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annwayne · 10 months

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The Red Logs: Return to the Temple Ch. 19

Chapter 19: Divo, Please

Last Chapter <- -> Next Chapter

Fem!OC X Crosshair

Word Count: 2313

Fic Summary:

There are benefits to owning a clone bar. Underworld lords don’t threaten you to pay for protection. Clones are great company. And the drinks taste great. However, there are also risks to owning a clone bar. Like, for example, becoming the fuck buddy of a special clone task force member so your life gets threatened when a Separatist puts out a bounty for your capture in order to use you as blackmail. Also your sleep schedule gets wrecked. But Anya Tougt is a little more capable than an average bar owner.

Ao3 Link Here

Warnings apply to whole fic:

Canon typical violence, descriptions of panic attacks, alcohol, swearing, 18+ themes (eventual smut), trauma, religious trauma parallels, mild gore

Authors Note:

I hope you enjoy this final chapter of TRL:RttT :)

24 BBY. It’s time.

A few hours later we returned to the backdoor of my bar. As usual, I pulled out my keys and pressed them against the reader until the lock clicked open. Jayas was in the hall, talking to another new hire I had yet to meet, a human woman with pink hair. He waved at me. Crosshair earned a raised brow and a knowing grin.

“You working tonight?” Crosshair lingered a few steps below me, looking through the panel that separated the stairs to my loft and the bar’s back area.

“Nah.” I explained as I climbed the stairs. “Jayas noticed how tired I was. Told me to take a few days off.” I pushed open the door to my apartment, having left it unlocked again.

“That’s a bad habit.”

“Hmm?”

Crosshair nodded towards the pocket that held my keys. “You didn’t lock your loft door last night either.”

I chuckled, walking through the threshold of my apartment. “There’s a reason Jayas set up the backdoors to automatically lock.” Inside, Stinky slept in a ball on the couch. I walked to him, squatting down to give the tooka some pets. “I’m not too worried about it. Who’d try to mess with a clone bar?”

The clone said nothing in response, just took up a spot on the couch across from Stinky. He removed his helmet, setting it down carefully on the coffee table. After a few more pets, I plopped down beside the sniper. He lifted the arm closest to me up and pulled me in closer to him. “I’ve got maybe an hour before I need to report in.” Crosshair nuzzled my neck, brushing my loose hair out of his way so his lips could press against bare skin.

Shivers ran up my neck as his lips dragged against me. “You think an hour is enough?” The question was playful, though part of me kicked myself for taking so long to get back home. Considering the morning’s dream…well, I needed this.

Crosshair hummed in response. The vibrations chilled my neck. “We can make do.” He opened his mouth, trailing teeth along the curve of my shoulder.

I shuddered in response, but found my patience thinning as the burning between my legs grew in furiosity. Suddenly, I flipped over Crosshair’s legs, trapping him between my own as I sat on his lap. Our lips crashed together without fanfare. Should there be fanfare? This was our first time together as riduur–did that even mean anything?

My thoughts were quickly brushed away as gloved hands snaked up my side to grope my breasts. Even through the fabric of my top, I felt a spike of pleasure when his thumbs rolled over my nipples. A groan interpreted our lips, prompting Crosshair to push his tongue into my open mouth. Those thumbs worked dutifully teasing my buds.

“Cross.” I whined against him. Aside from his helmet, he was still in full armor. So when my hips started to grind against him, I met hard plastoid. The rigid surface pressed into my pants, offering a tease for my building desire. My mind melted into one focused solely on that repetitive motion of dragging my cunt across his codpiece. A fleeting thought about stripping crossed my mind, but then I caught the way his armor shifted against my body. An hour was enough time to indulge in this, right?

“Yes, doll?” One of his hands drifted from toying with my breast and grabbed at my ass. When I leaned into him, he left more love bites along my shoulder.

“Maker.” I hissed between hitched breaths. He always did this–within minutes my mind was empty and I couldn’t form any coherent thought. I’d never admit it, though. “I want it like this.”

“This?” Crosshair pushed up the fabric of my shirt, exposing my tits. Then, he leaned in and caught one between his lips. His tongue lapped up and over my nipple, sending jolts directly to my clenching pussy. Staying still-relatively speaking since I was still humping him like an anooba in heat-was an exercise in composure the Jedi council could only dream of replicating. Silent shudders left my lips as I tilted my head back to the sensation of his tongue circling my peak.

“Can you remove just the waist piece?” At the question I lightly pushed his head back. A lewd pop followed as Crosshair took the opportunity to suck on my tit. Moans followed as I shuddered from the intense sensation. This was ridiculous. My body was acting like it had gone years without pleasure. I’d gone longer without sex, what made this so different? “Please?” I pleaded.

His eyes met mine and recognition slowly gleaned. “You want to fuck me in my armor?” I wiggled under his gaze, blush overtaking my exposed skin. “Why am I surprised? This is exactly the kind of thing you’d be into.”

Indignation straightened my back. “Please, even you don’t know everything I’m into.” Sitting on his lap like this was one of the few times where I looked down to meet his eye.

“Why?” He leaned forward to feather my chest in kisses. “Because you didn’t know it?” When I didn’t respond, he looked up at me through dark lashes. Crosshair’s smirk turned devious. With my tongue caught, he continued. “So that sexually liberated persona you put on is…?”

“Liberated…compared to my past.” While I spoke, Crosshair dragged his tongue along the curve of my breast–the one that had yet been in his mouth. I took in a sharp breath and shakily continued. “...Not so much if you’re looking at the average sentient on Coruscant.”

He paused, hovering just above my nipple. “I’ve had no complaints.”

“Oh, like you’re a CONnoisseur!” I yelped as he closed his lips around the pink bud and sucked. My head fell forward and I glared at the cheeky grin in his eyes.

Crosshair detached from my tit. “And here I thought your liberated attitude was fueled by plenty of experience. That’s alright,” He caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “We can explore together.”

Shivers pulsed through my body at his words. All I could do to acknowledge him was nod while his hand still held my chin. That was enough though, as he leaned up to meet my lips. This time our kisses were less fevered. Our lips lingered. Passion had never been missing between us–yet somehow this felt new. Like the first passionate kiss we had ever shared. Maybe being riduur did mean something.

“Crosshair?” His lips didn’t leave mine. “Please. I need you.”

With a pant, he pulled back. “Your pants, pull them down.” I obliged, sitting up onto my knees to undo the clasp at the waist. Still straddling him, I pulled the fabric down to my knees. When I shifted my weight to pull them past my knees, Crosshair lended his help. Before I could sit down again, he grabbed my thick thighs. “You’re beautiful.” My heart fluttered, but I didn’t have time to linger on his words. His hands glided up and down my sides, occasionally stopping to grope me. The fabric of his gloves felt soft against my skin. Then, he slid those gloved fingers along the length of my cunt.

I thought his dexterity would be hindered by the fabric. Crosshair proved me wrong. With two fingers, he pressed against the black cotton of my panties and pushed in just enough to earn a whimper. Then, he slid my garment to the side, using his thumb to hold the fabric in place. With delicate movements, Crosshair stroked the length of my wetness with his middle finger. He avoided my clit, which had me reeling and wondering how he could feel so clearly through his gloves. Eventually, he removed his hand and observed the slick covering his fingers. Instead of being absorbed into the fabric, the sticky substance rolled along his gloved fingers as though bare skin.

“Crosshair.” I nearly hissed his name as I sat back on my heels.

He raised a brow. “Just making sure you’re wet enough, Anya.” Another hiss of air. The way he said my name was intoxicating.“Tell me what you want.”

Discontent rumbled in my throat. I leaned forward, trailing kisses up his neck to the base of his ear. “You know what I want.” My lips brushed against his ear as I spoke.

“Do I?” It was a dance. He pushed my buttons and I pulled his hair–sometimes literally.

I leaned back again. His grin was controlled. My pout was pointed. “Aren’t snipers observant?” Hair pulled.

His gaze narrowed. A challenge. “Observant.” Crosshair grabbed my chin, letting his thumb press against my lips as he spoke. “Not a mind reader.” He dropped his hand like a dead weight, letting his fingers drag down my lips and land on my shoulder.

My jaw clenched. Buttons pressed. “No, you’re a proper ass is what you are.” Bark. No bite.

“If I left now I could make it back to the barracks within protocol.” He twisted looking to the door.

I grabbed his shoulders, earning his gaze again. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

He tilted his head, waiting. I looked away, feeling heat crawl up my neck. It didn’t matter how many times the words left my mouth. Each time felt like a confession–a forbidden thrill that offended all that I was before. The heat of excitement and shyness created a desire that led to wiggling hips and a bitten bottom lip. And that was exactly why he relished pulling that sacrament from me.

“Crosshair,” My lips parted. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl, was that so hard?” His praise invigorated me, and damped my underwear further. He lightly pressed my thighs, prompting me to sit up enough that he could reach his codpiece. A few clicks later the plastoid was tossed onto the couch cushion beside us. Now, only his tented blacks remained an obstacle. With practiced ease, Crosshair slid his gloved hand between a hidden seam at his crotch and pulled out his half-hard member.

“I didn’t know your blacks had a seam there.”

“Can’t strip in the field.”

“Righttt.”

With a soft chuckle, Crosshair grabbed my hand and guided it to his cock. Together we pumped him till he was hard enough to enter me. Then I slid forward, lining myself up so that he could slide into my pussy smoothly. His hot breath tickled the crook of my neck. Then, I sat down. Moans fell from our lips as he filled me, stretching my walls comfortably. When my pussy lips reached the hilt of his dick I paused, taking a moment to get used to being so full. My head hung against his cheek and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

His hands snaked up my back, sliding under the fabric of my bunched up shirt. He hummed. “Should I be offended?” Crosshair’s voice hitched as I slowly moved my hips up and down. He glided those gloved hands down along the curve of my back then rounded my sides, settling his strong grip on the soft plush of my hips.

“Worried I’m only with you because of your cock?” My grin turned lopsided as I teased the clone. I nuzzled into his neck, careful to keep a consistent rhythm with my hips. My soft body pressed against his armor, finding the plastoid cool but not unpleasant. “There’s no need.” I whispered into his ear. “You’re why it feels so good.” Crosshair’s breath hitched at my praise, but before I could come up with another tease there was a knock at the door.

I sat up, exchanging glances with the clone beneath me. “Did you-”

Knocks, louder and more rapid, from the front door.

“Are you going to?” He whispered.

“No, no whatever it is, they’ll have to come back later.” Nothing was going to interrupt this. I leaned forward, lifting my hips up and down again at a slower pace than before.

“Coruscant police, open up or we’re coming in!” A nasally voice called out.

“Just a minute!” I yelled back, then in defeat I dropped my head against Cross’s shoulder and groaned.

Tech had been swiping through various articles about senate politics, gossip pages, and the latest fashion craze before an odd notification popped up in the upper left hand corner of his datapad. He sat up from his prone position in his bunk and tapped the message.

Hunter sat on a storage crate, focus flickering between sharpening his vibro-knife and watching the door to the room, brows knitting closer together with every second they remained in place. Before they could crash together, however, the door slid open.

Wrecker walked in, damp and smelling of clean rain. He wore a towel over his shoulder and had a slight wet sheen to his naked body-sans the boxers that kept his modesty. He threw his towel over one of the bars of the top bunk to let it dry before sitting down across from Tech in his own bunk.

A frustrated sigh left the Sergeant. Crosshair was late, yet again.

“Hunter.” Tech’s voice rang out in the small room.

“Yeah.” Hunter answered, eyes still fixed on the doorway before him.

“You will want to see this for yourself.”

With a heavy sigh, Hunter stood and walked the few steps to lean over Tech’s bunk. His brother handed him the data pad, then waited patiently for his reaction.

“What…”

Notice to: Clone Force 99 From: The Coruscant Police Force, Sector 7, Department 381 Subject: Notice of Pending Investigation

CT-9904 will be contained within investigation perimeter until head investigator deems appropriate that CT-9904 can report back to GAR facilities. For further query contact head investigator: Lieutenant Divo of Sector 7, Department 381.

Authors end chapter notes:

Oh no... they got interrupted.. how sad.. >:3 Next chapter is notes only, so this is the end of The Red Logs: Return to the Temple!

Dividers by Djarrex

Tag list: @midnight-sun-0

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb crosshair x oc #tbb crosshair #crosshair x oc #crosshair x anya tougt (oc)#crosshair/oc #oc/crosshair #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #sw tcw fanfic #star wars prequels #the red logs: return to the temple

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100hearteyes · 3 years

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any more thoughts on 'clarke and lexa make a porno'?

