saw his hand, now stained dark red.
They both stared at the shocking sight, a heavy silence hanging between them. Time seemed to stand still until the realization crashed over them like a tidal wave. A searing pain erupted in her side, a fiery agony that threatened to consume her. (Y/n)’s vision blurred, and the landscape spun as the pain coursed through her, her breathing quickening in frantic desperation.
(Y/n)’s knees gave out, and she crumpled to the ground, her body limp in Nix’s arms.
“Medic!!” Lew’s voice trembled with raw emotion as he shouted for help. “Medic!”
He carefully lowered them gently to the ground and laid her on her back. As he lifted her blood-soaked shirt, his heart sank at the sight that met his eyes. Even in the dark, he could see the pool of blood oozing from a gunshot wound just above her hip.
She’d been shot, and the pain had finally caught up with her.
Lew wasted no time and pressed his hands firmly against the wound, wincing as she cried out in agony. “Medic!! Someone get a medic!!”
In a frantic blur, Dick came running from the distance, his eyes widening at the harrowing scene before him. “What happened?”
“She was shot! Go get Doc!” Nix barked, urgency coursing through his veins.
Dick vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Lew to look down at (y/n)’s pain-stricken face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Nix’s voice quivered, but he fought to keep it steady. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.”
Roe skidded next to her and shoved Lew aside as he began to assess and treat (y/n). Her trembling hand shot out, desperately grabbing onto Nix’s.
“Lew,” she croaked through her tears, her voice filled with fear. “I’m scared.”
He cupped her cheek gently, his touch tender. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m here.”
Gene grunted, swiftly tearing open a packet of sulfa, his experienced hands moving with precision. “Keep her awake, sir. She’s lost a lot of blood,” he instructed, urgency lacing his words.
With a determined nod, Lew turned his full attention back to (y/n), his heart heavy with worry. Gene’s voice faded into the background as he yelled instructions to the men around him, but Lew scarcely registered any of it. His world had narrowed to (y/n), and the only thing that mattered was ensuring her (y/e/c) eyes remained open and aware at all times.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, but he couldn’t afford to falter. He whispered soothing words to her, his voice a lifeline amid chaos, doing everything in his power to keep her conscious, hoping that she would pull through.
As Gene worked to stabilize her, Lew’s heartache and fear threatened to overwhelm him. He refused to entertain the idea of losing her, and couldn’t bear to contemplate a world without her in it. To him, life would lose all its meaning, its vibrancy, if she slipped away. The thought of her absence cast a shadow over his soul that he couldn’t bear to confront.
(Y/n)’s pain-ridden expression gradually softened, and a sense of relief washed over her as a syrette of morphine was swiftly plunged into her shoulder. The drug’s effects began to take hold, easing the searing agony that gripped her, and she slipped into a welcomed state of relaxation.
“Let’s go!” Gene announced, his voice firm after tying (y/n)’s bandage tightly around her waist. “We’ve gotta get her to the aid station.”
With practiced teamwork, they carefully rolled her onto a stretcher, cradling her injured form, and swiftly moved her to a waiting jeep, its engine humming. Throughout the process, Lew never let go of her hand.
As the effects of the morphine started to blur her senses, (y/n)’s voice took on a hazy and panicked tone. Her words spilled out in a rush, filled with desperation. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was being immature and-”
Before she could finish her sentence, a gentle hand reached out to cup her cheek. “No,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with regret. “It doesn’t matter now. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me, sweetheart, and I am.”
Her (y/e/c) eyes met his, and she whispered, “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me you’ll miss me.”
Nix nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll miss you every day.”
Her playful spirit shone through even in such dire circumstances. “Don’t let Dick drive you nuts. That’s my job.”
Dick, appearing at Lew’s side, spoke softly. “They’ve got to go, Nix,” he said, patting his friend’s shoulder with understanding.
Lew leaned over and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from (y/n)’s forehead and planted a soft kiss there. “I’ll see you when you get back, alright?”
She managed a serene smile and squeezed his hand one last time as he reluctantly released his grip and stepped back.
“Get better,” Dick said, his tone brotherly, as he affectionately patted her cheek.
“Yes, sir,” she smirked lazily. “Take care of him. You know how he can get.”
Dick chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yes, I do.”
With a rumble of the engine, Eugene hopped into the jeep beside (y/n), taking a moment to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. He called out to the driver, his voice filled with determination.
“We’re good!”
Lew stared blankly at the disappearing jeep, its wheels kicking up dust as it carried (y/n) away to the aid station. His heart felt heavy, his thoughts a tangled mess as he watched her vanish from his sight. He couldn’t tear his gaze away and his eyes locked on the trail of dust.
