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wordstome · 5 months

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kosovo maiden (könig x reader)

Well, I did it again, gang. I wrote another story based on a painting. This one is by Uroš Predić in 1919, and was posted to Tumblr here (thanks to arcana-imperii for posting!)

I don't know anything about Kosovo, so the reader here isn't explicitly Serbian ;; please forgive me. Also, apologies for possibly inaccurate ambiguously late-1800s setting, medical information or German. Please enjoy!

2.2k words

There are soldiers in the field.

You heard the sounds of battle early in the dawn, the piercing explosions of gunfire and cannons ringing out as the sun rose. You weren’t concerned at first: it was far enough away that you felt safe enough to carry on as usual. But the gunfire drew closer and closer, and by noon you could hear the shouting and the battle cries, driving you trembling into your attic with terror. Mercifully, the fighting peters out as the sun sinks lower in the sky, but when you finally work up the nerve to peek out of your window, you find to your horror that the grassy field adjacent to your humble little home is littered with the bodies of dead and dying men.

Without a single further thought to your own safety, you grab a lantern and a pitcher of water and rush into the night.

It’s awful. Most of the men left behind are already cold, some whose eyes you have to shut yourself. The ones who were able to be saved were likely evacuated by their comrades, so the only ones left to face the cruel nighttime are the ones who won’t see the morning after. A few are still conscious when you find them, but you have little more to offer them than a gentle touch and one last drink of water. Their eyes are what will haunt you most after today: slick with tears as grown men weep, all semblance of courage and proud masculinity stripped from them as they face down their imminent demise. It’s terrible, heart-wrenching, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’re the only living thing left that can offer them comfort in their last moments.

The jug of water dangles from your hand as you trudge through the field, looking for anyone at all that you can provide help to. You’ve long abandoned any hope of finding someone you can save when you come across him: the giant in the grass.

It’s well and truly nighttime at that point, your lamp the only source of light upon what seems like a sea of human misery. The light hits his face, and you gasp. Your first thought is of how huge he is, at least 200 centimeters if he were standing. Your second thought is of how handsome he is…

You jolt to attention as he shifts and groans. He’s alive! Shaking some sense into yourself, you don’t hesitate to rush to his side. Your hands roam across his body, assessing the severity of his injuries. To your surprise, he doesn’t seem to be mortally injured. They’re severe, to be sure—he won’t be able-bodied for weeks. But he’s far from at death’s door, only confused and dazed…had his comrades only left him due to his sheer size?

Using your hand to support the back of his head and neck, you tip some water into his mouth in an attempt to revive him. The man cracks an eye open, regarding you with feverish wonder.

“Ein Engel…” he murmurs. You’re too elated that he’s alive, so you don’t actually properly hear what he said. With light, deft fingers, you tear strips of his tattered shirt and use the cloth to wrap up a scrape on his arm and stem the flow of a very nasty-looking wound up along the broad plane of his torso. To your alarm, however, the man seems to slump, his head laying back as if he’s about to lose consciousness.

“No, no,” you cry in panic, shaking him without heed of his injuries. “Sir, you cannot sleep here, I am unable to carry you…you will die out here!”

He mumbles something inaudible, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He hasn’t passed out on you yet, but you have to act quickly to properly care for his wounds. You shift your body so you can maneuver his uninjured arm onto your shoulders. Luckily, he seems to comprehend what you’re trying to do, and manages to stumble to his feet while leaning his weight on you.

It’s an awkward, fumbling dance, considering your earlier assessment of his height was correct—he’s a huge man, and his torso alone nearly dwarfs your entire figure. But with a good measure of patience, you manage to get him moving towards your house. It’s high time you returned home, as well: your stomach roils as you remember what happens to corpses left outside for scavengers to find.

The two of you stumble through the doorway of your home, you murmuring soft affirmations and encouragement to the man. He makes no indication that he understands what you’re saying, but he’s nodding along, responding to your gentle tone. You guide him to lay on your bed, his body visibly relaxing as he sinks into the mattress.

You bustle around, lighting candles, stoking your fireplace, and rummaging around for medical supplies. You return to him with a basin of warm water, a cloth, and some bandages—before stopping dead in your tracks.

In the low lamplight out in the field, you hadn’t noticed the color of the man’s uniform, much too preoccupied with his signs of life. But now the truth is laid bare in front of you as you take in his attire, eyes traveling over his broad body—

You’ve just taken in an enemy soldier.

The man has seemingly fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the battle and the effort it took to get into your home. That does nothing to assuage your fear, though: what are you going to do if he passes away right in your bed? Even worse, what are you going to do if he wakes? Will he be hostile? Will he attempt to take you as a hostage to secure safe passage out of his enemy’s territory?