🤔😏

Part 1 Part 2

“Last but not least, worry no more, citizens of Capitola: after a grueling week of searching, our very own superhero Jasper Jordan has finally found his cape. He was wearing it all along.”

“It’s so good to know that he will be able to go on keeping Capitola safe.”

“Yes, what would we do without Jasper Jordan here to protect us? And from now on, you’ll be in Lexa Woods’s hands. Also, such good hands those are. She’s got very long fingers.”

“Oh. Well, I never actually noticed, but I guess they are. Thanks, Clarke. And now, perk your ears for the new hit single from our very own global country star, Harper McIntyre. It’s called Call Me Harp-by. She’s a creative genius!”

Lexa’s first instinct when she hears the studio door open is to hide. She checks her options: Monty is holed up under his desk playing on his GameBoy Color, Octavia has barricaded herself in a corner with actual hand-carved sticks and is roaring at Bellamy in a strange language, and Murphy is probably peeing into a bin behind the pillar on the far side of the room.

She’s too slow to think of a solution in the end and she can’t do anything but flush when Clarke strolls in and heads over to her, smirk plastered on her face. Lexa only has time to save her miniature Baby Yoda from Clarke’s weapon of ass destruction before her coworker sits on the edge of her desk.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa forces a polite smile, trying to focus on her outline for the day rather than the butt cheeks planted on her desk, the body attached to them, or the face looking down at her with a sly grin. “Hello, Clarke.”

“What do you think of Harper McIntyre’s new song?”

The topic confuses her, but she trudges on with a brave face. After all, she’s got opinions on Capitola’s Taylor Swift rip-off and if Anya is going to make it a point of leaving the room every time Lexa so much as mentions them, then she’s going to take this opportunity with both hands and pull out all the receipts. “Uninspired. Derivative. Oddly reminiscent of Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Yeah...” Clarke nods pensively, letting the subsequent silence drag on for a few more seconds. “I like your fingers.”

Lexa starts at the sudden topic change and struggles to keep her blush under control under the brazen intensity of Clarke’s stare. “Yes, I- I noticed. You mentioned. On the radio, for all of Capitola to hear. Thank you, I guess?”

Clarke hums, before clicking her tongue and hopping off of Lexa’s desk. She roundabouts it until she’s right next to Lexa, thigh brushing Lexa’s arm.

Lexa tries and fails to swallow down the knot in her throat as Clarke sits on her desk again, this time on her side, crossing her legs so her feet touch Lexa’s leg.

“So a little bird told me we’re starring in a porno together.”

Lexa almost yelps, scrambling out of her chair to fasten both hands over Clarke’s mouth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know, Clarke!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Lexa can feel her smile under her hands. Their eyes lock, a tacit understanding passing between them. Clarke's eyes are a vivid blue, like a cloudless sky or the color of Lexa's highlighters before Anya dunked them all in a bag of manure, and it's hard not to drown in the depths of them.

"Glad to see you two getting intimate already."

They spring apart as though they were burned. Lexa sits back down on her chair, while Clarke takes a seat at her desk, which to Lexa's chagrin is right next to her own. Anya chuckles as she sinks into her own chair, propping her feet on Lexa's desk, crossed at the ankles.

"Anyway," she slams a hand over a stack of papers, making Clarke and Lexa jump in their seats, "can you guess what this is?"

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Anya. Lexa shrugs.

"This is your fucking Bible," Anya says, not waiting for them to guess. "Your Dianetics.Your Loose Canon. Your gospel." At her companions' still expectant stares, Anya heaves a dramatic sigh, throwing her arms up. "It's the goddamn screenplay."

Oh.

It's like the snap of an elastic band. Lexa and Clarke shoot out of their chairs to snatch the script from Anya's desk. Lexa gets there first (going to the gym does pay off after all), dribbling around Clarke, and lets out a triumphant cry before sinking back into her chair, thumbing through the pages of the heavy tome.

She stops on a random page and feels Clarke press closer to read over her shoulder.

INT. BLONDIE'S KITCHEN - TWILIGHT

Enter Lulu. Plumber by day, detective by night. She stops by the island and twirls a lead pipe in her right hand before sheathing it like a cowboy's pistol.

LULU

It seems it's time to read your...

Lulu puts on her shades. ZOOM IN.

LULU (CONT'D)

...Anya rights.

Lexa balks, peeling her eyes from the page to gape at Anya.

"Anya rights? Anya rights? You can't just... Arbitrarily rename the Miranda rights. They have that name for a reason."

Anya rolls her eyes like Lexa just said something obnoxiously stupid. "I didn't just rename them, you dumbass. I fucking changed them. If you'd read the whole thing, you would know that the suspect has the obligation to remain silent. No more fucking cry babies in cuffs."

"This is..." Lexa opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to find a thread of logic in the midst of... Whatever fever dream she's living in right now. "I thought we were filming a porno, not a sexy cop movie. Plumber by day, detective by night? That's- it's not even remotely realistic."

"Lexa... Suspend your disbelief."

"I think it's really good stuff," Clarke chimes in, her breasts still firmly pressed to Lexa's shoulder blade.

"Thank you, Clarke!" Anya exclaims, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on her legs with a loud clap. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but fine. Fine. She will read more; she will give Anya a chance. She opens the book on a new page, several scenes ahead.

INT. BLONDIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Blondie rubs her lover's love button like she's scratching at a turn-table, making Lulu scream louder than Saoirse Ronan in Ammonite when Kate Winslet was eating her out with her neck.

LULU

Oh, fuck! You're so good at this! Almost as good as my awesome best friend and mentor Anya, even though I've never had sex with her because that would be totally gross.

Blondie stops her ministrations to look up at Lulu and smirks.

BLONDIE

I know. After all, they don't call me DJ Diddles for nothin'.

Lexa stares incredulously from the two hundred-odd pages to Anya, wondering how grave a sin she must have committed in a past life to deserve this.

"What are you, a sex-deprived straight guy?"

Anya scoffs, yanking the script from Lexa's hands before she can do anything to stop it. "I can assure you there is no deprivation in that department."

"After reading that I am seriously starting to doubt that you've ever even seen a vagina."

"I thought it was good," Clarke pipes in once again. This time, Lexa turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is she paying you to say that?"

Clarke tsks with a smirk. "I'm just smart enough to know better than to get on the lead producer's bad side."

Anya snaps her fingers and points at Clarke approvingly, and Lexa has never regretted a decision so deeply in her life.

"Anyway," Clarke resumes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "This has been fun, but I need to get going. Anya, stay classy. We'll work out the schedule this week. Lexa," she adds, her voice dropping a tone to turn into a seductive purr. She leans down, and it's all Lexa can do not to focus on how her breasts squish together and seem to become fuller and more inviting. She loses the plot when a pair of lips presses to her cheek in a kiss that is chaste, yet way too slow for propriety. "See you tomorrow."

Lexa's throat is dry as a desert as she watches Clarke leave, her hips swaying more than usual. She jumps in place when Anya clears her throat next to her. This time, she can't avoid her friend's shit-eating grin.

"No chemistry, you say?"

"Shut up, Anya," she grumbles, focusing back on her work. She has a full, five-minute newscast to prepare, she can't dawdle and joke around gossiping like some people. But then a thought pops up in her head and she turns to Anya, eyes narrowed. "Is this some elaborate plan to get us together? I refuse to be your little Love, Actually experiment."

Anya's stare is fifty shades of unimpressed. "Lexa. Don't take yourself so seriously. It's a bad look on you."

Lexa buries her face in her hands with a long-suffering sigh. Why is this her life? Why is this her best friend? Why is she hopelessly attracted to the worst, most unprofessional coworker on the planet?

"Why couldn't you find a normal hobby? Something that doesn't include me? Like baking. Baking would have been so much better."

"You know," Anya drawls almost nostalgically, "I actually considered that, but the criminally inclined baker niche was already taken up by Martha Stewart."

"She is surprisingly niche," Lexa says, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"But she's also able to appeal to a larger audience."

"Uh-huh."

"Fascinating."

"I know. It's like Punkya. You'd think a lesbian erotica magazine would only appeal to queer women and depraved straight men, but it's been selling surprisingly well amongst the straight female demographic."

Hm. Are all women secretly queer?

"Interesting," Lexa concedes, before veering the topic back to Anya's passion (and Lexa's torture) project. "So when does principal photography start?"

And there it is again, that nefarious gleam in Anya's eyes. It grows along with her Cheshire cat grin, curling and curling until it's pure, unbridled evil.

"Next week."

#calmap #clarke and lexa make a porno #my fics #clexa #clexa fic #clexa fanfic #clexa fanfiction #mine #ask #anon

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tare-anime · 3 years

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And, the comedic fluff TwiYor drablle to counter the angst. LoL (AO3)

This was supposed to be my entry for Fluffbruary prompt: Hold hands…. But well… the idea stuck. So, pardon the quality ^^;

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

Twilight was walking home from yet another briefing. It was the weekend, and yet he got another mission. Just like usual, really.

The road was packed with people, but as an experienced spy himself, he easily avoided bumping into people.

Except for one beautiful blond lady.

Immediately Twilight grasped the lady’s wrist firmly, and politely asked, “I’m very sorry…. But can you return my wallet?”

The blond lady smirked mischievously, “I don’t understand what you’re saying….”

“My wallet. That you took. Just now,” Loid whispered gently while tightening his grip.

The lady just narrowed her eyes, and then suddenly she shouted, “Is that so??? So after all this time, now you blamed me?!”

Loid confusedly furrowed his eyebrows. Then as the eyes of the pedestrians started to turn at them, slowly he understood what this woman was trying to do.

“Ma’am, I’m just asking you to return my wallet.”

“I see…. I see now…. All of you men are the same!! Using me then is just like shoving me away ....”

As murmurs around him started to get louder, Loid felt his own face start to heat.

This woman was clearly trying to escape from him, by using other people’s judgement implying he was one of those playboys. Loid couldn’t allow her to go away with his wallet, but at the same time he needed to find a way to clear the misunderstandings purposely created by this pickpocket.

Still confused in choosing his next course of action, suddenly someone’s hand grabbed the thief’s collar and pushed her away from him.

“Stay away from my husband, you scheming wench !”

Astounded that suddenly she found red eyes glaring at her, the thief tried to retort, “Excuse me?! You’re still defending this man?”

“My husband is such a gentleman, that he will stay faithful to his wife,” Yor snapped at her, “You on the other hand….. How many times have I caught you stalking him?! Never understand the word ‘No’.”

The thief narrowed her eyes on Yor's way to follow her scheme, “I have no idea what you’re talking about….”

“No thief will confess they’re a thief. Now leave….”

Loid noticed how the murmurs around them now started to be directed at the thief, thanks to Yor’s clever maneuvers in turning the table of the conversations.

But of course the pickpocket wouldn’t accept being humiliated just like that.

She growled as she took out a knife from her secret pocket, and planned to attack the Forger wife.

Little did she know that she had picked the worst possible opponent in all of Ostania.

Right before she managed to launch the attack, Yor easily plucked the knife out of her hand, twirled it expertly between her fingers, and pressed its blunted side towards the thief’s neck.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Crimson eyes glinted dangerously as it bore into her opponents’ eyes, as Yor blasted her murderous aura at full force towards her.

Colors drained from the thief’s face, and nobody could blame her.

Even Westalia’s best spy could only stand there, froze to the ground, and gulped, because he had no idea that the woman who stayed under the same roof as him, could be that scary . Immediately he made a specific mental note, that he will never ever do things that will make him be at the receiving end of his wife's wrath.

“I’ve tried to be nice. But if I must………” Yor threatened.

The pickpocket shivered.

“I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

The thief nodded.

“Leave! ”

Yor threw the knife into the pavement with enough force to make it embedded halfway through. She deliberately made a move to scratch her opponent's clothes along the way, the exact part where the secret compartments were, making all of her pickpocket goods scattered through the pavement.

The thief didn’t make a move to collect it though. Instead she turned on her heels, and ran for her life.

As Yor calmly bent down and took Loid’s wallet from the pile, gasps could be heard from the people around them. The bystanders then started to check their belongings and several of them immediately moved to retrieve their stolen goods.

Loid still stood frozen when his wife gave him his wallet back.

The gear in his brain has trouble processing what has happened before his eyes.

He only started to move when his wife grabbed his hand and started to drag him away from the commotion, in long confident steps.

“Let’s go home, dear.”

He stared at his wife, and blinked several more times.

Did it actually happen? That for once, he was the one being saved?

Yes it did .

Did it feel nice?

Yes.

And did he feel proud of his wife?

The corner of his lips started to move upward. Obviously.

Did he finally understand the feeling Anya had experienced, everytime she was saved by her mother?