3 DAYS LATER
Once Easy was finally moved into a nearby town, Lew numbly settled into his shared room with Dick. He looked down at his ODs, which were still covered with her blood, along with his blood-stained hands, a grim reminder of what had just transpired.
He marched over to Dick’s footlocker and slung it open with a bang, then began rummaging through it in search of his precious VAT-69. His trembling hands found a bottle, and he wasted no time in grabbing a glass and pouring a shot of whiskey. The fiery burn that followed was a sharp contrast to the numbness that enveloped him.
“Nix,” Dick sighed softly, concern etching lines onto his face. “Now that we’ve got supplies, let’s get you cleaned up, all right?”
Lew raised his glass, took a sip, and then stared out the window. “I’m good,” he replied, shaking his head with a hollow, bitter smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“She wouldn’t want you to start drinking,” Dick urged gently, trying to reason with his friend.
Nix’s voice grew thick with emotion as he spoke, his guilt and anguish laid bare. “Well, she’s not here anymore, is she? And what if she doesn’t make it? What if I spent my last few days with her in a fight?” The weight of his self-blame hung heavily in the air, his eyes unfocused.
“Have you told her?” Dick asked, his tone filled with sympathy as he saw the torment in his friend’s eyes.
Lew took another sip of whiskey, his gaze distant. “Of course not.”
“Dick,” Nix began, his voice cracking with emotion as he turned to face his friend. “What if I never get to?”
Dick’s expression softened, and he laid a reassuring hand on Lew’s shoulder. “You will. Doc came back last night. He said she’ll be okay, just off the line for a couple of weeks.”
Relief washed over him, and he let out a quiet, heartfelt sigh. “Thank God,” he whispered, setting down his glass and running his trembling hands down his face.
“Dick, I-”
“I know,” he said softly. “She’ll be back before you know it. Until then, you should write to her, keeping her updated with the company.”
Lew nodded, his heart heavy but thankful she would be okay. “Yeah.”
“I’ll go get you some new ODs,” Dick offered, his voice filled with concern as he left the room quietly, giving the man a moment of solitude.
Nix, feeling the weight of the day’s events bearing down on him, walked into the bathroom and leaned heavily over the sink. His hands gripped the cold porcelain as he stared at his reflection in the dimly lit room. He looked terrible. His face was smeared with blood and dirt, and his eyes appeared hollow, haunted by what had happened.
His mind kept replaying the tape of that fateful moment, but all it did was pause at the very moment he thought all was lost. The fear in her eyes, etched into his memory like a scar, refused to fade.
Tears welled up in his brown eyes, blurring his reflection as he tried to shake off the haunting images. Lew shook his head, his hands trembling as he turned on the faucet and began to wash away the stains of war. The clear water slowly turned pink as it dripped off his stained hands, and he scrubbed relentlessly, desperately trying to wash away not just the physical traces of blood but also the guilt and helplessness that clung to him.
As he continued to scrub his hands, the room remained silent, save for the sound of water running down the drain. Each drop that fell was a reminder of the mark this day had left on him
Finally, he turned off the faucet and dried his hands, his reflection now free of the gruesome stains. Nix took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, ready to put pen to paper and write her the first of many letters.
Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic
comment or message if you want to be added to the tag list!
#band of brothers#mads' fandoms#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers imagine#hbo war#band of brothers fanfic#lewis nixon#mads' writing mania#lewis nixon x reader#band of brothers imagines#hbo war imagines#hbo war x reader#band of brothers edit#band of brothers series#band of brothers fic#easy company#carwood lipton#dick winters#ron speirs#lew nixon#lewis nixon imagines#lewis nixon imagine#lewis nixon fluff#lewis nixon angst#lewis nixon x reader angst#lewis nixon x reader hurt#lewis nixon x reader fluff#nix#nix x reader#lewis nixon series
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So @liloinkoink tagged me in a little game where I post about all my wips, so people can see them and ask questions about them. I realized that I uh. I have twenty different AU concepts (all made with my beloved friend @made-nondescript ), so I’m gonna pick a few:
Merfolk AU (fWhimmy): in which Jimmy, sheriff to a small coastal town, realizes there’s something— or, someone— living right near their shores. fWhimmy mer au where fWhip is the merperson, and they have to figure out how to make it work, despite… everything.
And… is he sure about this? Joel’s gonna laugh at him— Jimmy’s certain he is. He can’t even blame him, really. What a ridiculous thing to say: I found a rock at the rock beach and I think there was a guy in the water— yeah, right. But… it feels important. It feels important enough to try. He has to try.
“I think… I think I met someone in the ocean, two nights ago,” Jimmy murmurs.
This AU does have one posted work already— [We Will See Tomorrow], which is like a prologue of sorts!