It's clear to you, though, that if you don’t help this man, he will die. His wounds could easily turn septic, and then he’s a goner. You steel yourself and approach him, kneeling at his bedside.

You work slowly and carefully to reveal his injuries, wincing when they’re completely exposed. He’s no longer bleeding profusely, but he will absolutely need stitches. For now, you settle for cleaning them with a damp cloth, trying to keep infection at bay.

He must be well and truly knocked out, because he doesn’t even stir as you wrap his arm securely with clean bandages. You’re much more hesitant to deal with his chest wound: if he wakes and struggles, he could make it much worse. But his unconscious state affords you the best opportunity to stitch him up…

You furrow your brow and go to find a needle.

You’re awoken by a gentle touch on the shoulder.

You stir from your sleep, wondering what your mother could possibly want at such an early hour. At least she put the fire on—you can hear the crackling. But why is your bed so hard? Did you fall asleep on the floor? Actually, now that you think about it, you do recall dozing off on your sheepskin rug last night, because—

Your eyes shoot open to see a huge, hulking figure standing over you.

The soldier startles when you scream, scrambling to move away from him. He cuts an intimidating figure in the early morning light: he towers over you in a state of undress, the bandages you put on him last night splotched with rusty dried blood. But you calm down as you realize he means you no harm, his hands outstretched in front of him as a show of peace: no weapons.

“Wo bin ich?” he asks. You squint at him. That sounds like German, but you can’t speak a word of it.

“I don’t speak German,” you try. He tilts his head, looking as puzzled as you feel right now.

“Never mind all of that,” you say, shaking your head and pushing yourself to your feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed!” The soldier watches with amusement as you press your hands against him, careful to avoid touching his chest where you know his wound lies, in an attempt to get him back into bed. He allows you to do so, lying back down like an obedient dog.

“Muste pissen,” he murmurs as you fuss over him. You shoot him another confused look as you check the stitches you put in his chest wound. All seems well, you note with relief.

“What?”

He huffs a sigh. He gestures towards the door, and then then to his…oh.

“I see,” you say, cheeks feeling hot. You can’t bear to look at his face, but when you do, you find he’s watching you with amusement.

You tap his chest with a finger, then mime a sewing motion. “Don’t get up on your own from now on, you could tear your stitches,” you tell him, pointing to the door and then to patting your own chest. “I’ll help you.”

He snorts, but nods. You start to unfurl the bandages on his arm, heart twinging with sympathy as he grits his teeth in pain. You bite your lip in chagrin as the wound is revealed. It was much less severe than the one on his chest, but it’s doing much worse: pus and fluids are leaking everywhere, and to your horror, you think some parts of the torn flesh might actually be turning green.

“Es sieht schlecht aus?” he asks, concerned. You put on a smile you hope is comforting and rise from his bedside to go downstairs and rummage through your cupboards.

You return to him holding a bottle of liquor, the strongest you could find. He seems to realize what you intend to do, and shifts slightly to allow you better access to his arm.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “This is going to hurt.” Without further warning, you dump a good amount of alcohol on his wound.

“SCHEIẞE!” The bellow of pain that rips out of his throat seems to shake the very foundations of your home. You wince as he hollers and lays back heavy against your poor little bed, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. That can’t have been pleasant…

“Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen,” he grits. You give him a sympathetic little pat before withdrawing to get the bandages.

He’s calmed down by the time you return to him. He watches you curiously as you wrap him up nice and snug, then turn your attentions to his chest wound. The stitches are still in place—it seems he was careful when he relieved himself—but you still need to clean and dress the wound. He lets out a sigh of relief when you opt for a clean cloth to dab away the dried blood instead of the liquor bottle.

You work quickly and efficiently, worried about him catching a cold with his chest out like this. You also can’t deny that the whole situation is starting to make you a bit shy—a foreign man, and an attractive one at that, is in your bed, shirtless, and you’re all but sprawled out on top of him to get up close to his injury. By the time you’re done, you’re fully blushing at the closeness of the contact between the two of you.

“You should be alright, it’s a good sign that you lasted through the night and haven’t developed a fever yet,” you tell him as you gather up the soiled bandages to be washed. “You’ll need to stay in bed so I can keep an eye on you—”

You’re drawn up short when you look up to see his face. Far from the angry scowl he wore when you disinfected his wound, his expression now is almost…admiring? You shift slightly, caught off guard by the adoration in this stranger’s stare, and your arm brushes against something solid and warm.

You stand up as if burned, turning to see what you just touched. To your chagrin, you find that the soldier is…well, he’s hard.