His smiles grew. Yes he did

Did he feel safe when he absorbed the warmth of her smaller calloused hand that currently enveloped his bigger one?

He glanced at their hands. Yes he did

Did he notice how her confident steps became shorter and smaller as her face grew redder and redder, and her body deflated as her confidence was replaced by embarrassment?

Loid chuckled. Yes he did.

“So-.. Sorry, Loid. I just-... I-… well… that-...”

He couldn’t stop grinning, when he heard his wife stammer.

When he felt her hand move to release him however, he quickly repositioned his hand, so their fingers intertwined instead.

He felt her hand flinched for a bit, before relaxing and she held him back.

“Thank you, Yor. That was amazing.”

Her eyes widened, before it darted back to the ground, “It’s… it’s a normal thing wives will do, I guess….”

“Mhmm….” Loid nodded, while thinking back to his previous missions. He tried to imagine what his past female companion would do should he be in such a predicament.

Loid faintly shook his head because he concluded that they would do nothing.

“Shall we head home?” He asked the woman beside him.

His wife nodded despite still looking at the ground, with pink still tinting her cheeks.

#spy x family #sxf #sxf ficlet #sxf drabble #loid forger #yor forger #twiyor #comedy #fluff

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sanktnikolais · 3 years

Text

Little Wonderer

A/N: Have some baby Grisha Tidemaker and some instructor Zoya content 👀

it’s a crime we don’t have more Tidemaker characters in canon, and it’s time to change that dhfaslkdhasf

Word count: 1718

Zoya thought she was going out of her mind. Perhaps it was because of the exhaustion of teaching both soldiers and children in the Little Palace everyday, coupled with the stressful meetings with the Triumvirate and enduring a ton of paperwork with Nikolai at night, that she was starting to imagine things.

At first it wasn’t that noticeable. There would be a rush of movement, or a rustle of bushes at the side, but whenever she looked back to the direction she came from, Zoya would not see anyone near. She only frowned and brushed it off as a delusion of her tired mind before continuing her way to the war room where she would meet Nikolai and the others.

But as days passed, whoever—or whatever—was following her had become a bit bolder. There would now be the sound of soft footfalls against the graveled path, and yet whenever she tried to catch who it was, she never saw anyone around the vicinity. Once again, she chalked it up to her exhaustion. She never told anyone about it as they would most likely have the same opinion about it as a result of her tiredness. But when it still continued, Zoya knew it was time to put an end to it.

She had just ended the training of the Second Army before sundown, and she was now on her way back to the Grand Palace. It had been a full week since she started feeling someone following her. Today had to be the day she figured out who it was, or else she would continue to lose her mind and be more temperamental with her students.

Zoya took the usual route from the training grounds towards the path to the Grand Palace. But instead of going through the main path in the courtyard, she decided to make a detour in the gardens. The person who tailed her always stopped outside the castle as if they were not allowed in, so she decided to take advantage of that.

A huge fountain loomed before the side of the palace, obscuring the view of the entrance if one were to look at it from the front. Zoya glanced over her shoulder for a second. Their presence was still there. They were still following her.

She almost laughed at herself. If she ended up not finding out who it was tonight, she would go absolutely insane. And most likely turn the gardens upside down. She was tired, and she didn't need another headache like Nikolai.

Zoya rounded the fountain, making sure to let herself look like she was entering the palace. But once she got behind the circular column at its middle, she crouched down behind the basin. She peeked over the marble as she slowly walked along the base, her eyes narrowed.

If someone were to see her now, she knew she would have to make an excuse for what she was doing. And probably let the ground swallow her whole. It wasn't the time for someone to see a member of the Triumvirate looking silly.

There was a sudden rustle of bush, and a shade of blue dashed forward to the other side of the fountain. The figure stopped. Zoya frowned as she watched them perch themselves up on the concrete, standing on their tiptoes and craning their head up as if to see above something taller than them. Her eyes widened.

A child?

Her eyebrows furrowed, then she let out a huff of disbelief. A little girl had been the one tailing her? The pale blue embroidery on her kefta let Zoya know the child was a Tidemaker. But what was she doing here?

Zoya stood up and quietly made her way to the oblivious Tidemaker who was still busy peeking at the entrance. Based on her stature, she can't have been more than ten. She must be one in Zoya's sea of students in the Little Palace.

With a raised brow, Zoya cleared her throat, startling the girl so much she jumped in her place with a yelp. The young Tidemaker turned around, but she lost her footing and slipped from the marble. Zoya's eyes widened and she tried to reach for the girl, but the latter had flailed, her arm raised, as she fell down to the basin. Water suddenly burst from the fountain, drenching Zoya from head to toe. She winced and wiped at her face before pulling out the girl from the water.

She narrowed her eyes at the young Tidemaker, who only seemed to shrink back at her gaze, a sheepish smile on her lips. The girl looked familiar, at least, her dark hair and brown skin was a bit distinctive. Zoya tried to remember her name. Anya? Anna? She frowned for another moment, then something clicked in her head.

“Alya?"

The girl's nervous smile became grimace. "Good evening, Instructor," Alya said, waving her hand as greeting. "Please don't be mad."

Zoya frowned. "I'm not mad," she said, gently pulling the young Tidemaker to her feet. "Let's get you back to the Little Palace and have you change your clothes, alright?"

A hopeful glint appeared on Alya's eyes. "You're not mad?"

"Not really," Zoya said. "Just surprised." She paused, looking down at the Tidemaker. "Why were you following me for a whole week?"

Alya averted her eyes. "I just want to see what you're doing after spending the time after teaching in the mornings and training in the afternoon,” she said softly. “I wanted to know how you do everything and not be exhausted.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow. “Who says I’m not?” she said mildly, guiding the young Tidemaker back to the main path leading to the Little Palace. The cold was already biting at her skin, and she could only guess that it was much worse for Alya. She quickened the pace, but just enough so the girl could still keep up. “It’s just a matter of having the right mindset to survive the day.”

“What are you thinking of to get through?” Alya asked, genuine wonder in her voice. She looked up at Zoya with curiosity as if she wanted to know all the secrets the world had.

A crease appeared between Zoya’s eyebrows as she looked forward and continued to guide them back to the students’ quarters, thinking of how to reply.

There were many things that drove her forward.

Her determination to restore the Second Army to a force to be reckoned with.

Her desire to protect the Grisha from being hunted down as if they were mere prey in other countries.

Her need to protect their country from crumbling further.

All these thoughts ran through her head, and yet she didn't know what to tell Alya without overwhelming her.

"I just think of the students I still have to teach the next morning," Zoya said, and she had to chuckle at the silliness of her answer. She looked down at the girl, offering her a small smile. "I have to make sure all of you don't ransack the training room, otherwise it would reflect badly on me."

Alya giggled. "We're all behaved," she reasoned, giving Zoya a pout. Then a frown appeared on the girl's face "But is that all?"

"No," said Zoya before she could even think about it. "There's still one thing."

"May I ask what it is?"

"Hope."

If it were some time before, she wouldn't have expected herself to say it. Hope had long since left her mind when the Darkling destroyed everything and everyone in his path, almost dragging Ravka down with him as he perished.

But looking at things now, with a new king that showed his genuine desire to make a change, perhaps there was still a small sliver of hope left for them all.

Hope is both a fragile and invulnerable thing, Nazyalensky, his voice echoed in her mind. As much as it can be crushed by mere words of the mouth, it can also be the one to hold on to in the darkest times. It's difficult to obtain it. But once you do, do what you can to never lose it.

Alya considered Zoya's answer. "Hope?"

Zoya chuckled lightly. "Yes, little one. Hope. A hope for a better tomorrow," she said, and she had to shake her head over her words. Nikolai's optimism was definitely rubbing off on her. "And a hope for all my students to wake up on time tomorrow when the bell rings at seven."

"But we always wake up on time!" the young Tidemaker whined.

"Easy now, no need to be so defensive," said Zoya.

By the time they finally arrived at the Little Palace, their keftas had already become damp.

"Instructor Nazyalensky?"

Zoya turned to the direction of the voice, seeing one of the caretakers of the student quarters approach. "Just on time," she said. "Do you mind taking Alya back to her room and have her clothes changed? She might get sick if she doesn't right away."

"Of course," the caretaker said, gently taking Alya's wrist and examining her before turning to Zoya. "May I ask what happened?"

"Slipped and fell into the fountain," Zoya replied, and Alya frowned, looking betrayed. She raised an eyebrow at the girl in amusement. "Go now, you still have class tomorrow."

The young Tidemaker pouted, her shoulders slumping. "Okay."

Zoya felt bad for a bit, so she added, "You can practice by the lake tomorrow."

This seemed to work, because suddenly Alya's eyes were bright again, pure joy radiating in them. "Really?"

"Of course."

"Yes!" The little girl pumped a fist in the air, and then she let the caretaker guide her to the student quarters. But before they could disappear inside the main hall, she turned back to Zoya again. She waved a hand and cheerfully said, "Good night, Instructor!" Then they were gone.

Zoya felt a rare smile appear on her face, feeling a bit lighter than most nights after a whole day of work. She never thought that today would turn out like this, with a young Tidemaker somehow reminding her what she was fighting for.

Hope, the word stayed in her mind. Zoya knew that Alya had it in her. She could only hope that the girl would never lose it as well.

#zoya nazyalensky #king of scars #alya #she's a babey tidemaker lkhafdlkja i love her sm :<<<<#but KAHFHASDFLA #some things had to be planned and done #teacher zoya with children ;-;#she's strict but she's definitely got a soft spot for her students #that she shows sometimes #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON FRIDAY #BUT I HAVE 0 IMPULSE CONTROL #AND PEOPLE NEED TO MEET A TIDEMAKER 🥺🥺🥺

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nooneeverlookedforagirl · 3 years

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Let me give you the Game of Thrones we all wanted. Not just me and you, but D&D too. They wanted the unexpected and the thrill, we wanted the characters. These are not mutually exclusive.

Arya Stark kills the Night King, but not alone.

Jon makes it to his last little brother just in time to see a battered and bloody Theon cut down defending him. The Night King is injured, but not defeated. He has no interest in meeting Jon head on, so he sends the wights to do so while he advances on Bran.

Rhaegal, wounded but loyal, appears to burn the wights who would have stopped him. Jon has no time to be in awe of the dragonfire which saves his life, only time to charge straight at the Night King and fight. This is why he left his black brothers to die, after all, for Ned Stark's last son. He could not save Robb, could not fight beside him, but he will give his life for Bran if need be.

Yet the Night King cares nothing for honor. Wights gone, he summons his generals. Two White Walkers rush to his defense, preparing to kill Jon, but they do not make it across the courtyard before it is filled with wolves. The largest of them, a she-wolf as large as a pony, leads her pack in the charge. Nymeria cannot kill the White Walker, but she and her pack rip them limb from limb, the screams like nothing Jon has ever heard.

Cruel and careful, the Night King uses his distraction to knock him off his feet. As the killing blow comes down, Jon sees something behind the Night King. Silent as any shadowcat, Arya has snuck into the godswood, into the battle. She drags her blade across the White Walkers throat, and he turns into a rush of blood and a shattering of ice shards.

All of his wights fall with him, but there are other White Walkers yet remaining. Somewhere beyond the walls of Winterfell, Rhaegal and Drogon obey their mother, and turn their wights into nothing more than ash. Relieved of the great burden of the living dead, the men rally to kill the remaining White Walkers. Grey Worm kills one and Sandor another, while Brienne claims two. Under the watchful eyes of the ravens, none escape.

The Starks do not notice this. Jon hugs Arya tight, there in their father's godswood covered with the fallen dead, and cries for the first time since he woke from darkness. Arya, who might have been No One except that she could not forget Jon Snow's smile, pulls him back to Bran and holds him tight.

This is how the dawn is won.

Afterward, the Starks rally their men to march North. Cersei awaits them, enthroned in Kings Landing, and she has hurt them too much to forget. Sansa, afraid and angry, whispers in Tyrion's ear before he goes. She has known no benevolent monarchs and no merciful women once they have their power. Lysa, Margaery, Cersei, all of them turned against her. So she gives up the secret she has sworn to keep, for the offer of a crown on her brother's head. Arya and Jon head south with the army, but Sansa has sworn never to leave the North again.

As they march south, Daenerys frees Riverrun, naming Edmure and his new daughter her rightful rulers, and meet with the remaining 30,000 men from the Vale. Anya Waynewood remembers Queen Visenya's visit to the Eyrie; she does not need a reminder of why the Vale kings knelt to the Targaryens. When they reach Kings Landing, the Reach awaits them, some 10,000 men rallied from the shadow of Highgarden and Horn Hill.