Vamp AU (WRA siblings, future fWhimmy): One mistake is all it takes to change the course of your life forever, as fWhip and Gem find out the hard way. Roseblings become vampires the messy way, and find it quite hard to come to terms with.
“Well, hello there!” The man calls brightly, perhaps just a touch too loud for the occasion at hand. fWhip bites back a flinch at the sound.
“Uh— hi,” he calls back, “I take it you have what I’m looking for?”
The man chuckles slightly, an easy smile stretching across his scarred face, and fWhip raises an eyebrow. The man steps closer, positioning himself next to fWhip. “You’re after some really valuable stuff here, you know.” The man leans down slightly, looking into fWhip’s eyes. “You sure you’re willing to pay the price?”
(If he were more observant, perhaps fWhip would’ve noticed the way the man’s too-sharp teeth flashed in the sickly orange light— his first, and only, warning.)
This one has lots of art, which can be found under [#esmp vamp au]!
Space AU (fWhimmy— sorta): They’ve landed on this planet, and too late, they’ve realized they can’t leave it. How do you come to terms with the fact you’re definitely doomed? Jimmy and fWhip are co pilots of a spacecraft sent to check on a planet that sent out a strangled distress signal, and now they’ve got plenty of time to get acquainted before the end— if fWhip could stop making things worse, that is.
“Commander Jimmy, transmission regarding the emergency distress signal received from planet ANC-19.”
“This planet is lost, and so are we. Do not send a rescue mission. This planet is sick, it cannot be saved. I repeat, do not send anyone else here. They will die. There are no survivors. There is nothing of value left here.”
Snowpocalypse AU— or, hey what if Xornoth kidnapped Scott and used his ice powers to cause eternal winter? Wouldn’t that be fucked up? Scott’s absence is noticed very quickly by Gem, who drags fWhip and Jimmy to his house to check on him
“Oh—“ Gem turns the handle, the door swinging open slightly. “Scott! I’m coming in!!”
The lights are on as the step inside— fWhip knew they were, of course, but…
Well. He didn’t expect this.
The house is completely trashed— the coffee table is turned on its side, a mug of what might’ve been coffee or tea has shattered on the ground, the liquid partially stained into the rug. The pillows from the couch are strewn all around the room, and half the cabinets are thrown open, as if someone was looking for… something.
“…Scott?” fWhip calls, hesitantly.
Something is definitely wrong.
(More quick ones below the cut!)
fWhimmy Apocalypse AU (also featuring lots of fWhip & Pix): In which fWhip and Pix make the hardest trip of their lives to Jimmy’s house, with fWhip determined to see Jimmy again, against all odds. Apocalypse, but not in the zombie sense— think more like if sculk was a bit more fucked up. This one has all of its current writing posted [here!]
Superhero AU: You know the trope of “villain goes to superhero’s doorstep, super injured, and is like ‘I didn’t know where else to go’?” That, but it’s Jimmy going to fWhip, and fWhip is more of a vigilante than a hero, and Jimmy doesn’t necessarily… like… get redeemed. I remember this one had a long section in the notes about how Jimmy is a villain by choice, not because he was forced to be.
Antique shop AU: Nondescript and I went off for a While about this one, which created [this post]— basically, Pix runs an antique shop in a college town, and he hears about the lives of fWhip and Jimmy when they visit his shop
Android fWhip AU— or, hey what if the reason empires one fWhip survived the blast was because he wasn’t human at all, and nobody knew until Gem finds him in the wreckage? And then there’s the whole situation with— well, how do you just not notice that your brother is an android? This one had a whole scene where Gem takes a mangled fWhip over to Mezalea, as one of the last standing empires, and Joel tries to help them repair fWhip. I made [art] for this one, which is the only thing this AU has so far
There are a lot more, but I think that’ll do for now! I’d be happy to answer any questions about any of these, or any of my other writing :D !!
(As for tagging folks, I don’t wanna bother too many people, but if @blocksruinedme or @stitchthesewords wanna share any AU’s, go wild my friends!)
#umbrify talks#umbrify writes#thanks for the tag Lew I have spent Hours on this post#counted all my AU’s and I have Twenty. so.#I’m not cramming twenty AU’s into this post <3
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Thinking about Bob taking off his dress whites and just standing there in the pants and wifebeater pls don’t text
no no no robyn you’re criminal for this, so criminal
you’re both home after the navy gala feeling beat and a little tipsy from the free booze. fuck hangman and his tequila shots when the admirals go home. you check all the doors are locked and venture upstairs to your shared bedroom to de-robe and get into bed with your loving husband. when you get to your bedroom, you spot bob’s white navy jacket slung over the back of your plush chair sat in front of your vanity mirror. he’s un-buttoned the last of his shirt and sheds it to reveal his soft cotton wife beater underneath and his ripples of arm muscles.
your eyes follow him as you bounce onto the edge of the bed and reach your arms behind you to unzip your expensive dress. he’s still wearing the crisp, white navy trousers. bob leans one arm on the chair and his forearms strain with one prominent vein running up and along his bicep.
he watches you from across the room and you stifle out a little giggle, “what?”
