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goodomensblog · 4 years

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Afterward - Part 15

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

(#3 wins because y’all love chaos, don’t you? Totally understandable. I love it too.)

Afterward - - - Part 15

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

Beelzebub, lord of flies, master of tyrants, patron of demon worship, and prince of Hell, is having, by their own estimation, a pretty shit day.

“I think I’d honestly rather die,” Beelzebub groans, as Crowley hauls them impudently up onto his skinny back.

“I’m saving you, you ungrateful lump of flies, whether you like it or not.”

And Beelzebub, who is having the unfortunate realization that they are too weak to so much as wriggle their way out of this humiliating position, settles for flopping over the demon Crowley’s shoulder in such a way that the black, clotted blood dribbling out of their mouth splats grotesquely down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

“Thank you. Thanks for that,” Crowley says, grabbing underneath Beelzebub's legs to hike the demon a little higher on his back.

“Welcome,” Beelzebub replies, and more blood dribbles out.

Snatching the jar of Hellfire from the table, Crowley clutches it to his chest. With his other hand scooped behind Beelzebub’s leg to keep them in place, he kicks the door open and prowls, piggy-backing Beelzebub, prince of Hell, into the halls of Heaven.

Beelzebub, bouncing with Crowley’s every loping step, has closed their eyes. Head lolling forward, they’ve half given into the encroaching darkness, when Crowley’s annoying, incessant mutterings drag them back into full consciousness.

“-now for this to work, I’ll just have to-”

The jar lid pops open. Hellfire leaps up, red flames lapping at the edges of the jar and the nearby grasping fingers. Beelzebub can feel it - the rich, tantalizing heat, and slumps forward, breathing in the fire’s acrid scent.

Crowley carelessly drops the jar, and it clatters across the floor as eager flames wrap around the demon’s wrists; they twist, winding up and around his forearms. It’s at that point that Crowley resumes walking. He does nearly trip over the dropped jar, but manages to stay on his feet with a skip and a hop.

With each step, Crowley mutters sibilant syllables beneath his breath. They are rich as velvet, coaxing the fire with ancient, saccharine promises.

Beelzebub is generally repulsed by Crowley, but not enough to resist perching their chin on Crowley’s shoulder when the first flickers of flames slide over Beelzebub’s dangling arms. They sigh, going limp with relief as revitalizing flames sink into their skin.

Crowley continues walking and chanting and only stumbling occasionally. And Beelzebub hates Crowley, they really do, but they have to admit - he’s not bad at coaxing Hellfire. Beelzebub can feel the healing warmth of the flames sinking into the marrow of their very being.

“You awake, Lord Buzziest?” Crowley asks, hiking up Beelzebub from their slowly sliding descent down his back.

When Beelzebub opens their eyes to a completely unfamiliar hall, they have the abrupt and horrifying realization that they had indeed drifted briefly to sleep. While being piggy-backed, no less. Would the humiliations never cease?

“Of course I’m awake,” Beelzebub grouses, digging a bony knee into Crowley’s side. “And no nicknames.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley says, hands up. “I’ve given you all the Hellfire, by the way. Is it working?”

Beelzebub straightens up, pressing a hand against their chest. Eyes closed, they draw a long breath in. Breathing out, they tip their head from side to side, cracking their neck.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub answers, fingers splayed across dry, cracking blood. “Starting to.”

They hadn’t expected the Hellfire to make them good as new, but it has at least kick-started the process. Beelzebub can feel the infernal energy within themself stirring, slowly mending what had very nearly been irreparably broken.

“I’m looking for Aziraphale, or Gabriel - or I guess, really anyone,” Crowley says, the tension in his voice embarrassingly undisguised. “They’re not where I expected them to be. At least based on the earlier racket.”

Beelzebub’s lip curls in disgust at the emotional display, but nonetheless closes their eyes, spreading their awareness wide.

Heaven is... not exactly what Beelzebub remembers. Not that they remember much. But somehow, in those blotchy, indistinct recollections, it is brighter, louder, warmer. Safe.

And there definitely wasn’t a malignant, pulsing thing in the central courtyard.

“The thing is in the innermost courtyard,” Beelzebub says, opening their eyes. “Don’t know if your stupid angel’s with it.”

“Alright then,” Crowley replies, and promptly sets off in that direction.

He’s halfway down the corridor before Beelzebub fully processes the significance of Crowley’s unilateral decision.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” Beelzebub says, weakly digging their heels underneath Crowley’s ribs. “I don’t want to go near that thing. Put me down!”

Crowley doesn’t slow. “Can you walk on your own yet?” he asks, yellow eyes rolling up behind his dumb glasses.

The tingling ache in Beelzebub’s extremities suggests they probably cannot. It’s infuriating and humiliating and Beelzebub wants to die.

Crowley takes their silence as an answer. “Guess you’re tagging along, then,” he says with a grim smile.

“I hate you. With the entirety of my being.”

Whistling, Crowley walks faster.

As they approach the courtyard, the air begins to feel heavy, and it tastes - tart, cloying, rotten. Beelzebub’s lips curl back, and they warily suck the air between sharpening teeth.

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub orders, fingers curling over his shoulders as their sharp gaze scans from left to right. “Go slowly.”

Crowley, for once in his miserable existence, listens. Rolling through his steps, he prowls cautiously into the courtyard.

It’s exquisite - if you’re into uninspired pale flagstone and modern, geometric looking decorative fountains. The bodies on the ground don’t at all fit with the aesthetic.