You whirl around to fix him with an outraged look, but he only laughs at you with obvious delight. What a pervert! You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do or where to look, but you’re stopped by the sensation of him reaching up and pressing a hand to your face.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he strokes your cheek with a sort of reverence that stops you in your tracks. “Mein Retter…” he murmurs. “Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders.”

You huff, recognizing that he’s trying to apologize. “You don’t act like an injured man at all,” you complain. A spark of mirth comes into his eye at your pouting tone as he just chuckles at you. You turn to walk away, yelping when you feel his hand brush against your bottom. You shoot him with a deadly look as he laughs again.

You scurry away, feeling awkward and hot all over. You had been so concerned last night about whether you should stay in the same house as the potentially dangerous soldier, pacing the floor and biting your nails as you pondered whether you should give him up to the local authorities. In hindsight, you’re glad you didn’t—they would surely have locked him in a cold cell with nobody to look after that festering gash on his shoulder, to say nothing of his chest wound. It was worth it to risk waking up to a man angry and spitting hatred at you, if you could save his life.

But now you’re realizing that you hadn’t considered the opposite possibility: that the soldier might like you a little too much.

ein Engel = an angel Wo bin ich? = Where am I? Muste pissen = had to piss Es sieht schlecht aus? = Is it bad? Scheiße = shit Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen = That hurt worse than getting the damn wound in the first place Mein Retter = my savior Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders = I'm sorry. I couldn't help it

Once more, I wrote this in a frenzy akin to being possessed, so it's a little short. But there will definitely be more! Thank you for reading <3

@kneelingshadowsalome @danibee33 @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria @complexivelovely

#könig #König x reader #König x you #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #I really need to sort out my tag list...#fic: kosovo maiden

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ltwilliammowett · 13 days

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A so called noon gun, a sundial with compass and a small cannon, its maker is unknown, French, mid 19th century

This has been very popular since the 18th century, combined with a cannon and a burning glass, is set so that when the sun reaches its highest point at noon, a charge of gunpowder is ignited by the bundled rays of the sun, so that a loud bang sounds. Larger examples were used in dockyards and army quarters to indicate lunchtime.

#naval artifacts #noon day gun #dockyards #lunchtime #mid 19th century #age of sail #french

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valsdelulucorner · 27 days

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Mammon head cannons <3

We all know mammon is tsundere, loving to bottle up his emotions towards his loved ones and put on a act. However whenever you two are alone, his tough guy persona melts away completely and turns into your shy demon boyfriend. He both hates and loves that you have that power over him

He loves to collect little trinkets. Hey, no he didn't steal them!..... most of them. I like to think that he has some really sharp eyes so even if something is really well hidden, he spots it a nicks it. He loves showing off his collection to you, talking a million miles a hour as he holds onto your sleeve and boasts about his new tiny thing

If you were to come down to devildom as a welder or a Jewler, oh lord he will try to marry you on the spot. He absolutely loves to watch you work on your creations, even subjecting little ideas he comes up with for you to make. Sure, at the start he tries to steal your creations to sell them but once he gets closer to you, he absolutely loves bringing you his little trinkets to wield into rings and bracelets

Absolutely loves making nests with his pillows and blankets, spreading his body out on top of his nest in his full demon form. He will act all shy if you find him like this on his nest but when he realizes your not making fun of him, buddy, you are in for a long night of cuddles and deep conversation.

Ok hear me out, when mammon cuddles you, he lets out soft snores that sound like a mix between a purr and the sound a crow makes when its happy. He will hide his face in your neck while cuddling as his arms wrap protectively around your waist, subconsciously purring his little heart out in his sleep as his wings cover you in a protective hold

After having you literally die in his arms that one time, he realized how easily it was for you to slip from his fingers so this man does HEAVY research on humans. What humans cant eat, what irritates their skin, what's best for their health, what food will make them live longer, what temperatures they can withstand, the whole 9 yard. He will always give you a bottle of water at morning, noon, and night and will refuse to go anywhere unless you drink some. If he finds out you haven't been drinking through the day, he will genuinely get scared you will die and beg you to drink. He might have missed a few things but he loves you dearly

He gets bad nightmares about loosing you and those dear to him, they started happening more often after he held your dead body in his arms. He would usualy wake up in a cold sweat and go find lucifer, making sure to poke his head into his little brothers rooms to make sure they are ok before going to find comfort in Lucifer. But with you? He would cling to you and thank anyone who would listen that you were still alive, still next to him. He would hide his face in your neck and quietly cry himself back to sleep, being woken up to immediate comfort from you

He mindlessly doodles when he is bored or if he is focused on something else, like you for example. He likes to admire you during class so sometimes when he's supposed to be taking notes, he will start to subconsciously doodle you in his notebook. He will turn bright red if anyone points this out and he will throw his notebook into the wall, just like that video of the guy throwing his laptop into the wall. Poor guy wont get a break

My man will 100% steal you away from his brothers and just go for a walk with you, it doesn't need to lead to anywhere, he just likes talking and being with you

He calls you his little treasure, his jewel, his first, and most likely a nickname of your actual name. They roll off his tounge so easily, he will accidentally call you these Infront of people. "Stay away from my treasure!" ..... "your what?" " D...DONT AVOID THE QUESTION!"