“there’s no way in hell i’m letting my gorgeous wife undress on their own.” he crosses the threshold of your room in few and easy strides.
firstly, he kneels to the floor and gently unbuckles the strap around your ankles for your heels. he places a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh and you hum in response. bob runs his fingertips up and over your legs and gets up from his squatting position. you instinctively turn your back to face him and he glides his hands over your back to unzip your dress with ease. he places more soft and small kisses to the base of your neck and down your spine.
“you look like a dream right now, robby.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but bob still hears it and lets out a small chuckle. “and you look like you have too many clothes on.”
hehe thank you so much for this wonderful thought my wifey!! 💌💖
#💌you’ve got mail#BSADKJSndf#im gonna send you the lew pic i was thinking of when writing this#hangmanapologist 💍#robert bob floyd#robert bob floyd x y/n#robert bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x reader#robert floyd x y/n#robert floyd x you#robert floyd x reader
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Lew Thomas, Bibliography 3, (screenprint), 1977 [MoMA, New York, NY. © Lew Thomas]
#graphic design#typography#art#visual writing#bibliography#catalogue#catalog#book#lew thomas#moma#the museum of modern art#1970s
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First Sign of a House Fire
skelew - 1805 words - complete
"Today Thorn's ability was just super strength. That’s, like, no issue at all.”
"No issue— didn't he throw a food stand at you?" Martyn asks.
Or, hero duo Frostburn and Rose discuss the emergence of a new villain with a peculiar gimmick: the ability to change powers. Ren misses some subtext.
TREEBARK WEEK DAY 5: WANDERER/PROSPERITY/GROUND IS (Franky One Piece voice) SUUUUPERRR!!!!!
this time it's a hero/villain au! another combo effort w @cherrifire !!! this au has us in a chokehold fun fact. theres so much bullshit here. i hope you enjoy getting a fun look at the premise, and happy treebark week!
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hello hello i have another au cherri and i came up with! this one’s called blindsided and this is the backstory that sets up the rest of the storyline. ive posted two bits about it for six sentence sunday, but that’s basically all. so uh. woe no context one shot be upon ye
Martyn’s out late.
That’s not necessarily unusual—Most nights, Ren wouldn’t even care. Martyn has a tendency to lose track of time, and he loves to wander almost as much as he loves Ren. It’s not uncommon for him to take an extra hour or so to get home after going out on this or that errand, usually with an interesting story or something extra tucked under his arm. Really, Ren hadn’t been worried at all… at least, not for the first hour.
It’s gotten dark now. Martyn was supposed to be home a few hours ago, and Ren is really starting to worry. He’s being unreasonable, he’s sure, but he flags down a member of his staff all the same.
“Could you run into town and find Martyn? He must’ve lost track of the time. Tell him he doesn’t have to come home, but I’d at least like to know what’s keeping him.” Ren bites his lip, wringing his hands. “I’d prefer it if he came home, though.”
The man nods. He turns and heads out the door without another word, leaving Ren to sit by himself. Town isn’t far, but Martyn likes to roam…
Ren picks up a book off the table and sits down. He’ll be here a while.
—
“My lord?” Ren starts awake at the sound of his title, book falling out of his lap. He doesn’t remember dozing off, but he scoops the book off the ground anyway.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the man says, but Ren smiles, waving him off.
“It’s fine,” Ren says, then looks past him. The hall is empty. “Martyn was busy, then?”
The man looks away.
“Your grace, uh,” the man stumbles. He glances over Ren, still seated at the fire, and then says, “He’s dead, sire.”
“…What?”
“He— there was a fight. I asked around for— for a while. A pirate engaged Martyn in the street and stabbed him in the back. The fight moved to an alley and, while I couldn’t find anyone who saw it, uh, he was heard, uh… people heard the scuffle. From the main street and from the buildings around it. When it stopped, he was carried away, and he was… they said he, um, didn’t look to be breathing, and there was a lot of, um— To confirm it, I visited the alley, still bearing proof of the fight, and it was. Bad. Even if he survived the fight, by now, with the pirates that took him, he’s certainly bled too much. I-I’m sorry.”
Ren says nothing, not for a long while. His mouth hangs open, his body still a mockery of the relaxed way he’d been leaning back in his chair.