Plans are formed and ravens sent, but when the armies are gathered the queen remains on Dragonstone. In her place are Jon and Rhaegal, landing before the city and calling the forces to attention. Sansa was not wrong. Tyrion and Varys would sooner a man sit the throne than a woman, birth and expulsion aside, and so would most of the realm. Their greatest challenge had been convincing Jon, reborn without purpose, conqueror of the White Walkers, King in the North, Jon, that he deserved his father's throne.

Tyrion presents an impassioned plea, including a warning of the threat the coldness between his sisters and the queen carried. Sam, crippled yet alive, gives him papers supporting his claim and his late father's writings, which name his son Aegon as the Prince Who Was Promised. Varys, the Mad King's most trusted advisor, is quick to support these claims. After all, why would a Stark bastard be brought back for nothing? He had won the Dawn. He had defeated the Army of the Dead. Now his throne awaited.

Aegon. What better name for a king?

So it is that Jon names himself Aegon VI Targaryen, recognizing Lyanna Stark as his mother, and takes Kings Landing in a bloody battle. When it is done, there is a new Sack of Kings Landing, the city half afire and the Red Keep in ruins, but there is a new king.

Ned Stark had tried to save Cersei's children, but she has no more of them. Jon condemns her for usurping the throne, destroying the sept, and the murder of his father. Rather than executing her, he sends her to the dungeons she had fostered to die as Unella and Tyene and Falyse Stokeworth had.`

Then he turns his gaze to the rest of the realm, demanding obedience. Both Targaryen and Stark had suffered too long under lesser houses. Under Tyrion's guidance, he uses Ellaria as leverage against Dorne and names Bronn the Lord of Highgarden. When the Reach rumbles with the Florent's threat of rebellion he burns Brightwater Keep to ash with her lord inside, and gives the land to Melessa Tarly for her son's service.

A king needs a queen, and Daenerys had been rejected by his advisors. Alys Waynwood and Jynna Mallister are called to the capitol to see the king, although Jon refuses to entertain any of Tyrion's cousins. Both of them are rejected, and Jon insists a Northern girl be summoned, one who worships the Old Gods. The Faith doesn't like that, but aren't in a position to protest yet.

Cersei's screams can be heard from the dungeons, and Tyrion can't bring himself to go down and see her. The sister that he had fought so hard to help would blame him for this fate, he knows. He bars Jaime from the capitol, shipping him back to Winterfell and his lady knight with a hundred men as guards.

House Yronwood, now wed to Oberyn's last daughter, have no interest in rejoining the realm. Jon threatens to kill Ellaria and send them her head, but what does Yronwood care about a bastard who had murdered Doran Martell, when compared to a man usurping the name and throne belonging to Elia's son? She is not Sarella's mother, and Jon will not wed their princess.

When Yara Greyjoy declares her independence behind their own, Jon prepares Rhaegal for a war. They fought against Robb and weakened him, what does Jon care for their houses or Daenerys' promises? The Iron Islands will belong to the Iron Throne or they will be dust and ash.

Daenerys isn't dead.

Varys poisoned her, but she is a Targaryen and they have always resisted poison and illness better than most. For many days she is too weak to get out of bed. When at last she can stand, Grey Worm admits to her that Rhaegal is gone and Jon Snow rules in Kings Landing. He sits on her throne, but she cannot fight against her son.

For some time she is forced to stay on Dragonstone to recover. It is during this time that a ship full of Dothraki arrives. It is largely young men eager to join her men, but two women are on the ship as well. Ornela, the khaleesi who had helped her in Vaes Dothraki, and Jhiqui, Irri's sister. Her bloodriders, Aggo and Kovarro, who had joined her after Drogo's dead, had called for them.

Together they support her while she recovers from near death. They bring her food and wash her hair, they find food testers and sleep next to her at night. Once she had led her people across the Red Waste and fought for their freedom, but now they are her strength. One night, Dany sits with Grey Worm and tells him he is free to go if he wishes to. Her stoic war commander had refused, promising to see her home first.

But where was her home?

The darkness that has encompassed her life is finally broken by the arrival of a Volantene galley arriving in her harbor. Jon is not brave enough to war against her, knowing that Rhaegal would lose a fight against his brother, but Volantis was not afraid. They had sided with Yunkai against her, sending ships and men to their aid.

It is not the soldiers of the Old Blood that have come to Dragonstone. It is an old woman. Her spine is bent and her white hair so thin Dany can see her scalp. Her face is covered in scars, but her eyes are bright and black. She has come not for Daenerys Targaryen, but for the Breaker of Chains, the woman those in the Bay of Dragons still call Mhysa.

She calls herself Vogarro's whore, but the slaves in Volantis call her the Widow of the Waterfront. Nothing she has can help Dany. Instead, she brings a plea from the slaves of Volantis. She says that they are waiting. She begs her to come soon. Slaver's Bay may be no more, but the Free Cities still thrive. Children are bought and sold every day.

And so Daenerys rises from Dragonstone and leaves the Iron Throne behind. If she is not to be a queen, then let her be a conqueror, a rescuer. Grey Worm and his men rally to her side.

Her fleet is reduced, but so are her men. She takes them all, refusing to leave any of her people where the Westerosi might find them, and she summons Drogon from his nest in the hills. With him comes Rhaegal, her son responding to her call despite his rider. When they sail east, two dragons go with her.

Volantis, as Slaver's Bay before her, falls to fire and blood. Daenerys frees the city and gives rule over to her people, the freedmen who fought for their own freedom when the dragons came to their aid.

Months later, a ship with the last Lannister sails into Volantis' bay.

Daenerys is not there. She has gone north, to Pentos, to an old friend and to strangers. The Unsullied who remain in the city are no friends to the Sunset Kingdoms, and least of all Tyrion Lannister.

#oh I wish Jon Snow was the one from the books #you will rule well #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #game of thrones #everyone goes #book jon snow is a madman #you think he's putting up with this?#he's threatening babies over here #he's killed because he breaks his oath #let me give you book jon snow #Varys you're lucky if he doesn't kill you first

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter 3 is up!

Chapter 1 (tumblr // AO3) | Chapter 2 (tumblr // AO3)

Full text + content warnings under the cut.

CW: brief claustrophobia; some grief and loss stuff; a few more instances of casual misgendering (not malicious; just some wrong pronouns here and there due to the speaking-in-statements thing, but thought I'd mention it just in case); a single LORGE spider. Also, Jon gets to do one (1) swear, as a treat. SPOILERS through MAG 169.

Chapter 3: Rift

Jon doesn’t remember the hill being this steep.

Or maybe he’s just winded from the long trek through the wasteland. He’d had to pass through a long stretch of territory fought over by the Buried and the Vast. The ground there was practically a minefield, pockmarked with sinkholes. They would start out as quicksand traps and suffocating tunnel entrances, only to be hollowed out into yawning chasms and cenotes, then ultimately collapsed all over again by a retaliation-minded Choke. It was an endless cycle of petty rivalry and animosity, and passing so near their battlegrounds left Jon breathless with a discordant mix of claustrophobia and agoraphobia.

Worse was when the Dark managed to sneak its way into the mix. Whether it was Too Close I Cannot Breathe or the Vast’s abyss, the Dark could always find a way to exploit subterranean spaces – and it could never resist reaching out to needle at an Avatar of the Eye, no matter how inadvisable it was to cross the Archive these days.

As Jon drew closer to Hill Top Road, he left the warzone behind for a mostly featureless landscape punctuated with the occasional foxholes of the Slaughter and pockets of the Forsaken’s fog. Eventually those too gave way to a seemingly endless dust bowl of soot and ash – a sprawling domain claimed by the Lightless Flame.

The house at Hill Top Road is the only thing still standing in the midst of kilometres of Desolation-scorched earth. The charred terrain stops abruptly at the foot of the hill, a stark line demarcating the boundary between the Blackened Earth and the territory that Annabelle Cane has staked out as her own. Jon had half-expected an invisible barrier to stop him there as well – the last time he was here, Annabelle had forbidden him from returning – but there had been no resistance when he stepped over the border.

As he hikes up the incline now, he finds himself worrying over what that might mean. Is Annabelle expecting him, inviting him in? Is she simply tolerating his presence, curious to see what he’s up to? Could he be powerful enough now that even she cannot stop him? Or is he once again wrapped up in the Web’s machinations, doing exactly what the Mother of Puppets wants?

He shakes his head. No. He and Martin talked about this. There’s no point in obsessing over the Web’s motivations, letting the memory of Annabelle’s statement paralyze him with indecision. Better to just… keep moving forward.

And it’s not like he has anything left to lose.

Jon continues up the hill, increasingly winded, his bad leg throbbing angrily, and he thinks to himself again: he really, really doesn’t remember it being this steep.

Before long, he’s standing at the threshold of the house at Hill Top Road. The dread permeating the place is just as palpable as he remembered.

He waits for the Distortion’s inevitable appearance, determined not to let her startle him this time. As if on cue, a door creaks open on the ceiling above him.

“Interesting.” Without preamble, Helen lands noiselessly on her feet beside Jon and peers around curiously. “I wondered whether Annabelle would let me in.”

So did Jon. Maybe he should be concerned about – no. He shuts down that train of thought before it can pull out of the station.

“You still haven’t explained what exactly you plan on doing here.”

Honestly, that’s mostly because Jon hasn’t figured it out yet, either. He only Knows that this is where he needs to be.

The Eye wants things to change – as much as it can be said to want anything. Setting the question of its sentience or lack thereof aside, at the Panopticon he had been able to Know things that the Beholding had previously withheld from him. He might be stronger than the other Avatars and monsters lurking about the world, but he’s not arrogant enough to believe he could overpower any of the Fears themselves. If the Ceaseless Watcher gives him access to knowledge, it’s because his Knowing will facilitate – or at least not inhibit – its plans, which means that he must have the Eye’s… blessing, to be here? He shakes his head; he’s getting caught up on semantics again.

Point is: he Asked a question and – as usual – he was given a scrap of an answer and left to puzzle the rest out for himself. All he Knows for certain is what he wants to happen, and that this is where he needs to be in order to make it happen.

“Jonathan.” Helen says his name with a playful lilt and leans further into his personal space. “Are you going to share with the class?”

Without a word, he sidesteps around her and walks further into the house. In her statement, Anya Villette had mentioned a door under the stairs leading to the basement, but the last time Jon was here, it was nowhere to be seen. He hopes it’s there this time.

“What are you looking for?”

Jon drags one hand down his face and sighs. Having Helen tag along is like taking a road trip through hell with an easily bored and… well, deeply annoying child. Huh.

“I won’t be ignored, Jon –”

Jon bristles, redirects his gaze, and stares daggers at her with a few more eyes than strictly necessary. “Some magically appearing door.”

“You aren’t being very kind to me right now, you know.” She tries to sound wounded, but really she just sounds pleased to have gotten a reaction from him.

Jon gives an irritated huff and continues forward through the entrance hall. He treads softly, all too aware of every subtle creak of a floorboard. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering muffling his footsteps. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is; Annabelle will know – probably already knows – that he’s here regardless. Still, there’s just something about the house that demands a certain amount of fearful reverence. Disturbing the silence just feels like a bad idea.

Helen doesn’t appear to have the same concerns. In fact, it almost seems like she’s going out of her way to announce their presence. Of course.

Jon catches a glimpse of the staircase as he rounds the corner and – yes, there’s a door under the stairs. A plain, painted white door with a brass handle, otherwise unremarkable and entirely unassuming.

And yet…

As he tries to approach it, he finds himself rooted to the spot, overcome with a sense of trepidation. He feels his breath coming faster, shallower; feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Every one of the Archive’s eyes locks onto the doorknob and for a moment he swears he feels tiny, feather-light legs scurrying down his spine. He pulls his pack tight against him, using the physical weight of it to dampen the tactile hallucination.

“I hate it,” Helen says darkly. Jon jumps just slightly at the break in the silence, and a few of the Archive’s eyes suspend their rapt scrutiny of the door handle to glance in her direction. Her posture is tense where she stands, staring warily at the door as if it might lunge at them. Jon has never seen the Distortion look so… unsettled.

She’s right, though. The door is wrong. More than that, it’s the exact same flavor of wrongness that he felt the first time he saw A Guest for Mr. Spider, and again when he reached out to knock on the monster’s door.

Back then, he hadn’t known that the concept of wrongness could be broken down into so many distinct subtypes: the uncanny disquietude of the Stranger feels fundamentally different from the compulsion of the coffin, the sensation of worms tunneling through flesh, the Distortion’s nonsensical corridors, the Lonely’s suffocating fog.