The Archangel Gabriel is slumped over the edge of the fountain, golden blood sliding down his arm, dripping into cloudy water. The second figure is crumpled closer to the center of the courtyard - as though they’d put themselves between the archangel and whatever had been attacking him. The second one, though further away and also face down, is obviously Crowley’s angel - Aziraphale.

Crowley makes a pitiable, strangled sound, and Beelzebub just knows he’s going to charge out into the courtyard. Nails shifting to claws, Beelzebub digs them into Crowley’s shoulder.

“He lives, Crowley, I can feel the flicker of life from all the way over here,” Beelzebub hisses at his ear.

Beelzebub can feel Gabriel’s life as well, a bright flare of energy at the fountain’s edge.

“Do not rush in,” Beelzebub continues, clenching at cloth and skin, “Something watches from the shadows.”

Crowley stiffens at that. Head tilted, he slowly, carefully, pulls down his glasses.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Beelzebub shivers, the hairs on the back of their neck rising, one by one. Not daring to breathe, not daring to move, Beelzebub watches the space they know a creature waits.

At the courtyard’s edge, a figure unfolds itself from the shadows.

It is...an angel. The short, balding one. Sandalphon, if Beelzebub recalls correctly.

Beelzebub and Crowley watch as the angel Sandalphon strolls out of darkness. His pale, pudgy hands are folded in front of his stomach, and he narrows his eyes, chin tilting inquisitively up as he inspects them.

Crowley looks from that angel to his angel, and Beelzebub digs their nails deeper into his flesh. Do not move. Do not move, Beelzebub thinks, squeezing.

Sandalphon tilts his head and speaks. “The angels fought me. And then they ran from me. At least, they tried to.”

The voice that emerges from his throat is layered and ringing and it leaves Beelzebub with more than a passing inclination to shove their claws deep into their own ears, if only to make it stop.

“I thought I’d conquered all of Hell,” Sandalphon continues, lips quirking in puzzlement, “and yet here, in Heaven of all places, I find two unconquered demons wandering about.”

“Conquered?” Beelzebub growls, mind racing.

They’d fled Hell after Satan had gone mad and started attacking his Princes. At the time, everything had been a giant fucking mess, and Beelzebub had made a tactical retreat to recover. Hell had been chaotic, sure - but conquered?

Crowley cuts in before Beelzebub can say another word. “You’re not Sandalphon, are you?”

The thing smiles wide, revealing the angel’s ostentatious gold capped teeth. “I’m wearing Sandalphon. Just like I’m wearing Satan. And the demons and angels who weren’t quite quick enough.”

“Satan-” Beelzebub breathes, trembling. They’d thought he’d been bespelled. or some level of possessed, but this was - unforgivable.

“And God?” Crowley cuts in, voice sharp.

The thing tilts its head in a jagged, unnatural jerk. “She disappeared before I could get my hands on her, I’m afraid. Awfully cruel of her, I say, abandoning all of you like that. Though I suppose you two are rather used to it.”

“What the fuck are you?” Beelzebub snaps.

“Oh!” And the thing wearing Sandalphon like a second skin gives a start, “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?”

Sandalphon’s head dips forward. From the back of his neck, pale, twisting limbs unfold. Like spider’s legs, bent and folded back over themselves, they jerkily unfurl. There must be at least eight, and at the end of each limb, bony, clawed hands splay - reaching. The pale, sickly limbs spread out, lifting a creature which emerges from the back of Sandalphon with a frankly horrifying squelch. The thing is limpid and waifish, and watches them with black, eternity old eyes.

“Dear creatures of this poor, dying universe, you may call me Entropy.”

“Entropy?” Beelzebub hisses.

As Crowley says, “This universe?”

The thing smiles, and it’s mouth is a void. “Everything ends, honey. I hop from place to place, returning universes to the nothing from which they came.”

“Why?” Crowley asks.

“Why not?” the thing answers, void smile spreading across the lower half of it’s narrow face.

And then Crowley is unhooking Beelzebub’s arms. When he lowers them down, Beelzebub hates how their legs, still embarrassingly weak, give out beneath them. Teeth gritted, Beelzebub kneels on cold flagstone.

Crowley steps away, turning toward the abomination of limbs and hands.

“Demon Crowley?” Beelzebub calls when he takes a careful step forward.

“Gonna get Aziraphale,” Crowley says, soft.

The thing - Entropy - looks down. Round eyes unblinkingly survey the courtyard.

“Aziraphale,” it says, singing the name in that horrifying voice. “Is he the soft looking one? He did put up a formidable fight.”

“I’m taking him with me,” Crowley says, low and dangerous.

The thing laughs and it’s so awful Beelzebub has to physically refrain from flinching back. “No. No you’re not,” it says, and laughs again. “He’s strong. And I need the strong ones. I like wearing them best. And if I’m not careful, even the strong ones-”

The clawed hands encircling Sandalphon squeeze. Within moments, black cracks are crawling ominously over the angel’s form. The air begins to whine. Then, with a pop the angel’s form folds in. He shatters into a cloud of black and gold dust that falls silently to the floor.

“Oops,” the thing exclaims.

Beelzebub and Crowley stare, mouths open and the pile of angel at the creature’s feet.

That kind of power is...Beelzebub can’t conceive of it. Not that they have time to try. Before the last Sandalphon dust speck has fallen, Crowley launches into motion.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, because this is not a fight any angel or demon can win.