That… can’t be true, can it? Martyn is strong. Surely he wouldn’t…
“Gather— gather as much of the staff as you can. We’re going to— we have to look for—” Ren stammers, climbing out of the chair. “The pirates, the ones who— what did they look like? If they have Martyn, I want him back.”
The man looks at him sadly, but nods. “I’ll gather the staff and meet you by the gate, and I’ll tell everyone what I heard.”
—
The search turns up nothing, but not for lack of trying. Martyn had been popular among the staff, and many of the men and women on the streets would call themselves his friends.
It is for precisely this reason no one will let Ren see the alleyway. He knows even without asking that he’s found the right one—all he has to do is follow the overpowering smell of copper and iron.
“It might have clues as to who did this!” Ren insists.
“We can review the clues,” says one of the posted guards.
“I would like to help,” Ren insists, “We don’t have time to be arguing about this. Martyn could still be alive.”
The two guards at the mouth of the alley share a glance, all pity. Ren bites his tongue to keep from snapping.
“Your grace, if I may,” the second guard says, “We’re trying to look out for you. It will only upset you to see the site of the crime.“
Ren considers saying that he’s already quite upset, thank you, but he doesn’t want to antagonize them into keeping him entirely out.
“I can handle myself,” Ren says, entirely without basis. “Let me through.”
They do, though not without another long, pitying glance.
Ren steps past.
For a moment, Ren thinks the alley may be paved with brick. The realization that it’s simply blood, splattered across half the alley, nearly knocks him over, but shock keeps him upright.
Well, that and the smell. Ren doesn’t think he could handle getting any closer to it by falling to his knees.
There’s plenty of proof here that the victim was… wasn’t mistaken. Martyn’s sword lies forgotten on the tiles, leather hilt stained a deeper brown.
There’s something lying in the thickest part of the puddle. Ren steps closer without a word, lifting his sleeve to his nose.
Martyn’s braid lies in the middle of the alley. He knows it intimately—he’d been the one to tie it just this morning, had placed the ribbon at the end himself. The cut is jagged and uneven, and it’s come loose on the end that would have… would have been attached to Martyn’s head. This, too, is covered in blood, just like everything else, and flakes off into Ren’s hand as he picks it up.
Ren holds it close to his chest, turning and leaving the alleyway without another word.
—
They don’t find him. Ren looks the entire night, braid clutched in one white-knuckle grip. He’s careful not to let it go, fearing that it may unravel if he isn’t. This is, he tells himself, a quality unique to the braid, and mirrors nothing and no one.
—
Ren is still holding it when he goes to sleep that night. It doesn’t smell like Martyn— at least, not exclusively. Hints of him are left when Ren pushes his nose into it, but they’re lost quickly to the smell of blood.
This smells like Martyn, too, of course, but is not a scent Ren ever thought he’d become familiar with.
He doesn’t change. Martyn is often the one who helps him, and he doesn’t think to ask anyone else. Not that it matters what he wears to bed tonight. Ren thinks sleep will be impossible, all alone in that bed for two.
The truth is, Ren is so exhausted after searching for Martyn, he sleeps like the dead. As far as Ren knows, it’s the last moment of connection he and Martyn will ever have.
—
The braid’s come untangled when he wakes up, loose hair lying beside his pillow, held together only by a red bow.
Ren has no bow to hold him together, and for the first and last time after losing Martyn, he shoves his face into the fistful of hair and sobs.
—
It seems, for a while, like a random act of bad luck. Martyn was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s heartbreaking, and Ren doesn’t understand it, but at least it’s over.
He finds the box on his bed. It’s labeled with Ren’s name, signed by Martyn’s, but the handwriting isn’t his. It’s too nice, too neat.
One of his staff must have put it here, but why? They might be trying to cheer him up, but… Why does Ren feel so uneasy?
There’s something about the box that makes Ren want to turn and run. He no longer has anyone to hide behind, though, so he lifts the box.
It’s light. When he shakes it, he hears glass. When he opens it, he—
When he opens it—
When he—
Ren… doesn’t remember much about opening the box. He hears about it second hand, only when his staff thinks he’s out of earshot.
He was screaming for hours afterward, says one, and though Ren doesn’t remember, his throat is still sore.
He wouldn’t let go. It had to be pried out of his hands, says another. Ren looks down. There are bruises on his wrist he doesn’t remember getting.
I heard his grace passed out after. Is that true? Ren’s head is still sore where the back of his head allegedly collided with the bed frame.
I haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t let anyone into his chambers and he doesn’t come out anymore. How is he supposed to let anyone in? Someone in this house left this on his bed. His bed, where he and Martyn used to sleep, and he has no idea who. It could be any of them. It could be all of them.
That’s so scary. Is it safe to stay? I’m thinking about leaving… Leave, then. Ren doesn’t want or need a single one of them.