The pull of the Web is in a class of its own, and the sight of the door in front of him drops him right back into the memory of the day he opened the book – the day he took the first step on the winding path that led him, inevitably, to this exact moment. It’s such a fitting parallel, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was orchestrated down to the finest detail. He knows the Web plays a long game, but precisely how much of what has happened was in perfect accordance with the Web’s plans? What even is the Web’s –

No. Stop fixating on the Spider, he reprimands himself for the umpteenth time this… day? Whatever; it’s not important. He forces his legs to move.

“You’re sticking your hand in a bear trap, I hope you know.”

“I knew opening the door was a stupid thing to do,” Jon says, nonchalant. “So I opened the door.”

Helen breathes a surprised laugh. “Was that a joke?”

“The idea that this is all some grand cosmic joke,” Jon rattles off drily, “thousands of us running around spread horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible unknowing things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we caused –”

“Terrible.” Helen groans and puts her head in her hands. “Here I was, ready to compliment you on finally finding a sense of humor, and you have to ruin the moment with – with existentialist brooding.”

Jon chuckles quietly to himself and takes another step forward.

“Wait.” Helen reaches one long-fingered hand in Jon’s direction, then falters and pulls back. For a moment, she seems to wrestle with whether or not to continue. “What’s behind the door?”

“A scar in reality –”

“Yes, I know about the rift. What do you expect to find in it? An answer? An escape? A means of suicide?”

“A metaphysical quirk of this new reality’s divorce from the traditional concept of time.”

Jon pauses, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks inward and browses through his catalog.

“It bends and twists and returns to what it was,” he settles on eventually.

“I told you not to use my words.” Helen gives him a warning look, but it’s fleeting, because a moment later his meaning sinks in and she huffs out a short laugh of disbelief. “Wait – wait, wait, wait. You think you can… what, turn back time?”

Jon grimaces and makes a noncommittal seesawing motion with one hand.

“…could emerge back into the world that she remembered.”

Helen starts laughing in earnest now. “You think you can time travel?”

Jon just shrugs, unashamed. He knows he should feel embarrassed – back when he first took the position as Head Archivist, he would have scoffed at anyone making such a suggestion – but at this point, is it any more or less unrealistic than anything else that’s happened?

“Alright,” Helen says, stifling another giggle, “I’ll grant you that there’s a rift in space and time. People have traveled through it before.”

Jon gives an enthusiastic nod. After her encounter with the crack in the house's foundation, Anya Villette had found herself temporally displaced. What would stop Jon from also –

“However,” Helen continues, “what makes you think you’ll just rewind your position on this timeline? It could just take you to a parallel world, leaving this one behind to suffer and decay. Would you abandon what remains of humanity like that?”

Seeing as Anya Villette appeared to have also been spatially displaced, Jon has already considered this possibility. Helen probably knows that, too – she’s well-acquainted with his tendency to overthink things. She’s just trying to tap into his chronic self-loathing, demoralize him, make him doubt his own perceptions. It’s a familiar pattern, one Jon used to submit to far too easily.

“…better than staying here with this strange woman.”

“Ouch.” Helen brings a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You’re being awfully cruel today.”

Jon flashes an entirely unapologetic smile.

“I was being serious, you know.” A knowing mischief creeps into Helen’s eyes. “You’ve always been selfish, but would you really run away from your mistakes, save yourself and damn the rest?”

Unfortunately for Helen, she’s arrived too late to this particular debate. Jon already spent the entire trip here berating himself and second-guessing his conclusions, and he’s just about gotten it out of his system for the time being. Self-recrimination as an inoculation against the Distortion’s manipulations – now there’s a concept, he thinks wryly.

“Do you honestly believe you deserve to escape an apocalypse that you brought about?”

God, she’s persistent.

“Now there’s only one thing I have left that I value,” he says simply. “That I love. And I cannot lose him.”

It’s the truth: the final deciding factor for him was, as it so often is, Martin.

“You would potentially forsake this entire world just to reverse your own loss?”

“There was nothing left to save.”

It never gets easier to admit it out loud, but that doesn’t change the truth of it. This world is already forsaken. Humanity is dying out, slowly but surely, and Jon harbors a guilty feeling of relief that their torment will not be eternal after all. As far as he can See, there’s no way for him to save the ones who remain. There never was.

His power was never meant to help anyone. For a long time, the only action within his grasp was to hurt – and so, he went after those who deserved to be hurt, because the only other option was doing nothing at all. But seeking revenge never saved anyone, never even made himself feel any better. If anything, it only made him feel emptier, more and more alienated from whatever human part of him still lingered – and that was a very dangerous place to be.

And when he and Martin decided together that he needed to slow down, to maintain some distance between himself and the Eye? Well… nothing substantial changed in the slightest. He didn’t get any worse, but he also didn’t get better. The world continued to suffer just as much as if he were to sit down and take no action at all. Nothing he did or did not do made any impact whatsoever.

He Knows intimately that he cannot banish the Entities from this world as long as one person remains to feel fear. Once that last person dies, there will be no one left to save. Hell, depending on how human he still is by that time, he may very well be that last person, and the Dread Powers will just have to ration him. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve all had a taste of him more than once. He’s an unfinished meal. They could just resume hacking away at him, demanding their respective pounds of flesh one after the other until nothing remains – until finally, mercifully, the Fears themselves would wither and die as well. He just doesn’t want to consider how long that could take – no. Best not to dwell on it.

The point is, there is no future for this world. There is nothing left for him to do here. His only hope is to prevent all of this from coming to pass in the first place, and this… this is the only lead he has. And besides, Martin –

“You do realize that you have a vanishingly small chance of seeing him again, don’t you?”

“I decided to take a risk and try it anyway.”

Helen looks put out at his easy dismissal, but she really ought to know better by now, Jon thinks. He might be chronically plagued by self-hate and a visceral fear of being controlled, but Martin is his anchor in more ways than one. Their relationship is proof of Jon’s own capacity for free will, and his decision to go after Martin in the Lonely remains one of the only things he’s done where he’s never once wondered whether he made the right choice. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more confident about anything than he is about their love for each other, even if he doesn’t always feel like he deserves it. Helen really couldn’t pick a worse seed with which to sow self-doubt.

When she sees that Jon isn’t taking the bait, she changes tack.

“And assuming this scheme somehow works as you hope it does, and doesn’t just get you shunted to some hellish pocket dimension – which it almost certainly will – you do realize that your little scene with Jonah Magnus will mean nothing, don’t you? This future will be erased, he will not suffer for eternity – he won’t even remember that it was ever a possibility.”

“For all her anger, there was no thirst for revenge in the Archivist, only an eagerness to expunge an infection that had gone unnoticed for too long.”

“Then why bother confronting him? I know it wasn’t for closure – if you were at all capable of letting go or moving on, you would never have been a candidate for the Beholding in the first place, and we wouldn’t be here now.” Jon just barely manages to not flinch at that. Luckily, Helen doesn’t seem to notice that she struck a nerve, instead staring up at the ceiling in contemplation, as if trying to decipher Jon’s motivations on her own. “So, why? All those messy emotions it dredged up and for what – the drama of it all?”

“I live for the monologue,” he deadpans.

“Jonathan!” Helen gapes at him in exaggerated shock. “Was that another joke?”

She could stand to tone down the condescension, Jon thinks. It isn’t his fault if people overlook his sense of humor just because they never think to listen for it.

“Are you certain about this, Archivist? You have a history of reaching these points of no return and choosing the worst imaginable path.”

Even at the very end, the Distortion just can’t resist one last chance at undermining his confidence. Despite the cockiness underlying her taunt, Helen has a hungry, almost pleading look in her eye – desperate, like everything else in this place that feeds on fear, for scraps in the midst of a famine that will never be remedied.

Jon reaches out and grips the doorknob with one hand.

“Even the end of the world can’t stop you throwing yourself on a grenade. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m not following you in there, though.”

“Thank heaven for small mercies, I suppose.”

“I am trying to have a heartfelt goodbye, Jonathan,” Helen says, not sounding sincere in the slightest. “I doubt this will go as you hope it will, but I’m fairly certain that no matter what happens, I won’t be seeing you again. I won’t wish you luck, but… well, it will be interesting to see whether one of your half-assed plans might pan out for once – not that they ever have gone according to plan.” When Jon’s resolve remains strong, Helen sighs – and this time, her disappointment does sound genuine. “Well, if you’re sure…” She trails off, giving him one last hopeful look – once last chance to fall apart under her skillful denigrations – before her shoulders slump in resignation.

Not content to leave it at that, though, she does offer one last parting shot: “Do say hello to the Spider for me, won’t you?”

An involuntary shudder courses down Jon’s spine as he remembers Anya Villette’s statement – the massive spider legs reaching up to pull her into the crack in the foundation – and compares it with his own memory of the book, the door, and the monster lurking within. Helen breathes a contented sigh at his ripple of unease – basically a snack for her, at Jon’s expense. Fine. She can have that last little morsel of fear from him, as a parting gift.

“Sometimes you just have to leave,” Jon says firmly, turning the handle. “Even if what’s on the other side scares you.”

And, oh, it does.

Miraculously, Helen allows him to have the last word. As he pushes open the door to the basement, he hears Helen’s door creak open in unison. By the time he’s staring down the stairs into the dark, her door has snapped shut and popped out of existence.

The staircase pitches down, down, down, stretching far deeper than it should. It’s too dark to see much of anything, and it takes a full minute of descent until he notices that there’s a slight curve to it. With every step, the air grows warmer and more stifling. The revolting sensation of walking through cobwebs becomes a constant, but any time he reaches up to brush away the web clinging to him, he feels nothing but his own bare skin.

A few minutes in, his bad leg starts twinging again, and he holds on to the wall to steady himself. Before long, his mind begins to wander to the horrifying possibility that the staircase is interminable, and he’s overcome by an image of a funnel web spider waiting patiently for unsuspecting prey. He tries to push the thought away. Just keep moving.

Between the lack of visibility and being lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice the sharp turn in the staircase until he plows right into the wall, a sharp pain erupting in his left shoulder from the collision. He throws one hand back to steady himself and only barely manages to stay on his feet, his bad leg protesting as he throws his weight into it. After briefly taking inventory of himself and experimentally putting weight on his leg again – painful, but not unbearable – he gropes blindly for the wall again and uses it to guide himself forward, more slowly this time. It isn’t long before the stone of the wall gives way to cool, damp earth, and he shivers with the memory of the Buried.

After several more sharp, nearly 90-degree twists and turns, a faint glow starts to permeate the darkness. A few minutes later, the staircase opens up into a large, dimly-lit space, garlanded with spider silk. The ceiling, walls, and floor are composed of tightly-packed dirt, and Jon has to fight back a rush of claustrophobic panic at the thought of being surrounded on all sides by the crushing earth. It’s short-lived, as it’s crowded out by a much deeper, more primal fear when he sees the fissure in the ground ahead.

It’s a repulsive, crooked thing, oozing with a pervasive, tangible feeling of wrongness. It should not be there. It cannot be there. And yet there it is, boldly existing where it has no right or reason to be, a gnawing, open, inflamed wound in the fabric of reality, pulling him toward it like a black hole. It’s a compulsion stronger than the coffin, an abomination more uncanny than the Stranger, a malice deeper than any Dark, an inevitability on par with Terminus itself.

Jon hates it. At his first glimpse of it, every one of the Archive’s eyes fly open, greedily drinking in the oppressive presence of something so unfamiliar and anomalous, leeching off of Jon’s terror as he beholds it. The scrutiny is fleeting, though, as the sight of it turns corrosive and blistering; all at once, the eyes shrink away and retreat, like a school of fish spotting a bird of prey swooping down for a meal. It takes some of the edge off, having fewer eyes with which to see the thing, but it still weighs him down with dread and revulsion.

Jon doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, staring unblinkingly at the fault line, before he senses a presence – something colossal and hungry and wrong, malevolence and foreboding given physical form – climbing inexorably toward him. He hears a faint rustling, the whisper of tiny avalanches of dirt scraped loose and sent sliding down the walls of the crevice. He knows exactly what to expect, and still he isn’t prepared when the first of the spider’s legs peeks up over the lip of the fissure.

How is it that after a lifetime to process a childhood trauma, it still throttles his heart and squeezes the air from his lungs at the mere thought of it? How is it that, despite being the most formidable thing in this world outside of Fear itself, he feels as small and helpless now as he did on the day he met his first of many monsters? Why is he just standing here, letting those hairy, spindly limbs hover and curl around him like an enormous clawed hand, waiting for a fate that is as unknowable as it is inevitable?

Focus, Jon thinks to himself. Listen to the quiet.