Crowley gets to Aziraphale before the creature does, but he only just has time to drag Aziraphale aside before a clawed hand spears down, piercing clear through the stone tile. Crowley, scrambling, drags Aziraphale back, avoiding a second stabbing hand.

“Move faster you idiot,” Beelzebub shouts.

“Trying to,” Crowley yelps, yanking his angel another several feet back, barely avoiding the third strike.

He’s not going to make it, Beelzebub realizes with a sinking certainty. Crowley has always been a slippery one, but this thing - this Entropy - is like nothing Beelzebub has ever encountered. It has the strength to casually turn an angel to dust, and Crowley was half-exhausted when they entered the courtyard.

Beelzebub should get the hell out of here - while the Entropy creature is preoccupied with Crowley.

Bracing their hands on cold stone, Beelzebub, rises on shaking legs. Their legs burn - and not in the good way. Clenching their jaw, Beelzebub sways, remaining determinedly upright. They take an unsteady step back, away from the chaos in the courtyard.

Behind them, Crowley screams.

Beelzebub, shaking with effort, looks back.

Crowley is on the ground, one leg speared by the creature’s clawed fingers. He’s pushed Aziraphale behind him as the creature, balanced on pale, spindly legs, rises above them both. It’s speaking, void-black mouth stretched in that wide, unsettling grin.

“Poor, poor demon,” it croons, and presses the claw deeper. “Abandoned by God. Left to rot in Hell. And then you didn’t even fit in there did you? What kind of outcast doesn’t even fit in with the outcasts?”

The claw twists and Crowley gasps.

Beelzebub closes their eyes, clenching aching muscles in an effort to remain upright. If they are going to escape, it’s now or never.

“I do want the angel,” the creature says, it’s porcelain face looming over Crowley, “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

Beelzebub moves.

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

A creature calling itself Entropy is revealed! It seems to have plans to end this universe, and has already single handedly conquered both Heaven and Hell (yikes). Entropy intends to use Aziraphale and to kill Crowley, and Beelzebub is left with a choice. Beelzebub will…

Fight. Mustering their remaining strength, Beelzebub will show this Entropy abomination the hell a real demon is capable of raising. It’s not that they care about Crowley (or his stupidly nice angel)….they just don’t want to feel like they owe him.

Flee. Beelzebub is a survivor. They are injured and weak and they are not about to enter into a fight they have little hope of surviving. Sorry Crowley….it’s nothing personal. (Note: this will result in an immediate POV shift)

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

(also, I absolutely love all of you who have been taking the time to explain the reasoning behind your votes. It’s always interesting to see where you all are coming from!)

Part 16

#my writing #choose your own adventure #choose your own adventure fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable husbands fanfiction #multi-chapter fic #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #Aziraphale #crowley

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

Note

Could really use trash saga part... whatever the next part is (8?) after that Timeless season finale... Pretty please? My Garcy heart hurts.

methinks you know the drill; catch up in the trash saga of flynn and lucy. tagging @deckerprestonsmoak, @prairiepirate, @garciiaflynn, @extasiswings, and @xyber116.

Lucy always thought that the world fading into dramatic slowmotion was only a gimmick of the movies. That things didn’t actually stretch out,stagger, stop, and then fall flat like a star collapsing in on itself, butthen, that was also before she traveled through time on a weekly basis. Alsobefore she locked eyes with Garcia Flynn among the smoldering wreckage of FortMcHenry and original American history alike, as she can see the shock havingtime to good and settle in. He turns convulsively to Cochrane. “Your Excellency– ”

“Not now, sir.” Cochrane is more interested in graciouslyaccepting Armistead’s surrender, which he provides, and motioning for asquadron of dragoons off the longboats. “Take the men up into the fort andraise His Majesty’s colors. Deal with anyone you find, but no need to bebarbaric about it. They are, after all, His Majesty’s subjects.”

Just as Wyatt is opening his mouth, either to remark something smartabout who won the Revolutionary War or to inform Cochrane that the first manwho needs to be dealt with (preferably, in fact, barbarically) is the onestanding next to him, Armistead catches sight of Lucy and Flynn staring at eachother. A flicker of dark suspicion crosses his face, and he whirls on her. “Is this your husband, madam?” he demands.“No bloody wonder you promised to obtain me information on Cochrane’s plans, ifyour own spouse was assisting him in carrying them out! Or was it that you were passing information to him, and that is why the fort hasfallen? Is it?”

There’s an ominous clunk as the Americansoldiers, surrender or no surrender, raise their muskets and point them atLucy. The redcoats accordingly go for their own, Wyatt throws himself in frontof her, Flynn lunges forward and grabs for the semi-automatic pistol that hemust be wearing beneath that nicely tailored Napoleonic-Royal-Navy officer’sjacket, and the beach is on the verge of threatening to deteriorate intocomplete chaos on the spot. Cochrane bellows at his men to hold their fire, andthe standoff holds, if barely. “Your wife, sir?” he demands of an equallyflabbergasted Flynn. “Your wife was among the American contingent this wholetime, and you offered none of this intelligence to me, nor suggested a word ofdecency? Beastly behavior! Beastly, I say!”