"I wouldn't trade you for all the grim in the world treasure, you mean more to me then money"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I absolutely love Mammon, he is my favorite character but i dont think this was written to the best of my ability. I might come back to this in the future but until then<3

Who should i do next?

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lialacleaf · 9 months

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To Care For A Woman

Chapter 7

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

A loud clatter awoke you from a pleasantly deep sleep, and you blinked away the fog slowly. You had a feeling your husband was in the kitchen judging by the lack of a body beside you in bed.

You pulled the covers off and threw on a robe, stuffing your feet into your slippers as you headed for the kitchen.

You poked your head around the corner, watching as Simon leaned against the counter in front of the teapot on the stove.

“Good morning,” you called, pressing against his side and rubbing over his shoulders.

“Mornin’ love.”

Your brow furrowed slightly and you cocked your head at him. “You sound awful,” you mumbled as he stifled a cough.

“M’ fine,” he mumbled as the kettle whistled. He poured himself a cup of tea, trying not to cough as he took a sip.

“Simon,” you scolded in a warning tone, and he eyed you warily.

You’d made a strict agreement with him. No more lies.

“Jus’ a sore throat, I’ll be fine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You took the opportunity to press the back of your hand against his face, and your eyes widened.

“You’re burning up! Back in bed, now,” you stated firmly, swatting at his arm.

“I’ve gotta work,” he argued, leaning against the counter for support.

You gave him a firm glare and pointed towards the bedroom. “You’re not going anywhere like this, go back to bed.”

Simon groaned, but obliged, setting his half-drunk mug in the sink. “Fine,” he rasped, moving towards the bedroom on unsteady feet.

You rolled your eyes and moved towards the fridge, Moonbeam nuzzling your bag leg as you shuffled around the kitchen. There were a few cloves of garlic left and half a box of chicken broth.

It didn't take long for you to whip up a small home remedy and pour it into a mug. Simon was cocooned in the duvet cover when you returned, and it was an effort not to laugh.

The mighty Ghost, defeated by the common cold.

You were tempted to take a picture to show his teammates, but Simon hated Cameras, especially when he didn't have his mask, and you were feeling gracious enough to not torment your husband while he was ill.

"What're ya smilin' bout' over there?" he asked, eyelids drooping. His accent was thicker and more apparent, and he looked very much as if he was melting into the pillows he'd laid against the headboard.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you whispered with a grin as you held the mug out to him. He frowned deeply, grimacing as he brought it to his nose.

"Cheers," he muttered before downing the drink as quickly as he could, trying to conceal the urge to gag.

Despite his delirious insistence that he was fine, Simon's fever spiked around noon. You weren't exactly sure what to do, questioning if you should take him to the hospital, or try a home remedy to give him some relief.

After a brief call with Dr. Radcliffe, you were instructed to let him burn it out, and settled yourself in bed beside him with a sigh.

At some point Simon had shimmied out of his shirt, his upper body covered in sweat, and you placed the back of your hand on his forehead with a frown.

His head laid in your lap rather limply, and every once in a while he'd let out a soft whine of discomfort. You shook your head in exasperation, stroking your fingers through his hair.

"I swear if you came in contact with some sort of bio-weapon and didn't tell me..." you mumbled softly.

"You think I'd bring something like that home to you?" he croaked out, displaying more awareness than you'd expected from him.

"No," you sighed, stroking the back of his head with your fingertips.

"Exactly," he rasped, and you rolled your eyes.

"Nice to see you're feeling better enough to argue," you teased.

"M' not arguing," he mumbled, eyes barely open.

"You gave him a soft 'mhm' and tucked the covers a little tighter around his body, watching as his eyelids closed. Simon slept soundly to the sensation of your nails running across his back, your touch stopping over the exit wound of a bullet on his shoulder.

You pressed your lips together firmly, remembering the sight of him going down after covering you. Your thumb brushed over the spot delicately, and you closed your eyes.