He slowly reaches into his jacket and breathes a sigh of relief as his fingers close around the notebook safeguarded there. It’s Martin’s, full of poems and sketches and stream-of-consciousness journal entries. Jon has had it with him for a long time now, but he’s never been able to bring himself to look inside it. Martin would occasionally share its contents with him – mostly completed poems, and only occasionally works in progress, as he was always self-conscious about his creative process – but Jon doesn’t want to accidentally see something that Martin would have preferred to keep to himself. Martin might not be beside him right now, but he still deserves to have his privacy respected.

Still, for Jon, just having it with him is a physical reminder of his anchor, and running his thumb over the cover grounds him in the present. He closes his eyes and looks inward.

The Archive gropes blindly for something solid amidst the noise, some elemental truth to serve as a starting point in the chaotic tangle choking this place. The edges of his mind brush against thread after thread and none of them are what he’s looking for. They stick to him, filling his head with cotton, making him sluggish and confused, obfuscating his sight. The Spider watches as he flails, becoming more and more snarled in the web.

“I closed my eyes and remembered in as much detail and with as much love as I could muster in my despair,” he whispers to himself, anchoring himself in the truth of the statement. He swallows a terrified whimper as something coarse and fuzzy brushes against his face, and he weaves a command into his next words: “Eventually, I opened my eyes again –”

The Archive obeys, hundreds of eyes materializing on his skin and blinking open in the space around him, grotesque satellites of varying sizes all seizing on single question, and suddenly he can See –

There.

A single thread, out of place among the rest, pulled taut and leading down into the deep gloom of the chasm. He spares a brief thought as to its origin point – Is its anchor here, now, or do its roots begin on the other side? – before silencing it. It’s not a question that needs answering right now. The Beholding objects; Jon reflexively shuts it down and takes an aggravated swipe at the nearest cluster of eyes he can reach, like swatting at a swarm of mosquitoes. He doesn’t think it actually does anything concrete, but when they disperse it brings him a small measure of satisfaction all the same.

He gives an experimental tug on the thread and – it feels right. That’s good, right? Well, he supposes it could be the Web trying to trick him into –

God, he’s like a dog with a bone. He could be trapped in a burning building and find part of his mind wandering off to idly ponder the melting point of steel –

…around 1370 °C for carbon steel; between 1400 and 1530°C for stainless steel, depending on the specific alloy and grade…

– which, yes, he has done. It’s a good way to dissociate from a crisis. Unfortunately, it’s also a good way to get killed, and the giant spider is still there, Jonathan, focus.

He holds fast to the thread – make a path for yourself, tune it to the frequency you need –

“Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me,” he tells himself, louder this time, “it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.”

– and he follows it, stepping carefully around and between the spider’s legs. He has no idea why it isn’t attacking him – what if this is exactly what Annabelle – no. He shakes his head as if it will jostle the thought loose. Just be thankful for it and keep moving before the damn thing changes its mind.

Moments or hours or perhaps days later, he’s standing at the precipice of the fissure and looking down. Several eyes are riveted on the massive hairy form poised above him, but most are staring into the unknowable darkness with a gnawing, longing fascination. He stands frozen in place, torn between an overwhelming urge to flee and an overpowering need to Know what’s down there: something new, something fresh, something different – any reprieve at all from the excruciating monotony of this nightmare world.

The spider shifts above him. It’s now or never. He has nothing to lose, and if there’s any chance at all of changing this doomed future – of seeing Martin again…

“Sometimes you just have to leave,” he reminds himself, shutting his human eyes tight, one hand clutching the notebook and the other clenching into a fist until the fingernails cut into the palm. “Even if what’s on the other side scares you.”

He takes one last deep breath, thinks of Martin – safe hands, warm eyes, gentle touch – and he takes a leap of faith.

Jon can’t see anything. He can’t See, either. There is an incessant, high-pitched whine screaming in his ears and drowning out his thoughts. When he moves to put his hands over his ears, he realizes all at once that he can’t feel his body. He has no sense of up or down, no fingers to flex, no breath to hold, and – and he can’t See.

It’s… terrifying. It’s liberating. It hurts, but in the same way that his first gulp of fresh air hurt after three days asphyxiating in the Buried.

He doesn’t know how long he floats there in that near-senseless limbo, but between one moment and the next a blanket of fog drops over him and the shrill static is muffled. Through the haze, he can just barely make out a voice, coming from so far away – like he’s drowning, and someone is speaking to him from above the water’s surface. He drifts and listens in a daze as the voice cuts in and out.

“– just – thought I’d – by. Check in – how you’re –”

It’s a nice voice.

“– really need you –”

A safe voice.

“– Jon.”

Wait.

“– bad. I – how much longer we can –”

Wait, it’s – that’s Martin’s voice.

“We – I need you.”

It’s Martin. Martin!

Martin is here, he’s here – Jon doesn’t know where here is, but it doesn’t matter, because Martin is here, and – and Jon is so overwhelmed with euphoria that he isn’t actually processing what’s being said. Calm down, focus – focus on the words –

“And I – I know that you’re not –”

Oh.

“I know there’s no way to –”

Oh, no.

“But we need you, Jon.”

All at once, Jon knows where – when he is.

“Jon, please, just – please.”

No. No, no, no, no –

“If – if there’s anything left in you that can still see us, or –”

Martin, I’m here!

“– or some power that you’ve still got, or –”

I’m here, I’m here, I’m here –

“– or, or something, anything, please! Please.”

Martin’s voice breaks, and Jon’s heart fractures with it.

“I – I can’t –”

Jon can just barely make out the buzz of a phone and – oh.

“I’m – I’m actually with him now.”

Martin!

“You were right.” A pause, and a heavy sigh. “I – will they be safe?”

Peter Lukas. It’s Peter Lukas. Peter Lukas is still alive, Peter Lukas is hunting Martin, Peter Lukas wants to feed him to the Lonely, Peter Lukas is –

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

Martin, don’t –

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

Martin!

“I’m sorry.”

Jon tries to scream, to reach out, to do anything at all, but he doesn’t have a body and he doesn’t have a voice and he can’t See –

“Goodbye, Jon.”

Martin, look at me! Hear me, please - see me!

He tries to thread a command through the words, but the compulsion doesn't come through, and -

Jon hears the rustle of clothing as Martin stands to leave, followed by the soft click of the door as it closes behind him.

Fuck.

End Notes:

me: i could go into some long-winded exposition about the space-time continuum also me: OR, alternatively, i can handwave it and say It's The Power Of Love, Don't Even Worry About It

anyway, my gay little heart knows what it's about.

- Jon’s dialogue is taken from the statements in the following episodes: MAG 146; 054; 151; 139; 168; 101; 134; 010; 037; 008; 019; 167; 108; 103; 146; 048; 013; 146.

- Jon gets some original verbal dialogue starting next chapter. Thought I'd mention it just in case anyone is getting tired of the Archive-speak (though there will still be some of that). :P

- Psst, if you want to read a detour about Jon and Martin's talk about Annabelle and free will and Not Obsessing Over The Web, I wrote that here. (I'm linking it here because it actually originally started as part of this fic but I decided to make it its own thing because my ADHD brain ran with it and it was waaaaay too much of a tangent sdsdhshgh)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #long post #spoilers through MAG 169 #tma spoilers

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alfred-braginsky · 4 years

Note

WRITE THE 1930’S GANSTER FIC YES YES YES IM HERE FOR IT

You got it !

Warning: Some graphic depictions of violence, dead body, organized crime, smoking. Gangster boyfriends inspired by this piece of art.

Thank you @capncronchnberries and your followers for the consistent inspiration lately! @ the people who sent me prompts a whilllleee ago I’m working on them I swear! | AO3 |

1931 Chicago, Illinois

A wet crack resounded against the brick walls of the isolated alley. The occasional footsteps could be heard from late night dock workers making their way to speakeasies. Nothing like a visit to the ol’ gin mill to put a few bucks into the pockets of the gangsters that ran them.

Alfred tightly gripped the bloodied baseball bat as he examined his work. A man dressed in a cheap suit eyes wide open; head split open blood spilling from the blunt force that was used to kill him, laid in horror in the forgotten alley.

“It makes it harder to clean up this way.”

“Yeah, but you know he had it comin’ and I’ve been real stressed lately, it was good to let it out.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t use your beloved gun.” Ivan took a handkerchief and handed it to Alfred, who graciously took it to wipe the speckled blood on his face.

“She’s a beaut! Dame of my life. Like I said, been kind stressed lately. You know the boss’ been down our necks for collecting our green before it’s due.”

Ivan nodded. It’s true. Romulus had been getting up in the years, still young, but not as young as he used to be. There was talk about him starting to lose control of the empire of crime he built. Rumors that didn’t sit well with him. He sent his best blonde with a baseball bat to squash the talk of the town.

“You talk about this gun as if she as feelings.”

“Pfft, she’s got about as much feelings as your rusty pipe.”

“Leave Anya out of this.”

“Aw, are you jealous, big guy? C'mon you know I’ve put my finger on your trigger in a way Amelia doesn’t know.”

Ivan’s eyes rolled so far back he was afraid they would be stuck there forever. Alfred could be so crude and unprofessional, but the way he smirked at him so smugly he could only let out a sigh of annoyance.

“There is a man lying dead in the alley and all you can do is make lewd comments.”

“Want me to cover his ears?”

“We need to cover him up.”

Alfred nodded, his demeanor changing into something more serious. The blood would eventually darken and blend into every other ominous stain on the brown brick wall.

“Right, before any coppers show up.”

“Precisely.”

Romulus had paid off a considerable amount of the police department, however, they still needed to be careful and dispose of the bodies as discreetly as possible. The corpse was wrapped into burlap cloth bleeding through the thick fabric. Alfred had the body on his shoulder as Ivan backed the car into the narrow alley. The trunk was popped open and Alfred dumped the body there along with his bat and shut the door. He sat up front in the passenger seat next to Ivan.

They drove in silence; which Ivan thought was out of character for Alfred. Even after killing a man in cold blood, the man was usually bubbly and had a motor on his mouth going faster than any car he’s seen. But today, he’s quiet. Was Romulus really giving him a hard time? Or maybe it was Arthur? He’ll give him his space for now.

They drove to Bubbly Creek. The place always reeked of sulfur and death, but it was the perfect spot to get rid of any garbage. They stopped the car and got as close to the river as possible. It was hard to see where they were stepping, the moon not helping much in illuminating their way.

Alfred and Ivan got out of the car. Alfred lingered for a moment and immediately lit a cigarette while Ivan went to open the trunk and get the cinder blocks out, placing them on the ground. The smaller of the two took a long drag of the nicotine stick before making his way to the other man.

He slipped the smoke from his lips as he approached the trunk and passed it over to Ivan. Ivan had already begun reaching for it just as Alfred offered it and took in between his fingers in one smooth motion. Sharing a smoke while getting rid of a body had become a familiar ritual between them.

The body was flung over Alfred’s shoulders, and Ivan picked up both cinder blocks and rope while the cigarette was safely placed between his lips. Mud squelched as they made their way closer to the bridge.

Alfred set the body onto the ground and Ivan got work with the heavy bricks and secured them around where the man’s neck was and his legs. They hoisted him back up onto the ledge of the bridge.

“1. 2. 3.” and pushed him into the river and the man fell with a splash. They didn’t need to look to see that the man sunk fast.

“Let’s go back, solnyshko.” Ivan typically wouldn’t use the nickname he had for Alfred outside their apartment, but he could see the stress of the day weighing on him. It was all worth it seeing the way his lips curled into an amused smile.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?”

Ivan turned his head left and right as he searched the area. He knew no one was here. It was the dead of night at one of the foulest smelling areas since the Union Stock Yards. Alfred watched him curiously then eyes opening wide as Ivan kissed him.

Their cautious kiss ended as quickly as it had started. Alfred’s worried creases were replaced by crinkles of elation.

“Buy your best fella a drink?” Alfred’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Ivan’s heart skipped a beat.

“I suppose you deserve it.”

#rusame #aph russia #aph america #amerus #ficlet #my shit #ask

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im-a-star-boy · 4 years

Text

Uno Reverse Card

So I finished this last decade but I forgot to upload it so like- here. Worked on it with @fandomsumthing as usual!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Summary: Peter always has witty comebacks but sometimes they come back and bite him in the ass. That’s okay, if you don’t have an overprotective boyfriend who will fight anyone who looks at you the wrong way.

Word Count: 6,703

Date Of Completion: Monday, December 30th, 2019 (LAST FIC OF THE 2010′S!!!)

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Prepared. A word that people say perfectly describes Peter. For the most part, they’re right. He always had copies of his homework and bandaids with disinfectant on hand. Another word that people use to describe is quick-witted. Always ready to snap back with a better joke or insult. Now combined those and what comes out is a power that is seen as inhuman.