“I – ” Nobody has ever seen (or likely ever will again)Garcia Flynn so completely at a loss. “I didn’t… she’s not my – ”

“Then you will not object, sir, if we shoot her for treason?” Armistead is looking at Lucywith a rather unsettling hatred. She’s gotten oddly used to the fact thatpeople in history – Robert Todd Lincoln, Ian Fleming, Harry Houdini, JosephineBaker – seem to like her. Flirt with her, even. There is none of that here.This man wants her dead. “A spy neither for my side nor yours, but somenefarious agent of – what, perhaps, the French? Or – ”

“Shoot her,” Wyatt says loudly, “and you’ll only wish you didn’t.”

“But if she’s a – ”

The American soldiers raise their muskets again. Cochrane islooking alarmed but not as if he’s going to stop it, Armistead is furious,Wyatt has his hand on his own gun and Rufus has picked up a very large boulderto brain someone like Fred Flintstone if they try to touch Lucy, but there’sstill no way that’s enough of them to –

“Stop!” Flynn says, almost a roar. Has to modulate himself,which he does with a terrible effort. “Stop,” he repeats, with a twisted smile.“What I meant was, I didn’t know that she was in there. Not that she wasn’t mywife. She is. She must have… followed me. I’m not sure how.”

“Your wife.” Cochrane chews that over. “Well, it’s damned morethan an apology you owe her, sir. Mrs. Flynn, my profuse regrets for thedistress of your situation and the unworthiness of your husband’s actions. Ifyou wish to retire with me to my flagship, we will make you the morecomfortably lodged while this messy business is carried out.”

Lucy doesn’t budge. “No thank you, Your Excellency,” shesays icily. “I prefer to remain with my countrymen.”

Cochrane raises an eyebrow at Flynn. “Inevitable result ofmarrying a colonial, sir? Choosing her native soil over you – would that wewere all blessed with such faithful spouses. Shall I leave you to disciplineyour wife while we handle the work of the fort? Kill all the combatants, spareonly the unarmed and children. We’ve burned Washington and forced PresidentMadison to flee, if we move quickly, we can consolidate this victory and – ”

Wyatt flashes a desperate look at Lucy, asking if hecan just shoot Cochrane now and prevent this from getting any worse than it is,but she shakes her head. “Yo – our daughter!” she yells at Flynninstead. “Our daughter is in the fort! That’s what I was doing all night,looking after her, trying to stop her from being frightened, telling her itwould be all right, and now she’s what – going to be taken as a prisoner? Allshe wants, all she’s wanted, is to see you again, just like I know you have, and this is what you doinstead? This?”

Cochrane harrumphs, gesturing to the redcoats. “Well, chaps.Let’s leave the man to his much-deserved arse-skelping in peace. If we findyour daughter, Mrs. Flynn, she will be brought to you safely and unmolested,you have my word. Gents, forward.”

The dragoons and the admiral march off with the defeatedAmerican garrison to assume command of Fort McHenry, Wyatt and Rufus stayfirmly where they are, and all three of the Time Team stare absolute daggersthrough Flynn. “You know, man,” Rufus says coolly. “I’ve told you thisbefore, but you really suck.”

Flynn flinches. Raises a hand as if to run it through histousled hair, then drops it. “How did… I severed the connection, youweren’t supposed to be able to –”

“Surprise, dickhead.” Wyatt glares at him. “Lucy’s smarterthan you. She’s always been smarter than you.”

Flynn looks as if all things considered, he can’t reallydeny that, and would probably agree.

“You helped.” Lucy slips her arm through Wyatt’s on one sideand Rufus’s on the other, standing shielded between them, making it clear whereher allegiances lie. “Both of you helped. You know why? Because we’re a team.That’s what teams do.”

“Lucy.” Flynn takes a step. “Lucy, listen to me, I didn’t –”

“I don’t care!” At last, it bursts out of her, everythingshe’s been dying to say, her confusion and frustration and desperation andutter bewilderment that she, Lucy Preston, who finished a double PhD atStanford at age twenty-seven and has always been so smart, so logical, so incontrol of herself, has been so utterly undone by this man, and theunfathomable, unforgivable effect he has on her. “I don’t care if you thoughtwe could follow you or not! You still went! You still didn’t stop! You ran awayfrom your daughter, you ran away from me – I know you were scared, I know youdidn’t think you could, but you are so blinded that you cannot seewhat is directly in front of you! Nowyou’ve torched the timeline beyond all recognition, who knows what you’ve done to the future, and whether any of it evenmattered to Rittenhouse at all, or if you just like destroying things too muchto stop! I can’t believe I thought there was even a question as to whether ornot I might decide to come with you! You’re a selfish, vengeful, dangerous,uncontrolled car bomb of a man, and you bite any hand that comes near you! I’ve done – I don’t even know what I’ve done! Or what you have! I don’t know what apologyyou were planning on offering, or if you even were, but it is not accepted. Itis not accepted.”

Flynn looks absolutely stricken. A card and flowers doesn’texactly cut it for this level of fuck-up, and he definitely knows it. Thesilence remains icy and endless, until there’s the sound of tramping bootsbehind them, and they turn to see a redcoat leading Iris by the hand. “Thisyour daughter, Mrs. Flynn?”

“Yes,” Lucy says, turning to take custody of Iris, whowhimpers, wraps her arms around Lucy’s waist, and buries her face in herstomach. “Thank you.”