You wouldn't be here if he hadn't gotten shot. You would probably still be a part of the 141, or you'd be dead if he had simply decided to leave you there.

Still, you couldn't help but feel anxiety gnaw at you now that you weren't out there with him. Did anyone have his back in your place?

You didn't want him to come home in a body bag, but you doubted he'd indulge you in just how risky his work was. You couldn't help but wish there was something you could do to keep him safe.

you let out a deep sigh, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

It was dark, and the wind felt like ice as it kissed your skin. You should have been dressed more appropriately for the cold, but you weren't. You were running down the street in an unfamiliar place. The only thing that guided you was the sound of Simon's voice, calling out for you as if his life depended on it.

You pushed past people, the shout of your captain following you in the distance, but you ignored it. You needed to find Simon.

His call eventually led you to an iron gate, and you tore at the chains around the bars in a desperate attempt to get inside.

"Y/N!" there were people chasing you, faces you barely recognized in your delirious state. You thought you saw Johnny, the Captain, even your mother.

"Y/n, there's nothing you can do!"

You climbed over the gate, running after Simon's voice as the wind carried it to you.

You were suddenly running through a graveyard, your eyes searching out a familiar name on the headstones until you found his.

Simon Riley.

"Simon?" you whispered.

A hand shot out from the ground, waving around frantically as if trying to find help.

You threw yourself to your knees, momentarily wondering about the lack of pain in your left leg, as you began to dig at the dirt around the hand with your fingernails.

"Y/n, you've got to leave him, he's not there anymore!"

You felt tears stream down your face as Johnny and Captain Price pulled you away from the grave.

"He's right there! Can't you see him? He's there!" you wailed.

"Look again, y/n," your mother scolded, and suddenly you were looking at a hole in the ground with an empty coffin. "He's just a ghost. That's all he is. Meant to disappear."

You shook your head as tears streamed down your face. No. Simon wasn't just Ghost. He wouldn't disappear, he wouldn't leave-

Your eyes snapped open as your chest rose and fell rapidly. A dream. It had just been a silly dream.

Simon’s fever must have broken during the night, as he was reading a book in bed beside you. He watched as you stared up at him sleepily, and gently brushed some hair out of your face.

"Feeling better?" you asked as you slowly sat up.

"A bit..." he watched you closely, concern written in his expression. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, nuzzling into his side. "Fine. Everything's fine."

AN: I love some angsty foreshadowing ~ I promise this has a happy ending...

Tag List:

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@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader

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leftduck9986 · 1 month

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Foreshadowing, out of order?

In storytelling, is there a single word that means "the opposite of foreshadowing"?

WARNING: in trying to wrap my head around this, there will be wittering!!!

Wikipedia tells me that a flashback is a method of foreshadowing.

The Bullet Catch in the NZF minisode, being a flashback as well as told before the "present day" [speculated] event it sets up a clue for, well, that's what I've understood foreshadowing to mean until now, because isn't foreshadowing always presented before the event it foreshadows comes to pass?

The flashback/memory minisode, A Companion To Owls, is told after the "present day" event it foreshadows. Does that still count as foreshadowing, or is it instead considered "the big reveal" because it is told after?

And is this all that is meant by various things in Good Omens 2 being "out of order"?

The Hiding Miracle and the Memory That Both Foreshadows and Reveals It?

Indeed, it was a tiny miracle - as titled in the soundtrack - that worked as planned and "barely moved the dials" (but still a miracle in which "Noone will have noticed A Thing" however tiny it was, and that "Nobody notices he's here (...) Nobody can spot him, (...) especially if they're looking for him").

I believe it was the first of three events that happened that night, which, became the main focus of this "quiet, gentle, romantic" season, but paling in comparison to the other two events. Moving on!

Returning to how A Companion to Owls isn't told until after The Hiding Miracle and clues us in as to what was actually going on: this tiny miracle was made to appear far more powerful than it actually was, with the use of showmanship:

The ceremonious setup of being positioned on the circle in the middle of the room hidden under the carpet, between Aziraphale and Crowley; he could have been standing, but instead, "Jim... Sit in this chair." And it's a beautiful chair, like a throne, but Jim being taller wouldn't have worked for the image of the 'W' (similar to the 'W' shape made with Shadwell standing between Aziraphale and Crowley at the airbase, in the book Good Omens.)

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Why perform at all then, for an audience of none?

Ah, they're not alone, oooOoOoOOOoOoOooo, spooky. Go and see for yourself: check out the bottom left area of the screen when Crowley returns to the bookshop and says, "I'm BACK" (this is to do with the "framing opportunities" secret mentioned in the Gavin Finney BTS article https://britishcinematographer.co.uk/gavin-finney-bsc-good-omens-2/) Aziraphale calmly replies, "Yes, I can see that" and later gasps, reacting to something happening off-screen at 40m41s.