“Fucking fag.” One of the boys, Carlton, who’d been bullying him growled.

He and two other boys had Peter cornered to a locker, and a good number of students were standing by, watching uncomfortably. Peter simply grinned and shuffled around in his back pocket for a moment, before pulling out a self-painted rainbow reverse card. “No u,” Peter replied simply, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Carlton, along with his goons, turned a light red as the crowd around them let out snickers or full-on laughs. This was obviously not their plan at all. Carlton shot an angry look at Peter, who smiled in return. They both knew that physically fighting during school was prohibited, so Carlton backed off with his friends following.

Peter didn’t think that he had done anything too noteworthy, but that was because he’s never heard anything Carlton had done to people who stood up to him. That’s because no one spoke about what he had done to them out of fear. Carlton had little morals, so he wouldn’t steal anything from them, but he would make them feel as embarrassed as him or as hurt as him.

As Peter stepped out of his last class, an extra bounce to his step from passing a test, he happily strutted down the hallway, prepared to drop off his things then do a patrol. He stopped at his locker and shoved his schoolbag into his locker. He had lost so many backpacks that he just set aside one for school and left everything in there. He grabbed his backpack that held his suit, extra clothes, and snacks, and happily began walking to the exit.

He said his goodbyes to Gwen and Anya who both had extra work that they were doing in their labs. Not that they were failing or anything, they just had a personal project together. Miles wasn’t there because he was meeting him on patrol.

“Someone’s really chipper,” Anya commented as she noticed Peter’s slight bounce.

Peter smiled. “I passed that surprise English test.”

“The one about the book no one read?” Gwen asked. It was true, no one read the book because it didn’t have substance. Usually, the books assigned were really great, but this one just was all over the place.

“Yup! Hey, I gotta go meet up with Harry so can we talk about this later?” Peter asked. The two girls shared a smile at each other then looked back at Peter.

“You two going to hold hands?” Gwen asked, her voice mocking a small child. Peter and Anya laughed.

“I’m going to be late if I don’t go now,” Peter said smiling.

“Alright, see ya around!” Gwen called as he walked away.

Peter laughed to himself and walked towards the exit. He checked his phone, seeing that Harry had texted him. As he exited the building, he felt his spidey sense suddenly scream. He looked up, seeing no immediate danger when he felt someone grab his collar and drag him to the side before being thrown down onto the pavement with a surprising amount of force. He looked up in alarm, to see Carlton standing over him with a malicious look in his eye. “Hey Parker, wanna chat?”

“By the looks of it, you don’t want to do much chatting.” Peter got to his feet to run. He could easily take Carlton, but that would most definitely reveal his identity as Spider-Man or at the very least raise suspicions.

Before Peter could get away, Carlton grabbed a fist full of Peter’s hair and pulled. It felt like he was trying to scalp him. “Leaving so soon? Come on, my friends would like to chat with you too, fag.” Carlton growled.

Peter followed him, assuming that if he didn’t then he’d be dragged by the hair and it was already painful enough. “You know this counts as a hate crime,” Peter muttered.

Carlton simply scowled before throwing him onto the ground and kicking him in the stomach. “Shut the fuck up.” He snarled, as his friends approached.

Before Peter could stand up to defend himself, he felt someone kick him in the back. As more people began to kick him, he curled into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment, he felt someone grab a fistful of his hair again and practically drag him to his feet. He let out a cry of pain before someone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. Carlton was glaring daggers at him. He rolled up his sleeves before punching him hard in the face. Peter felt blood wash down his face from his nose as he staggered backward. He was pushed forward by the boy who had grabbed his arms. He clenched his fist as his face was met with concrete. He coughed and was pulled to his feet once more. Peter growled as he was thrown against the wall, and one of Carlton’s friends punched him in the gut. Peter coughed as he slumped backward.

Peter’s phone had fallen out and Carlton had picked it up, seeing all the messages from Harry. The heart right next to his name didn’t go unnoticed. “Hold him against the wall,” Carlton ordered and his friends did so. Peter was still slumped over and catching his breath when they did so.

“So you are someone’s fuck toy Parker?” Carlton smirked, holding the phone up to Peter’s face. Peter looked up barely. He saw Harry’s name and swore to himself.

“That’s my best friend.” Peter partially lied.

Carlton laughed. “Best friend.” He mocked. “That’s bullshit.”

Peter held his tongue, despite wanting to launch at Carlton, who was laughing. “Makes sense, someone like you being a goddamn cockwarmer.” He sneered.

Peter felt his face flush with embarrassment. “It’s not like that!” He snapped, struggling lightly to push one of the other boys off.

Carlton laughed once again, before throwing Peter’s phone on the ground, shattering it. The battery fell out, shutting his phone off. Peter flinched as Carlton stomped on it, an amused look on his face. He punched him one more time before spitting on his face. “Come on guys, let’s take out the trash.” He sneered.

Peter let out a cry of alarm as the other two boys picked him up. “God he’s so light!” One of them shouted, seeming alarmed.

Peter kicked frantically as Carlton opened the dumpster. He felt himself fall for a second, then he landed on a trash bag. He yelped in pain as scrap metal dug into his back. What was he expecting, it was a school that centers on building robots for god’s sake!

“How’s it feel to be home?” One of them laughed.

“This might seem surprising, but this isn’t my first time in a dumpster.” Peter groaned. He didn’t sit up or adjust himself. Passed off what he’s experienced with Carlton, if he did, he’d get knocked out or worse. How did he even get into Horizon?

“Well, this will the longest time.” Carlton was about to close the lid but one of his friends grabbed his wrist. “What? Are you pussying out?”

“No, just wait a sec.” He said and then there were footsteps and some rustling. He came back and handed Carlton something. From where Peter was lying he could see a smirk on his face.

“This is why you’re my friend, Jim. You always think of something to make these things better.” A trash bag landed on Peter’s gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Come on guys, I think we’re finished here,” Carlton called. He looked down at Peter one last time with a smile and then slammed the lid shut. He could hear his friends laughing as they walked off. Peter waited a few more minutes before trying to open the lid.

“Shit,” Peter mumbled to himself, realizing as the lid only jiggled that Carlton must have locked the lid before leaving. His anxiety began to rise as he realized how stuck he actually was. Breaking through the dumpster itself was a no go, he’d get more injured and is someone was walking by then he could be discovered as Spider-Man. If someone was walking by… Peter began banging on the side of the dumpster and calling for help.

After a few minutes, he had begun to run out of breath. He gave up for a while but never stopped tapping the side with his knuckles. After what must’ve been an hour or two, he heard a clicking. He looked up and was startled as streams of light poured into the dumpster. He covered his eyes with his hands, before grinning. “Nice weather we’re having, am I right?”

The lid dropped and he heard a shriek. After a second, the lid opened again. “Holy fuck- are you okay?”

Peter realized he must look like shit. Black eyes, bloody nose, cuts, and scrapes. He shrugged. “Eh, could be worse.”

The man reached in and helped Peter out of the dumpster. “God kid, go tell Modell what happened to you. That’s a nasty prank to pull.”

“Yeah. Um, could you help me to the schoolyard?” Peter asked. He knew he heard Carlton and his friends walk down the opposite direction of the school, but he also wasn’t sure if they decided to circle around in that time.

“I’ll walk you right to the door. You look like you’re about to pass out.” The man offered. Peter nodded, he often looked worse than he actually was.

Peter stopped. “W-wait.” He stumbled to the scraps of his phone. It was definitely beyond repair.

He searched through the busted metal before letting out a relieved sigh. The SD card remained undamaged. He carefully put the card in his pocket and returned to the mans’ side.

The walk there was fast, the trash guy really worried about Peter. He got to the doors and hesitated. “Do you have a card or something?” He asked Peter.

“Yeah, in my bag- shit.” Peter didn’t have his bag on him. Which held his Spider-Man suit. Did Carlton take it? Did he already know? What if he-

“I have it right here. I saw it next to the dumpster and grabbed it when we started walking.” He handed over the bag. “I thought you might have some important things in there. I gotta go, my job can’t be put on hold for too long.”

Peter nodded, “Check the trash.” Peter joked, getting a chuckle from the man as he walked away.

Peter sighed and debated on telling Max. He was a busy man, and he didn’t really want anyone else on campus to see him as beat to hell as he was. He sighed, before deciding to take a shower in one of the shower rooms. The school decided to install them after several kids had buckets upon buckets of paint fall on them. Not to mention any other lab accident that may happen. Peter stepped into one of the showers and washed the blood and dirt off of him. He sighed as he pulled on his shirt and jeans. They didn’t smell too foul and Peter sprayed a bit of provided Febreze onto him. He quickly decided he would change outfits and tell Max what happened the next day. Even if his wounds healed, the trash man and cameras would be able to defend his point.

Peter looked in a mirror and saw the scraps on his face along with the black eye. He grabbed his bag quickly, thinking he had makeup in there. Even with his super-fast healing, he found that bruise still took longer to heal. Maybe his body saw the cuts as more important and went for them first? He didn’t know.

He started digging through the bag and realized that he didn’t have enough makeup to cover the whole bruise. That was going to cause trouble. Letting out a sigh, Peter had no choice but to make the walk to the subway sporting a bruise. He reached for his phone only to remember that Carlton completely destroyed it. Now he couldn’t tell Harry he wasn’t going to show or Miles that he couldn’t go on patrol until later. He let out a heavy sigh, trusting that they’d understand until he could pay for a replacement, as he began down the hallway.

He got to the train station with nothing more than a few weird looks. He sat down and began fidgeting uncomfortably. After a few painfully long minutes, he got to his stop and jogged the rest of the way. When he arrived home, he walked into the kitchen. There was a note on the table. ‘Long shift at work today, won’t be home until 10:30, dinner is leftovers. -Love, May.’ He smiled softly and made a sandwich, before taking it upstairs to his room to do his homework.

After about an hour and a half, he heard the doorbell ring. Peter hurried down the stairs, knowing it wasn’t May but still wondering who it was. He got to the door and the person knocked.

“Peter?” Harry’s voice rang from behind the door. He sounded slightly peeved. Peter opened the door and Harry let out a relieved sigh.

“I’ve texted you 50 times, no answer. I’ve called you 15 times, no answer. Can I please have an e-“ Harry stopped and took in Peter. He had his hand cupped over his eye like was blocking something from him. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Peter asked, acting like nothing was up but failing horribly.

“You know what I mean.” Harry took a step in and shut the door behind him. “Why are you hiding your eye from me?”

“No reason.” Peter squeaked, he cursed himself for doing so.

His boyfriend grew suspicious of him. Harry began walking towards Peter while Peter backed away. Soon Peter’s back hit the wall which caused him to gasp because of the bruise on his back. Before he could slide away, Harry placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and moved his hand so it was on top of Peter’s. He grabbed Peter’s hand lightly pulled it away, seeing Peter’s black eye and scratch. His other hand immediately cupped his face. “Peter, what happened?!”

“Har, I’m okay. I just- rough patrol?” His voice came out more as a question than a reply.

“Miles called me and said you never showed up for patrol,” Harry said. “And these injuries would’ve been well over healed by now if they were from last night or even this morning.”

Peter let out a resigned sigh. “I got beat up…” he mumbled.

Harry let out a sigh, before leading him to the couch. “Come on, tell me what happened.” He murmured.

Peter immediately laid onto Harry’s lap, his head using Harry’s legs as a pillow, as he’d done so many times before. Harry instinctively began running his fingers through Peter’s uncombed hair. Peter hummed softly. “They called me a fag and I pulled out a reverse card,” Peter admitted casually.

Harry stuttered. “You’re kidding. You’ve gotta be kidding- Peter!”

He sat up. “It was funny though! They were blushing and everything, you should’ve seen it.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Then what?”

“Then they beat me up and locked me in a dumpster.”

Harry looked down at him as he laid down on his lap again. “Like, locked you locked you, or you just stayed in there?”

“Like locked me locked me.”

He let out a deep sigh. “What’re their names, I’ll take care of them.”

Peter glared at him. “Well, there’s no way that’s happening.”

“Peter, they beat you up and left you bleeding in a dumpster.”

“You’d kill them!” Peter sat up to look him in the eyes.

“Peter! They treated you like trash! They literally threw you in the trash!” Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what Peter was doing. “You’re protecting them! Why are you doing that? They don’t deserve to be justified by you!”

“No!” Peter stood up. “I’m telling Max tomorrow. Don’t yell at me for protecting them, they don’t need to be protected. You, on the other hand, are being overprotective right now.”

Harry took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to believe you when in the past that is exactly what you’ve done?”

“Name a time that I’ve done that.” Peter was getting slightly defensive.