Flynn has turned into even more of a statue on this secondsight of his daughter, the proof that she’s real, she’s somehow made it back,and that she’s been tagging along with the Time Team on their mad joyridesthrough history after him and his bull-in-a-china-shop routine. A muscle worksin his jaw. After the redcoat has departed, he coughs painfully, clears histhroat, and says at last, to the distant horizon over Lucy’s left shoulder,“Iris.”

She turns around slowly, but unlike in London, she doesn’trun to him and hug him. She remains where she is, holding onto Lucy. It’s clearshe is too terrified of another rejection – and as she looks at him, reallylooks at him, this strange man in his Navy uniform, dark and grim andbattle-worn, it’s clear that she isn’t seeing her father anymore. She doesn’tknow who he is. He scares her. He damn well should.

“Iris,” Flynn says again, painfully, half in a hoarsewhisper. “Iris, it’s me.”

At last, Iris lets go of Lucy, takes an uncertain step, thenstops. Loses her nerve, turns around, and runs back to Wyatt, who picks her upwhile glaring at Flynn, as if to say that yes, he hates him, but he isn’t goingto take it out on his kid. With Rufus providing a parting shot of stink-eye,the Time Team starts to walk, leaving Flynn behind on the beach, waves stillcrashing just a few feet from his boots. Lucy doesn’t look back. She can’t. Shecan’t.

She can’t.

————-

They have no idea what to do. Should they stick around andtry to salvage as much of the aftermath as they can, see if there’s any way toget history back on track, jump back to the present (assuming the Lifeboat canmake it) to see how badly it’s gone FUBAR, or – what? Wyatt is all for handingFlynn over to Cochrane and court-martialing him, or something, but Rufus and Lucy aren’t sure what that’s going to accomplish.“Maybe we can steal the Mothership,” Rufus says. “Has to be around heresomewhere. It definitely has enough charge to get us back.”

“And what about Flynn? We just leave him here?” Lucy speakswithout opening her eyes. She feels as if her head weighs a thousand tons. Therest of her too. She should be happy, feel liberated, avenged. Instead she justfeels flattened.

“He’s tried to strand, imprison, or shoot us in the pastmultiple times,” Wyatt points out coolly. “We can’t kill him, as you said, butwhy can’t we do exactly that? Leave him? He can go have a nice life as an armycommander in the new British States of America or whatever is going to happento history as a result of his fucking around. And he’s a smart guy, he’llprobably figure out how to get the Lifeboat back into action eventually, makeit home. He won’t be arrested or chased by Rittenhouse here. It’s more than hedeserves.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. Wyatt is right, sheherself has just told Flynn in no uncertain terms where to stick it, and thesolution is neat and fitting. There is a certain appeal to leaving him stuckhere permanently to clean up the mess that he himself made, and this isundoubtedly what she should want todo. It makes sense, that way. All of this godforsaken bitch of anunsatisfactory situation makes sense that way.

“Let’s see if the Lifeboat is out of gas,” she says at last.“Then we can decide if we need to.”

This is agreed, they tramp out of Baltimore to the woodswhere they left it, and quickly discover that yes, yes it is out of gas.Maybe if they were chronologically closer to 2017, they might be able to riskit, but from 1814 is too far, and you obviously cannot get out and push a timemachine that has run dry. Wyatt wants to know what the odds are of making ithome anyway if they shut down all non-essential functions and rerouteeverything into the engine, and Rufus says they’re dim. You really don’t want toknow what happens to you if you don’t stick your landing, and you end up exiledfrom the time stream forever. It is, so much as he can tell, a fate quitehonestly worse than death.

“What if we just sent a few of us back?” Wyatt says quietly.“You, Rufus, you’re the pilot, you have to go. Lucy, you take Iris, and… Imean, I probably use the most resources anyway. If I stay, I can deal withwhatever Flynn’s got going on, stop the bleeding as much as I can, and you cancome back for me in a few months, when you won’t have already been here anddon’t have to worry about crossing your timeline. I swear,” he adds, at Lucy’slook. “I wouldn’t kill him. Just make sure he doesn’t jump again, and see if Ican fix things.”

“No,” Lucy and Rufus say in unison. “No, we’re not leavingyou behind.”

“This is unprecedented,” Wyatt says. “We can’t just check outof this like usual. I’m the sergeant, I take control of handling it andprotecting my team. That’s you two. Someone needs to know what the damage is inthe present, and someone needs to mitigate the damage in the past. Rufus. Couldyou make the jump with just you two and Iris?”

“Maybe, but Wyatt – ”

“Then do it,” Wyatt says stubbornly. “You’ll come back forme, I know you will. I trust you.”

Lucy and Rufus exchange a long look. They both hate thisintensely, but Wyatt, as usual, has a point. Finally, it’s decided to risk it,because the situation is simply too unprecedented. Lucy hugs Wyatt for aboutfive minutes, refusing to let him go, promising they’ll make it back, as Rufusfinally has to tap her on the shoulder and tell her they can’t waste what energythe Lifeboat does have. They get in with Iris, shut the door, strap in, andRufus boots up the controls, preparing for the jump. Does his calculations,prepares for launch. As usual.

The machine is spinning faster and faster, also as usual,and yet, Lucy oddly can’t take it. It’s worse than the usual claustrophobia,it’s something deeper, primal existential terror, the knowledge that she can’treturn to the present and survive. She starts to scream. “RUFUS! RUFUS, NO!RUFUS, DON’T!”

He aborts the launch at the last instant, slamming down thecontrols, and the Lifeboat’s waning energy gurgles and dies. That is it.They’re dead in the water. No chance of a second attempt.