So this performance, not yet knowing who their audience might be, could be as a precaution, just in case.

Gabriel instinctively crosses his hands and is confused when Aziraphale and Crowley uncross them - or likely because Aziraphale was even standing there at all - because he remembers, or rather, in his mind's eye, sees the shape left behind by a missing piece of furniture.

The ceremonious setup of being positioned in the centre, between Sitis and Job, this time in the background to have Bildad appear a little shorter in height for the stylized 'W', then crossing his hands. The pot containing Sitis and Job's children being the circle, hidden by the circle of carpet (robes) made as Sitis and Job embrace.

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Had we seen Jim's and Crowley's conversation about memory before The Hiding Miracle instead of much later in episode 5, then it would have been foreshadowing, yes?

*temper rising* A "reveal," or "out-of-order foreshadowing"? (VBUAXNAUSX*keyboard smash*NYVIFGNOMAI) grrrrrr!

...

After the Job story is told, (save for the final scene) and Aziraphale calls for Crowley, my head-cannon used to be that Aziraphale wanted to talk about hair -

Aziraphale: Crowley, I gave you lovely long locks in my retelling of this story, how about you? Crowley: Nah, "shoulder-length bouncy 'bob'" is what I put - a "Lob" I think is what they're calling it these days.

But now I think that, to book-end Crowley's beginning with, "Your boss said that to Job, do you remember?" (imo they are so good at blending in, they can act human better than any human can act human! So, while feigning the memory span&loss&retention of a human, of course they can remember most everything. Angel stock: constitution of an Ox, memory of an Elephant.) Aziraphale may have wanted to remark on Jim's crossed hands from the night before and how similar it was to Crowley's doing so; that it was evidence of Gabriel still somehow being able to connect with images from his memory. "Crowley? You also did that thing... does Gabriel remember?"

If each minisode contains something that foreshadows or reveals what magic tricks occurred during this season's present day events, I feel that the only thing left is from "The Resurrectionists" minisode, where Crowley Goes Large (woah, woah, woah, another case for The Song Is The Clue?!?) ... or makes himself, something or someone else tiny.

"Size and shape are simply options" after all, so I do wonder about Hell's Usher, where the only time we've seen him is when he is small enough to fit in a bathtub and yet he is HUGE in the opening title sequence of season one. Behind him, Noah's Ark stranded between two damaged buildings (or one damaged building and maybe the Pleasure Cruiser Morbillo?)

Something else that may be revealing of stories yet to be told of the past, while also foreshadowing a near-future event:

Based on what Crowley said, this is not the first time Crowley and Aziraphale have performed a half-miracle together! Whatever biiiig miracle they're about to do (speculated event #2) could still be completely balanced and undetected, but then a plume of miraculous activity emerging from the circle gateway (privately speculated event #3) is what poor Aziraphale will appear to take the blame for.

Things being out of order may have started with the question, are season two's present day events being told out of order? There are other things appearing out of order as well, for example a change in the order of colours in the Rainbow (for "present day" episode two only I think, beginning Violet then Red, etc.) Or, in this case, narrative devices being so intertwined, one flashback-event can contain images and phrases that both foreshadow something yet to happen as well as to reveal what happened in a part of the story already told.

As always, please no asking or tagging Mr Gaiman as this blog post contains theory and speculation, thank you.

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vintagexherry · 8 months

Text

Treasure for three days [1]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

// Hostage, threatening, superstions, misogyny (I think), manhandling, implied forced royal marriage, kidnapping, implications of sexual acts, Ooc Miguel, Miguel is mean

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A/N: Not sure if Im gonna turn this into a series but we'll see

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This isn't what you meant when you wanted to be taken away from a mundane life.

"If none will provide with what I have requested. The princess will get it." He ended maliciously.

'He' being a man of height and strong structure is as of right now, holding a sharp edged sword at your throat while holding your hands behind your back.

'He' being the famous pirate, notorious for his actions and sharp with his demands.

"Let go of her! or else!-" Your father still in his sleeping clothes demanded the man who held you hostage.

"What? Make your gaurds shoot me? I have cannons standing by and men waiting, and with a simple signal, they can pillage and destroy this kingdom." He threatened as his hands grip his sword tighter, pushing it slightly closer to your throat, making you whimper.

He isn't only notorious for his actions, but his brain. He didn't get his popularity by just blowing up things to bits like any other pirate.

He plans them.

So darn good at it too.