Did you see what it looked like? Ren doesn’t need to eavesdrop for that. Martyn’s eye is something he’d known intimately before, had been able to speak to and understand without even a word. He’d recognize it immediately, even severed, even blank.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget opening it. The box had been a flimsy cardboard, and had opened easily. There had been writing on the inside flap, more elegant than the text outside.
BACK DOWN, it had read, OR SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN.
And then he’d looked down.
When he thinks of Martyn now, it’s hard to remember anything except the glazed blue eye that had stared back.
If there’s a god out there, Ren hopes He’ll tell Martyn how sorry he is.
—
The thing is, it almost works. Ren hardly leaves his room, and when he does, he stays within the manor. Much of his staff leaves in that time, and of those left, he fires almost all.
The criteria is simple. Anyone whose whereabouts the night the box appeared he can’t ascertain beyond reasonable doubt, he sends away.
The staff consists of a few cooks, a few gardeners, a few maids, a few aides. Most of his attendants leave on their own—no one wants to be seen near Ren.
Despite the small staff, the manor workload gets lighter. Ren’s life ends the same day Martyn’s does.
It’s fear that drives him. They took his body, after all—there is nothing Ren fears more than receiving another piece.
It keeps him in bed. It keeps him awake. He won’t risk anything, not a toe out of line. He cows entirely, and it doesn’t save him. Every night, he sees it—a box on his bed, his hands reaching without his input, something staring back.
—
It takes a few months for sympathy to dry up. Ren’s back to doing only the bare minimum, running his estate and only his estate—staying exactly in his own lane. He hears his little staff whispering about it, though. About how it was bad, sure, but really, he’s supposed to be a duke. He can’t lie in bed moping forever. At this rate, they may as well give the title to someone else, someone less… fragile.
That would mean losing the manor, though. Losing their home, losing the place Martyn spent all his life. Losing the dream he and Martyn made together.
So Ren climbs out of bed. He gets dressed all on his own, dries his face, and vows not to let Martyn’s life have been wasted on him.
He has no choice.
—
It’s fear that drives him. Ren is afraid all the time. Afraid he’ll lose his home. Afraid he’ll waste Martyn’s life by not doing enough. Afraid he’ll receive another box by doing too much.
But Ren can’t be afraid. Not where anyone can see him.
So Ren is angry all the time.
They call him ruthless, volatile, cold as ice. He doesn’t think that’s fair—he’s never sent anyone a severed limb. But if they think he’s ruthless, maybe they’ll think twice before crossing him. Maybe if he’d been cold then…
He burns, constantly, fire seering at his heels to keep him running ever forward. There’s no safe place to rest, and so he won’t.
His dreams make sure of that.
Ren wakes up gasping, hands curled tight around something that isn’t real. Sometimes it’s an eye, sometimes it’s not. A finger, a hand, a tongue. A head, one socket empty, the other bright and intelligent and looking right at him—
He doesn’t think he’s dreamed of anything but that box for a year after he opens it. They die down a bit, but return every time Ren is stressed.
Ren is stressed all the time.
Tired, too, absolutely exhausted, not that it helps him get any sleep. He works in his office to avoid it, staying up late into the night managing this or that until he sees deeds and bills behind his eyelids instead.
—
He wants to move beds, but how could he? This was Martyn’s, too, was once the place he felt safest. He can’t leave it, even if it features so prominently in the worst moment of his life.
Hiding under their blankets like it’ll protect him, Ren has to wonder. What would Martyn think of him now?
He’ll never know, but the eye changes. He dreams of pity, an eye floating in a bottle of sympathetic tears. He dreams of accusation, bloody fingerprints staining the glass. He dreams of scorn, an eye that won’t even look at him. He dreams of love, rarely.
—
Theirs is not the bed he’s taken from, at the least.
No, King Ren is stolen from the castle, so as to be sure he never feels safe in any place he could conceivably consider home.
—
Ren sits on the deck of the ship, kneels at the feet of the Captain. When he looks up at the man who has stolen him from his new home, he finds himself eye level with a coat he knows very well.
The Captain speaks of assassination, then of ransom. Promises not to hurt the King, so long as he can get money for his life.
Ren wants to scoff, but he doesn’t. The only man who would have paid for his life is long dead, and the Captain wears a trophy of his murder tied around his waist.
Ren knows fear. He knows how to bury it, too, how to smother it in so much anger it boils him alive in his own bubbling, frothing blood.
He is so beyond the point of being afraid for his worthless, meaningless life. If he can make the Captain bleed, then it will all have been worth it.
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it’s my 22nd birthday today, and you know what that means...