“Lucy?” Rufus unbuckles and runs to her. “Lucy! What is it?”

“I…” Lucy bends over, nauseous, spitting, stomachchurning, still caught in the throes of that unspeakable pain. Looks up at himin terror. It doesn’t make sense, and yet she knows it’s true. “Rufus,” shewhispers. “Rufus, I don’t exist in the present any more. I’ve been erased.”

————–

“Changed my mind,” Wyatt says grimly, breaking off a twigand throwing it into the fire. “Let’s kill Flynn after all.”

Lucy is still feeling too sick to do more than give him alook, as they sit against the logs with stomachs rumbling, all of them hungry(except for her, because her guts are still revolting) and realizing they’reeither stuck here for good, or they have to find some way to hijack theMothership. It’s already risky enough that they’ve been jumping with four peopleinstead of three, but Iris is a child, and small enough that she doesn’tregister; the calibrations are fixed for three adults, not four, but she fliesunder the radar, literally. Still. There is obviously no way that Lucy, Wyatt,Rufus, and Flynn can all go home inthe Mothership, Iris or otherwise. Someone is going to be the odd man out,unless they can jump the Lifeboat like a dead car battery. Talk about a short strawyou don’t want to pull.

“So,” Rufus says. “We have to go back to the fort and get Flynnto help us, after his dumb ass already is the reason Lucy was eradicated fromthe present? Isn’t that like someone running you over with your car, then youasking if they would mind taking you to the hospital?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s jaw clenches. “Pretty much. But we don’treally have a choice, do we?”

Lucy doesn’t answer. She stares up at the stars and tries toshut out her head. Stuck here. Stuck. Something about the fall of Fort McHenryhas twisted the fabric of time just so. As long as she stays in this timeline,she exists. If she tries to leave again, to any time, anywhere –

It’s Rufus, Wyatt, and Flynn who have to go home in theMothership.

She is the odd one out.

She’s the one never going back.

She rolls over and tries to sleep. It doesn’t work.

It doesn’t stop.

—————–

They arrive at Fort McHenry the next morning, cadge anaudience by trading on “Mrs. Flynn’s” desire to converse with her ungallantspouse, and while Wyatt and Rufus stand guard, glaring at the passing redcoats,Cochrane takes Lucy by the arm and escorts her down the hall, continuing toapologize for her discomfort. It’s clear that if anyone, he’s the historicalfigure who might have a bit of a thing for her, and she has to take itfor what it’s worth. He shows her into the office he’s taken over, promises he’llfetch her husband, and departs.

Lucy stands with fists clenched, trying not to let themtremble, listening to the hammering of the British soldiers rebuilding andgarrisoning the place, until the door opens and Flynn steps inside, shutting itbehind him. He looks as if he’s spent the night in hell. She’s still mad athim, she’s still furious, but his desolation is so absolute and evident thatshe bites her tongue on everything else she was planning to shout at him. Theystare at each other, stiffly and agonizingly, for a very long moment. Then Lucyblurts out, “You erased me.”

He stares at her. This seems to completely rattle thefoundations of the world. “What?”

“You erased me.” She jerks her chin back. “Rufus and I triedto leave in the Lifeboat. I can’t go back. I don’t exist in 2017 anymore.Something that happened here, with what you did. I’m trapped here. I can’tleave this timeline, or I just…” She waves a hand. Her voice shakes. “I’mnot there anymore. I don’t know what happens.”

Flynn actually staggers a bit. Sits down on the edge of thedesk. Has nothing to say to that. Doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to stir theair. His voice, when it comes, is barely a breath, a deep gravelly rasp. “Lucy.. .”

“I said a lot of things yesterday. I know.” She stares atthe ground, then forces herself to look at him. “I’m still angry at you. But I.. . listen to me. I need you to go with Wyatt and Rufus to the present. I needyou to take them in the Mothership, and find out what changed as a result, whyI wasn’t born. And then put it right. I can’t go back myself. I need you toundo whatever you did. I need you to save me. I don’t have any other choice.”

He closes his eyes hard. The one thing he has been trying todo all this time, to ever less result. And now he’s gotten Iris back, somehow –and in return, erased Lucy. Recaptured the past, but destroyed the present. Hesits there with his shoulders crunched under the weight of the world, the realizationof how no matter what he does, the scales will always be unbalanced. It’s a terriblething to do to a man, and despite everything, Lucy can’t bear to watch him gothrough it alone. Somehow, not meaning to, she comes closer. Reaches out, andputs a hand on his knee.

That small thing, that tiny connection, that light touch,after everything far less innocent they’ve already done, utterly snaps both ofthem. The next instant his hands are in her hair, he’s dragging her mouth downto his, and she’s sliding onto the table between his knees, crouched betweenthem, as they kiss and bite and devour each other, open-mouthed and wet andgasping, her arms wrapped around him as far as they can go. He shucks off hercloak and buries his face between her breasts, kissing up her throat, brandingher, sucking and licking. Swings her around, scattering papers, and slides ahand up her skirt, even as she’s hauling him closer, fumbling at him, doesn’tcare about anything else but this. How doI love thee, she thinks, somewhere, somehow, faintly. Like a sickness and its cure together.