Your brain is still wondering how'd you get into this position.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"You keep pressing the wrong note. Once again, from the beginning."

You held back your sigh as you started to play a musical piece on the piano all over again.

You've been at this with your mentor for hours and you swear if you don't take a single break, your bones will desintegrate.

Your mentor has known you since you started etiquette training, and so on and so forth.

And as much as you knew her, she's always been nothing but strict with a permanent frown on her face, her hair tied into a tight bun, and you wonder how come she still has hair.

Once you finally pressed the right note, she nodded approvingly.

"Very good now. We'll practice this piece tomorrow again at noon. Now, if you excuse me, I'll inform your father of your progress."

Not waiting for your reply, she stood up from her chair and left you sitting by the piano.

You exhaled a breath of relief and stretched your fingers for a bit, hearing small pops here and there. You look out the large window by the wall, watching life go on the large village. You'll soon rule once your father chooses a suitable husband for you.

Speaking of your father, he entered the room, slightly surprising you with the sound of the heavy doors.

"My dear, your mentor has told me you had difficulty on today's lesson." Your father looked at you with slight disappointment in his eyes.

You sigh, you know your mentor has told me about your progress, not skipping good bits, but it just seems that your bad quality only worth focusing on.

"I know father, it's jus-"

"Then you will do well to practice even more. Remember, you're performing for tomorrow's night annual ball."

You held back a groan.

Of course, he cares about tomorrow's ball.

Nothing but an excuse to let men ask your hand for marriage and letting your father decide if their good or not. At first, you were flattered, and people would ask for your hand, but it gets tiring once you learn it is just for politics sake, nothing but lies, only wanting to feel the crown on their head.

Your father's kingdom was known to be one of the most successful of them all. Trading and economics were bountiful, and the crime rate wasn't high.

"Yes, father." You defeatedly relented while he grunts in acknowledgement and left you without another word. You just wish a humble and kind man will take you away from this mundane life.

It was finally nighttime when you got ready for bed, you got out of your bath and wore your white cotton sleep dress.

You went to one side of the bed to blow off the candle, but before you did, a sharp sword suddenly appeared behind you, The edge of it just inches away from slicing you.

"Don't move."

A deep and gruff voice commanded you, and you froze.

How did he get in? The balcony? through the door? That can't be. There's gaurds around the palace patrolling every second.

"Where is the necklace? And don't lie, or else your pretty little town gets it."

Necklace? What necklace? There's billions of different kinds of necklaces, and that's the best description he can give you?

"I-I don't know what you're t-talking about -" You winced when you felt the sword go closer to your throat.

"Not speaking, huh? Well, I can jus-"

His words were cut off when your room door busted open, revealing gaurds with their guns and your father in his sleepwear.

"So it was you who knocked out those gaurds!" Your father yelled, so that's how he got in.

The man behind you didn't waste time grabbing your hands and holding them behind your back. He took quick yet short steps to your now unlocked balcony, and he stopped by the edge.

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So now you're here, with a pirate at the edge of your balcony.

"You."

His sword left your throat, but instead, he pointed it to your father. In turn, the gaurds raise their guns higher.

"Necklace, or you won't get your little princesa back."

You looked at your father with tears brimming at the edge of your eyes, silently begging him to give what the pirate wants, but he doesn't seem to mind you.

"O' Hara." Your dad stated, starting to collect his bearings.

"That necklace is a national treasure, you can't possibly!-"

"Daily pirate life, I would say."

You paused.

That necklace?

The necklace?

You only remember bits of story of that supposed treasure, where your father had gathered a rare type of gem from a group of natives who are part of the neighbouring lands. Once gathered, the gem was then moulded and sanded to become a necklace.

"So... No necklace, then? That's alright...I'll give you three days, and if not given your kingdom, can disappear on the map."

You loudly yelp when you suddenly turn around and get carried on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He didn't waste time sheathing his sword and jumping off the balcony, which made you scream while he grips line of rope.

As O'Hara lands and runs for it, you hear gunshots and your father yelling for you.

You tried beating his back with your hands and waving your feet to at least loosen his grip, but alas, it's useless.

"Let go! Unhand me!" You shouted, but your words were going out on his ear and the other. You kept shouting for help, but you were suddenly cut off by your own yelp when you felt a large hand smack your ass.

"You pirate!" you seethed

He laughed at your reactions. "Tell me something I don't know, princesa."

His feet were moving faster than any man you've seen before, and before you know it, you arrived at the shore of the beach.

"Lift up the anchor and start sailing." He ordered as he climbed up the ship.

As he lands, with your upside down view, you see people pulling up the anchor and unfolding the sails.