Lew Writes Wrapped 2022!
its virtually all third life this time, most of which have not been posted on main before. woe, the full weight of my third life obsession be upon ye
blood god, mortal red
(Jan, 1.2k, DSMP, oneshot) (link)
one of the Many minecraft execution fics i have written in my life, technoblade anvil edition
not to start this post off with making myself sad, but man, i miss him.
i remember writing this one all in one sitting at work in january. i think i did a pretty good job with it from an artistic standpoint, and as an analytical piece, i think i hit the mark perfectly. that said, i don’t think i could reread it now. i do think it was fun as a writing exercise to force like, 5 seconds irl to stretch out into a thousand words
yes, the only way out is down
(April, 1.2k, 3L, oneshot) (link)
another minecraft execution fic, third life rendog edition!
IM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE. im so fond of it it’s probably my favorite third life oneshot. ren’s execution makes me fucking rabid and this is just the most direct expression of that.
what’s funny is i actually remember being pretty dissatisfied with this fic when i finished it--there was a lot of stuff i wanted to hit on that i just couldnt swing around to--but when i stepped away from what i wanted it to be and looked at what it was, i realized i liked it a lot
the rhythm of cold fists
(May, 2.6k, 3L, onehsot) (link)
sometimes you get so worked up about the idea scar threw the finale of third life that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words on it
this one is funny bc i think its got the second most hits of any of my third life fic, but the comment number is really low comparatively. i mostly just had fun making the transcript of this scene and then fleshing that out into a full ‘novelization,’ it was a neat writing exercise! i don’t think anything in particular stands out about this one, but i’m happy with it overall
Wooden Mausoleum
(May, 3.8k, 3L, oneshot) (link)
Sometimes you get so worked up about the idea of the unactualized betrayal plotline of the most loyal man in the series that you have to write a bunch of frenzied words about it
okay this is going to sound bad but i keep forgetting i wrote this. i dont know why. i like this fic! one of my favorite paragraphs i wrote all year is in it! and yet??? i dunno.
id love to write a different martyn wins au where the betrayal isnt the sort of ‘mercy kill’ suggested in this fic, bc i still have not recovered from the unrealized betrayal plot. someday i’ll write a martyn wins au where he Means to win
i... still feel something is sort of off with the way this fic ends, but i think ive felt that about a lot of the fic/scene endings ive written of late. i think that ending scenes/fics is just ill have to work on this upcoming year!
might be best to not look back
(Oct, 2.7k, 3L, oneshot) (link)
i’m starting to think all my oneshots are just me getting possessed by different parts of the third life. anyway i had a point to prove about scar throwing, and what might happen were he not being wildly unsubtle about throwing
i can write essays on this fic it makes me feel insane. i HAVE written an essay on it already just recently. tbh, this fic itself IS an essay written for the purpose of analyzing the penultimate third life scene. i have and could and will write more essays on the penultimate third life. this is all i have to say to avoid making this a 1k word post
i think i did what i wanted to pretty well? it was sort of confusing, by virtue of trying to talk about a point your viewpoint character won’t acknowledge, but it was a fun piece over all
missing or obstructed
(Oct-present, 6.3k, 3L, ongoing) (link)
post third life fic but only grian and ren remember, featuring so many sleep/dreaming metaphors, because i lucid dream and have insomnia and it does a lot to me as a person
missing or obstructed has 14.7k words written but i havent fuckin posted most of it bc i got derailed by lamplight. missing i am so sorry i miss you so much but youve been obstructed. i am really excited for how the rest of this goes but i think i have to finish and completely exorcize lamplight from my head before i can go back to it in earnest. i DID post another chapter at 10pm yesterday so i had more of it to include in this wordcount tho,
missing or obstructed has been a lot of fun to write bc i lvoe stupid metaphors. it has sucked to write because it’s forced me to come up with worldbuilding shit for the watchers which has been so much more difficult than i thought. it’s been fun again cuz i love worldbuilding. it’ll be super fun when i finish the current scene i’m sitting and get to introduce martyn pov. i lvoe writing Martyn pov
Lamplight AU
(Nov-present, 20k, 3L/LL, series) (link)
renchanting dnd au. i put ren in a lantern. what else do you need
wadda hell.
i cannot even begin to like--lamplight was literally supposed to be just 20 Questions and thats it, i wasn’t going to write more, but people liked it so much that i was like “sure, i’ll write a bit more” and you guys have been??? so kind. the amount of enthusiasm this fic has received thru kind tags/comments, asks and interest, and even art??? is equal parts deeply humbling and also incredibly likely to give me a god complex. this fic has been so much fun to write and my readers are the whole reason, i cant wait to show you what i have in store for the rest of it
six sentence sunday challenge
i also started a challenge back at the end of march of this year over on @driflew called Six Sentence Sunday. the rules are simple: every sunday, post six sentences you wrote that week.