Flynn shucks the white Navy breeches with a rip, climbingbetween her legs as Lucy can’t wait, gets her hands inside to grasp him, caresshim, guiding him into her, fingers slick on herself, moaning. Their breathcatches in stuttering moans as he slides his arms under her shoulders, liftingher up into him, thrusting desperately. He can’t get deep enough inside her foreither of them. Rips her bodice, actually rips it – that actually happensoutside of romance novels, apparently. Grips both of her hands, their fingerstwining together, and pushes her arms over her head, stretching her, bendingher up to every bit of his mouth, her legs sprawling open for him, the slickand bunch and heave of their bodies, the heavy thump of the table beneath them.She gasps and whines and curses. Bites at his ear, jerks and ruts and rubsagainst him. Still not enough. “Harder,” she manages. “Harder.”

If he went any harder, they’d about strike flames, and yethe does. They roll over, sending ink and papers flying, and he ends up beneathher, still inside her, as Lucy straddles him, knees sliding to either side ofhis hips, fingering herself as he continues to thrust, hot raw mouth andhalf-grown stubble burning the tender skin of her breasts. His hands close likevises on her hips. Sickness and cure. Mercyand madness. Poison and wine. Beauty and thebeast.

Her climax almost tears her in half, as she heaves andwrenches and loses her mind, as he rolls her over, pushes her flat, and thrustsinside her to the core, pulsing and shuddering and spilling. She wraps her armsaround his neck, and they lie there amongst the devastation of the desk, papersfloating gently, sunlight embroidering a golden track among the dust motes. Hisbody is still shivering, completely hers, one flesh, one breath, one life.After the hard breathing and the crashing and gasping and thumping, the silenceis towering and eternal.

At last, Flynn jerks. Once and then again. His head remainsburied in Lucy’s shoulder. She’d almost think, for half a moment, that he’scrying. Yet when he lifts it, when he looks at her and she feels it to the backof her, his eyes are utterly clear.

“Lucy,” he whispers, as he shifts, slides out of her, and standsup. As her arms stay around his neck, as their foreheads touch, as she is rawand ragged and bare to the bone, as there is no way she can imagine having tolet go of him now. “I swear. I’m going to save you.”

#lucy x flynn #garcy #the trash saga of flynn and lucy #anonymous #ask #garcy ff

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WWE Uncooked outcomes, recap: Braun Strowman, Kane battle seems endless

With the vacations quick approaching and greater than a month remaining earlier than the 2018 Royal Rumble, it is likely to be tough to search out confidence in Uncooked delivering a three-hour present able to transferring you.

If final week was an aberration in that sense — with robust in-ring work and a collection of quick-moving and impactful segments — Monday night time noticed a return to the anticipated. Whereas the lengthy and entertaining matches have been fortunately nonetheless there for the second successive week, the dedication to inventive over the size of the present sadly wasn’t.

After which there was the ending. If the concept was to ship followers dwelling blissful, WWE woefully failed once more as Kane was booked to yet one more most important occasion on Uncooked in 2017 with the form of reserving that places a damper on something good that got here earlier than it.

Braun Strowman, Kane shut the present … once more

Introduced early Monday on social media as a No. 1 contender’s match, the winner of Strowman-Kane would safe a possibility to problem for Brock Lesnar’s common championship at Royal Rumble in late January. The match did not start till 11:01 p.m. ET and ended shortly after. Strowman’s sizzling begin was countered by a pair of chokeslams which pressured him to twice kick out on two. Kane was then pressured to do the identical after Strowman responded with one among his personal. After spilling outdoors and into the group, Strowman hit a working clothesline by means of Kane and the barrier wall, leading to each superstars getting counted out. Strowman continued the beatdown by utilizing the metal steps and organising a desk contained in the ring. Following a quick rally from Kane with a chair, Strowman shocked him by sitting up in Kane/Undertaker trend. Strowman closed the present with a working powerslam by means of the desk.

The thought of 50-year-old Kane, in 2017, routinely securing useful actual property in the principle occasion of Uncooked has jumped the shark to such epic proportions that it must be a troll job at this level by WWE inventive. If it is not, the corporate has inadvertently succeeded in each burying Finn Balor’s character and watering down its most red-hot famous person in Strowman. Taking the heartbeat from the group response (or lack thereof) but once more was sufficient to substantiate that.

With nonetheless greater than six weeks to go till Royal Rumble, it is comprehensible that inventive is likely to be dragging its heels a bit to stretch storylines out by means of the vacations`. However the gratuitous use of Kane, which no fan of their proper thoughts might’ve requested for or been enthusiastic about, stays an unforgivable sin. Overlook the much less offensive job of forcing viewers to droop disbelief sufficient to simply accept his favorable reserving of late, the truth that it has been offered in such a mailed-in trend solely exasperates the difficulty. Does WWE have the heart to incorporate Kane in a triple menace title match at Royal Rumble? Like a automotive wreck you may’t flip away from, we will solely sit and watch to search out out.

Kurt Angle, Jason Jordan angle builds momentum

Jordan approached the Uncooked normal supervisor backstage and apologized for barging in and demanding a match one week in the past. However after Angle accepted with a smile, Jordan pulled a whiny 180 and questioned his father for not giving him a match with Samoa Joe tonight earlier than including, “No marvel Stephanie [McMahon] was in your case final week.” An aggravated Angle lastly snapped: “Pay attention, I’ll say this to you because the GM and never your father.” He went on angrily clarify to Jordan how “holding your individual” in massive matches just isn’t the identical as successful and that he’ll get the match he covets when Angle says so. “OK, dad,” Jordan mentioned, “or perhaps I ought to say, ‘OK, Kurt.'”