"A woman on board, huh? You do know what they say about women being on a ship righ' boss?" A random crewmate noted as he took a closer look at you while your still hoisted on his shoulder.

"Quit talking and more sailing, or you're walking the plank." He threatened and the crewmate didn't waste time going back to business.

As the ship starts sailing and the sounds of gunshots and shouting were becoming more and more distant, O'Hara started walking up to a room.

As he enters, he roughly plops you down on what seems to be a bed and ties your hands and feet together.

"Stay." He simply said as he went to a desk and chair.

You scoff, as if you had a choice.

"Look, if it's the necklace you want I can just tell you where!"

He didn't say anything as he sat down and looked at various maps and papers.

"Please, I ju-"

"Shut up." His rough voice hightened in volume.

You quickly did.

"If you won't stay quiet, I can leave you naked for my men to use. So if you know what's good for you I would recommend you to zip it."

You shivered from his words.

You didn't want to anger him further, so you opted to look around the room.

More maps were scattered, and bottles of what seemed to be rum were placed neatly in shelves. Chest full of gold and jewelry were scattered everywhere. Artefacts and even bones of beasts were displayed like trophies on the wall.

"I must say, for a spoiled mocosa, you obey well." He chuckled.

You wanted to spit something back, but you're afraid that once you do, he'll keep his words.

"If your father doesn't give his precious treasure, get ready to say bye-bye to your little kingdom. So let's hope he's as obedient as you." He chuckled as he sat down, drinking from a bottle of rum.

"But if he does? You'll return me and keep the town safe away from your cannons?" You asked.

Miguel looked at you and lightly laughed.

"We'll see about that, but if he did give it, maybe I will keep your pretty little place safe and you'll be back at your papa's arms."

You don't believe him but do you have any other choice? "You....You promise?"

Miguel glanced at your shivering form, and after a deep thought, he took a quick gulp of his rum and finally spoke.

"I promise your little princess ass."

You gulp, hoping he would keep up with his words.

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Morning came by, which marks the first day of your captivity, and you really want to take a bath.

O'Hara or Miguel, which he prefers to be called. Has removed the rope around your wrists while he lets you go around the ship, even outside the captain's cabin, just as long he could keep an eye on you. He was confident enough that you won't really go anywhere.

Not that you can anyway.

With water surrounding you in every direction, you lost hope trying to escape. Maybe until they make land, but who knows.

Right now, you were at the helm of the ship looking at the distance. Miguel, on the other hand, was talking to what seemed to be his navigator.

You really hope that your father would just let go of that necklace when he had the chance. But you hope even further that Miguel will keep his words that you will return safely and the town will he out of harm's way.

"boo"

You flinched hard, hearing a deep voice right next to your ear.

And of course, it's no one other than Miguel.

"Don't think too much or else your head will explode." He chuckled while you scoffed.

You suddenly feel self aware of your state.

It's been several hours, and you're still in your sleep wear. What's worse is that your barefoot with your ankles on display.

Miguel noticed your furrowed expression and chuckled.

"Is the princess not happy with her accommodation on the Arachnid?"

The arachnid is what they call this ship. You can say it's impressive apart from the crew.

"Shower." you demanded

"A wha?-"

"I need a shower." You completed your demand.

The ship suddenly got quiet, and all chatter seemed to stop as they stared at you. The only sounds that can be heard are water crashing against the ship, the wood of floor creaking, and seagulls squaking above.

You froze from the attention, when all of a sudden, the ship was filled with laughter all around even Miguel threw his head back to laugh, and suddenly your face flushed with embarrassment . I mean, should you be embarrassed?

All you want is a shower, you feel disgusting from the dirt you have gathered for today, and a change of clothes would be nice, something or anything that would cover your ankles.

The ship's laughter died down to chuckles.

"Shower you say? The princess wants to shower." His smirk grew in size while he looked at you.

"Well... Yes, I need a shower. If not, then at least give me proper change of clothes. If you're gonna kidnap someone, at least do it right."

Your words made Miguel laughed more.

"Change of clothes, huh? Bothered your little ankles are showing?" He mocked.

"If you're bothered by that, you should see the entertainment district. Trust me, hermosa when I say they show more than their ankles." With his words, laughter grew once again on the ship, and you winced in disgust on his implications

"Speaking of the entertainment district, why don't we give it a visit while princess looks for change of clothes." With that, the crew cheered, and the navigator smirked as he directed the steering wheel to the nearest land which you assumed where the "entertainment district" is located.

You gulp.

How are you gonna survive three days with these men.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #tw bullying #pirate #alternate universe #miggy #misogny #historical #princess

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