i didn’t make it every week, but i made it a great deal of them. on occasion, i even posted 12 sentences the week after missing my six, meaning some weeks counted for two.
my six sentence sunday tag on that blog has 28 posts from the year! considering there’s only 52 weeks in a year, i started three months late, and a few of those weeks are actually two, i feel pretty good about the amount of weeks i made. not every week, but basically any week i didn’t have a good excuse not to complete my six sentences. it kept me writing all year, if only a little bit at a time, and i’ll be keeping up with it for sure!
to finish out,
i passed my writing amount from last year (25k) by over 10k words! my total number for this year doesnt even count the 7k or so from missing or obstructed i havent posted, plus an uncounted few hundred words of unposted snippets for lamplight. i’m really happy with everything i’ve done this year!
which… this year i wrote and posted 37,800+ words!
thank you to everyone who has supported my writing all year, as always, it means the world to me. happy birthday to me, and thank you to you for reading!
(birthday wishes and/or reblogs appreciated!)
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ALERT LCB
UWAGA! W niedzielę (15.10) wybory i referendum! Przygotuj się na ewentualne podtopienia i przerwy w dostawie prądu. Unikaj otwartych przestrzeni i zabezpiecz rzeczy, które może porwać wiatr. Zostań w domu, jeśli możesz.
#Kłykcie#Kłykcie Lewe#Polska#wieś#polska wieś#poland#polish#polishposting#polish tag#polishcore#polskaposting#polandposting#polblr#polski tumblr#oc#oc writing#mockumentary#parody#alert rcb
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i wrote 3 different winnix fics in december & january but i realized i NEVER posted them here. so behold, my series of winnix fics where i get further and further detached from canon, and where i also make lew a girldad for fun
1. darling, it’s grand, they just don’t understand
“Act upon what he finds within himself, and only himself,” said Dick, audibly pensive in a way he hadn’t been. “I quite like that.”
“Well, that’s the gist,” said Lew with a shrug. He wasn’t even in the top half of eloquent men. “Honestly, I really hated reading and analyzing Emerson’s essays. He found a way to talk and talk and talk about nothing at all, when he could’ve kept it perfectly concise.”
Like you, Lew almost said. The bullet got jammed. Still, he had a hunch that Dick could read his mind this one time.
Or: July, 1948. Blanche Nixon invites her brother, and his business partner slash lover, to… a baseball game?
6.5k words, fluffiest of the three; my weird band of brothers/a league of their own (2022) crossover fic??? whatever. blanche invites winnix to a baseball game to see her baseball player girlfriend-ish, all the way mae. stupid emily dickinson references because i’m lame and basic, sue me. gay jazz clubs :)
2. november 27th
“Kathy hates it when I call her Maggie, but I think it’s cute that she’s got a little nickname to grow out of.”
“Or maybe she’ll find someone who calls her Maggie,” replied Dick, totally without thinking. “And he’ll say it’s ‘cause it’s easier, sure. But more than anything he’ll like the way it sounds when he says it.”
When Nix looked at him, then, his eyes glittered. His lips were pursed like he needed to say something or he’d shrivel up and die.
There were many things Dick could conceptualize him saying. Luckily, they fell into two neat categories—the things Dick expected Nix to say, and the things Dick wanted him to.
Or: 1942, 1944, and 1946. A study on Lewis Nixon’s history with love, destructive vices, and fatherhood—as seen from the eyes of a wife and a lover.
8.2k words, perhaps the most densely packed with angst of the three. examines lew and his relationships with love and fatherhood, both alongside kathy and alongside dick. ann winters introduction <3 and classic new jersey angst
3. the likes of me abide
“Well, I feel compelled to be a little more brave now,” replied Dick, holding up his gaze like Atlas held the heavens. “I ought to give you an answer that’s more honest.”
But not fully. It was sort of bitingly ironic, the way Lew always put up Dick as the more honest of them. He didn’t find that to be true. Not when there still existed so many selfish desires in his mind, like the one that practically clawed and scratched like an animal just to fit somewhere into this part of Lew’s life. He might never put that desperation into words.
Or: Summertime, 1951. Lew gets back in touch with Kathy.
10.3k words, angsty but less intensely as last time. i go reallyyyyy ham with kathy’s character in this, so take that as a treat. i also actually make lew and kathy’s daughter into a character <3
#just in case people still check this tag#ship of theseus-ing winnix one fic at a time! call that the winnix of theseus#aka the saga of girldad lew🫶#<- he deserves it. take that statement however you want#band of brothers#winnix#lewis nixon#dick winters#<- i HATEEEEEE tagging their names sm😭😭😭😭#band of brothers fic#my writing
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