Nonetheless sore upset about final week, Jordan crashed Joe’s match in opposition to Dean Ambrose and watched from a folding chair on the stage like Joe beforehand did to him. Lured to ringside mid-match by Joe’s trash speak, Jordan’s presence practically price Joe when Ambrose rolled him up for 2. Jordan continued to become involved when the motion moved outdoors as Joe utilized the Coquina Clutch from behind till Ambrose knocked down each with a suicide dive. Jordan’s mood bought the perfect of him and his try and enter the ring and assault Joe created a distraction of the referee. Ambrose hit an elbow from the highest rope onto Joe however the referee was late to the depend. After Ambrose bought into Jordan’s face outdoors, Joe hit a flying forearm by means of the ropes on Ambrose and a senton onto Jordan. Joe then utilized his Coquina Clutch on Ambrose within the ring to supply the faucet.

Jordan wasn’t given wherever close to the 47 minutes he shouldered to open final week’s present, however he was simply as impactful this time round when it comes to furthering the storyline and growing his entitled character. His fixed bickering with Angle has produced loads of planted seeds towards an intriguing heel flip that feels before later. And take into account the brand new wrinkle of his beef with Ambrose to be nothing in need of promising. Jordan can do no unsuitable in the mean time and Uncooked can be sensible to experience the recent hand whereas killing time forward of Royal Rumble.

What else occurred on Uncooked?

Samoa Joe units lure for The Defend: Joe opened the present by saying Reigns is nothing with out The Defend and challenged him to return out solo and end their beef. With Ambrose and Seth Rollins watching backstage, Reigns took the bait and a hockey struggle ensued. The Bar rapidly ran in from the group to triple crew Reigns as Joe utilized his Coquina Clutch. Ambrose and Rollins ran in to assist, just for the trio of heels to beat and stand tall.

Paige & Mandy Rose def. Bayley & Mickie James through pinfall: “Girls, I believe it is time to put your hair up and sq. up as a result of Absolution is a symphony of carnage and the music is about to begin,” Sonia Deville mentioned through the pre-match promo. Her stablemates then stayed sizzling with one other victory as Paige took benefit of late chaos by interrupting James’ MickDDT try with a superkick, resulting in a pin by Rose.

Bray Wyatt and Matt Hardy repeat dueling video promos: Not a lot new was revealed for Week 2 because the alternating laughing returned. Hardy mentioned “the good warfare has perpetuated for eons … and now it continues on the battlefield often called WWE.” Bray known as him “the yin to my yang” earlier than saying, “how I’ve been ready for you.” After Hardy talked about beforehand “strolling hand in hand” with Sister Abigail’s soul earlier than she turned hooked on evil and inhabited Wyatt’s physique, Bray closed with, “Why would you comply with a jester when you may stroll within the footsteps of a king. Select your sides correctly. Solely one among us can survive.”

Finn Balor def. Curtis Axel through pinfall: Axel and Miztourage stablemate Bo Dallas mocked Balor’s entrance earlier than beating him down earlier than the match. After promoting an injured left shoulder, Balor rapidly rallied and went on to hit his Coup de Grace for the win as he slowly rebuilds.

Seth Rollins def. Sheamus through pinfall: With their tag crew companions banned from ringside, these two placed on a heck of a free TV match over two lengthy segments. Rollins bought an injured left knee all through and rallied for a trio of dramatic close to falls late. The end got here when Rollins sidestepped a brogue kick earlier than hitting a superkick of his personal and a Kingslayer knee for the 1-2-Three.

Cedric Alexander def. Ariya Daivari (through pinfall), Tony Nese and Mustafa Ali: WWE pulled the suspended Wealthy Swann from his No. 1 contender’s match following his real-life arrest for home assault. A brand new bout was created with the winner going through Drew Gulak subsequent week. The match featured one excessive spot and close to fall after one other, highlighted by Alexander’s combo of a standing Spanish fly right into a lumbar examine on Ali. Alexander would go on to hit the latter on Daivari for the pin.

Nia Jax flirts with Enzo Amore: The cruiserweight champion started with a backstage lecture of Gulak for insinuating that he would take Amore’s title after defeating Alexander. Jax interrupted and answered Amore’s catchphrase query with a sultry, “I am doing simply advantageous.” After the champion responded in nervous however trend, Jax closed with a flirty, “Enzo, we should always speak a while when you find yourself not busy.”

Intercontinental Championship — Roman Reigns def. Cesaro through pinfall to retain the tite: Contemplate this the match of the night time with unimaginable pay-per-view depth. Each guys bought out from begin to end as Reigns labored additional time to promote a proper arm damage that turned the storyline of the match. Every try at rallying from Reigns was met by Cesaro countering to accentuate the damage. In the long run, Reigns countered out of a Gotch neutralizer try and hit his spear for the 1-2-Three.

Absolution pressured to face down: Asuka’s scheduled match with Alicia Fox by no means occurred because of a backstage assault on Fox’s arm by Absolution. The heel faction got here out to method Asuka and threaten her to get out of their manner. After initially preventing them off, Asuka succumbed to the quantity’s sport. However simply as Paige was set to try her finisher, Sasha Banks’ music hit and the whole Uncooked girls’s division — heels and faces alike — ran in to assault Absolution. Paige and Deville finally escaped and pulled Rose out by her legs earlier than scurrying away.

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