“Flash, Alex Simpson, Ricky Fresno, James-“ Harry stopped when Peter sat back next to him.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Peter muttered.

Harry sighed. “Pete, you can’t stop putting off your own health. Come on, let’s get you bandaged up.”

Peter made a face. “Harry, I have speed healing.”

“That doesn’t mean you should leave these wounds open. They could get infected.”

Peter shuddered at the idea. He once had a cut on his arm infected. It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with ever again to say the very least… He let out an irritated sigh, before nodding. “Alright fine.”

Harry pulled him to the bathroom, where Peter removed his shirt and sat down on the toilet. Harry sighed sadly when he saw the dark bruises on Peter’s chest and back. He grabbed disinfectant and began to clean Peter’s wounds, feeling his heartbreak every time the brunette flinched under his touch. There was a large gash in Peter’s back. Harry could only imagine what kind of scrap metal had been large enough to make an injury as large as that one. Luckily none of them were still bleeding.

Harry placed a hand on Peter’s back to get him to stop squirming. He didn’t realize that he had placed it on his bruise until he noticed that Peter was holding his breath. He pulled his hand back only to have Peter lean back on it.

“Your hands are cold.” Peter’s voice was slightly lighter than usual at the beginning of the sentence and slowly came back down to normal.

Harry sighed softly and held his hand there as he gently cleaned out the cut on his back. After a minute or two, he finished cleaning it out. He grabbed the bandages and began wrapping his wounds carefully. “Is that too tight?” He asked.

Peter shook his head. “No,”

Harry nodded. “Okay, wait here.”

He left the room and searched Peter’s closet carefully, before picking out a large, fluffy hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. He returned to the bathroom to see Peter picking lightly at the bandages. “Here.” He said, handing him the clothes.

Peter thanked him, pulling the clothes on, as Harry left to search the freezer for an ice pack. Harry came back to find Peter standing.

“Peter, you should be sitting.” Harry tried getting him to sit on the sink but Peter kept standing.

“I’m just a little bruised and cut up. Nothing broken.” Peter saw Harry’s worry and smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine, you know that I’ve been through way worse. I’ll be fine by morning.”

Harry made a face. “Come on let’s cuddle.” He decided for him.

Peter immediately perked up and happily followed Harry to his room. Peter dug his laptop out of his backpack as Harry sat down on his bed, making room for Peter. After a minute or two of searching for his charger and plugging the laptop in, Peter nestled into Harry’s side. He put the ice pack carefully onto Peter’s back as the laptop loaded up. “So why didn’t you reply to my texts?” Harry asked, pulling a blanket over the two of them.

Peter made a sour face. “Carlton broke my phone. I tried to get the scraps but they were too busted up. I got the SD card though and the rest of my stuff is stored on the cloud so I don’t think I lost anything.”

“Carlton?” Harry sat up slightly to look at Peter. Peter groaned as he realized the name slip. “You mean Carlton Wagner? He did this to you?”

“Yeah, I guess. With some of his friends.” Peter sighed.

“Of course it was.” Harry groaned. “That kid has serious anger issues.”

Peter could practically see the cogs turning in Harry’s brain. “Stop that.”

Harry looked down. “What?”

“You’re plotting something, stop it. I already told you, I’m going to tell Max tomorrow. Let it go for now.” Peter argued softly.

Harry sighed and pulled Peter closer. “Alright alright. I’ll stop.”

Peter made a relaxed noise as Harry began running his fingers through his hair. He logged into his computer and brought up Netflix. “What do you wanna watch?” He hummed, feeling relaxed.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever looks good.”

Peter looked up and started staring at Harry. “What are you looking at?” He asked jokingly.

“You said we should watch what looks good. I am.” Peter replied playfully.

“Oh my god, you are that cheesy.” Harry groaned but slowly began to laugh.

“I’m just stating facts here, Mister looks good in every picture.” Peter smiled as he clicked on Criminal Minds.

“I do not,” Harry stated. When he said that, Peter immediately made a face. He reached into Harry’s pocket, pulled out his phone, and went to his pictures.

“Yes, you do.” Peter stopped scrolling and faced the phone to Harry. “See?”

The picture showed Gwen holding Peter’s phone. Harry remembered that picture being taken because Peter’s chair gave out right then. Peter was super blurry, but his slight panicked face was still able to be seen. Miles and Anya were slightly blurry, having dived to catch Peter. Harry had also dived for Peter, but he wasn’t blurry. He looked straight out of a magazine. Harry rolled his eyes. “You photoshopped that before you sent it to me.” He defended. “I know you have the skills.”

Peter grinned, snuggling closer to Harry. “It totally wasn’t.” He denied, shoving Harry’s phone back in his pocket.

The ice pack cooled his back as he leaned into Harry, feeling the weight of sleep quickly begin to press down on him. “Are you allowed to stay the night?” He asked through a yawn.

Harry hummed. “Yeah probably, why?”

Peter shifted as close as he could as the episode began playing. “I don’t wanna move anymore.”

Harry let out a content sigh as he watched along with Peter. Not just because he was hanging out with his boyfriend but also because he had just come up with the perfect plan for revenge.

~~~

“You know that you don’t have to walk me to school.” Peter stepped out of the subway with Harry in tow.

“Oh, but I want to.” Harry smiled with faux innocence. Peter gave Harry a look as they got out of the crowd.

“What are you planning Harry?” Peter sighed, knowing that it was going to be something against Carlton.

“You’ll see, bug, you’ll see.” Harry hummed.

Peter gave him a skeptical look, before leaning into Harry. After 10 minutes, the train stopped. Peter led Harry to Horizon, stepping into the bright sun. Peter began walking to Max’s office. Harry waited outside as Peter knocked. After a moment, the heard, “Come in,” and Peter entered Max’s office.

He looked around, waiting to see if Carlton would walk past. He remembered Carlton from the short time he was at Horizon. No one knew how he got into Horizon with his temper of personality. He was smart and all, but an all-around dick. Maybe he was able to trick Max into thinking that he was a good guy or that he could change.

The only reason he’s been able to stay in was that people were too scared to actually tell on him. That’s how terrible this kids’ beat ups were. He let out a sigh, knowing Peter must’ve been in pain from this kid. Every second he thought about it made him angrier and angrier. Harry watched silently, before hearing a familiar sneering laugh. He looked up and watched Carlton and a few other boys pass. He looked to the door Peter had disappeared behind, and then to Carlton, who was turning a corner. He made up his mind and followed Carlton.

“He wasn’t reported missing.” One of the guys said.

“Then he either got out or we did his family a favor.” Carlton laughed and the others did as well.

“What about his lover? Do you think that he’s looking for him?” Another asked.

“Harry is probably not even his boyfriend. He probably just fucked him once out of need or to make that whore less bitchy.” Carlton answered. “Parker is just his late-night booty call. But could you imagine? Harry Osborn loving a fag like him?”

Harry, upon hearing that, felt furious. He rushed up to them, grabbed Carlton, spinning him around, and decked him in the face. Carlton stumbled back, letting out a cry of alarm, before falling on his ass and covering his bloody nose. “Fuck!” He screamed.

“Excuse me, I thought I heard you talking shit about my boyfriend, could you repeat that?” He snarled, an angry look on his face.

A few people stopped to stare. One boy immediately made a face, before standing up and covering the camera. A few people began moving around, blocking cameras and deactivating security bots. Harry grinned. He knew that Carlton had made enemies, but he didn’t think he’d made enemies of the entire school.

Carlton recomposed himself and scowled. “Well if it isn’t the rich kid that got kicked out of Horizon. What are you even doing here?” Carlton sneered and he raised his fists.

“I’m here on Peter’s behalf, and you’re right. I don’t go here so I can’t be kicked out. You, on the other hand, can be kicked out.” Harry couldn’t help but let his smug expression shine through. Next thing he knew, Carlton was swinging. He got Harry in the gut, which caused Harry to stumble.

“Kick his ass, Harry!” A short girl with black fading into purple yelled. Her voice only broke through the crowd’s cheers for a second. Harry threw another punch at Carlton and it was a pretty good hit, but Carlton had good hits as well.

~~~

“Thank you for telling me this Peter,” Max said standing. “Carlton was a part of a raffle to get into Horizon. Some of the teachers along with me thought it would be a good way to give more people a chance to learn.”

“Really? No background checks or anything?” Peter questioned.

“There was on all of the raffle winners. Carlton’s record was clean, now I think it’s because he used scare tactics on his victims. He had the grades.” Max sighed. “I promise that he’s going to be kicked out and everyone will be questioned about him.”

“Thanks, Max. I really appreciate-“ Peter trailed off as he picked up on cheering. Max wouldn’t have been able to hear it, but Peter could and he knew what was going on. “Max, I think something stupid is going on.”

“What?” Max asked as Peter stood up and walked to the door.

“Come with me, please? And also am I allowed to stop Harry from being an idiot?” Peter asked as he opened the door. Max nodded and followed Peter.

They both reached the crowd and some students turn to face Max. They seemed to be ready to create a wall between the fight and Max.

“Is Harry fighting Carlton?” Peter asked, displaying his worried side rather than his annoyed. He knew Harry would get into a fight with Carlton, but he thought he’d at least be there to stop it.

The kids guarding looked at each other then back to Peter. “Please let me through, I gotta stop him from murdering him,” Peter begged. They looked at each other again then moved to let Peter through.

Peter nodded to not only them but to Max as well. After passing them, Peter let his worried facade melt away. To say that he was pissed was an understatement. He understood that Harry was protective over him, but he didn’t understand that he couldn’t just go and start a fight.

The people around him seemed to feel his anger as he passed because they made way and quiet down. It was probably the look on his face that was so full of poison that it could kill a raddled The hulk with one glance. Peter neared the center and saw Harry and Carlton fighting like animals. He let out a disappointed noise and walked towards them. They didn’t notice him until Peter grabbed them both by the hair and banged their heads together.

“Idiotas! Tanto de usted! Conmigo! Ahora mismo!” Peter yelled. The hallways went silent with his yell. Sure, they knew Peter could get angry and spoke Spanish, but never had they seen him hurt someone out of anger. He almost reminded them of Anya when she got angry.

Harry was about to say something when Peter tightened his grip on his hair. “No hay excusas! No puedo dejarte solo por diez minutos sin maldito vas feral!” Peter hissed as he dragged both of them by the hair to Max. Carlton tried to escape from Peter’s grasp only to receive a tug.

“No me prueba Carlton. Ya estoy harto con toda tu mierda, es toda esta escuela.” Peter hissed as the got right in front of Max.

He dropped both of them and got a good look at them. Harry’s nose was bleeding and he had a busted lip. It looked like Carlton had gotten him on the ground and stepped on his face or something. His hair was disheveled and he had a dark splotch under his eye. His neck was bright red like Carlton had attempted to choke him out. Carlton’s ear was ripped from Harry presumably pulling his earring out during the fight. He was holding his arm which had scrapes on it, somewhat like rugburn, and he had a large gash on his forehead that was bleeding, running down his face. Peter scowled, another rush of anger flaring from his gut, as he knocked their heads together once again. “If you try to beat each other up again I’m beating you both up.” He snapped.

He took a step back, so Max could look at the two. He glanced at Peter once and saw that he was still pissed. “You two need to go to the infirmary. Carlton, I’ll speak to you after your patch up. Come with me.” Max ordered. “All if you off to class.”

The rest of the students nodded and went off. It was a good thirty seconds before the grip on both Harry’s and Carlton’s heads disappeared and the found of footsteps echoed down the halls.

“Why am I the only one getting a talking to?” Carlton barked at Max.

“You have explaining to do to your parents why you’re being expelled. You’re lucky Peter won’t press charges unless you were to corner him again or anyone else. Especially because he has the evidence that would get you jail time for sure.” Max warned.

“I didn’t do nothing!” Carlton yelled.

“There’s no point in lying. There were cameras and a trash man that will testify finding Peter in that dumpster.” Max glared.

“That’s still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t get a talking to! He started this fight!” Carlton snarled.

“Because nothing that I can say will beat what Peter will say to him.” Max gave Harry a glance. Harry knew he was in for it when Peter knocked his head against Carlton.

“How could you tell?” Carlton question dully.

“He swore in Spanish,” Harry responded.

~~~

Max had Harry stay the whole school day in the infirmary. He got to hear the screaming match between Carlton and his parents. The way they fought was nothing like how he would fight with his father. Carlton was the aggressor while his parents only show disappointment in his actions. Not like his father’s because they actually had a reason to be disappointed.

There was a knock on the door and Max entered. “Sorry for holding you here all day. I knew that Peter wanted to talk to you so I thought it would’ve safer to do it here.” Max joked. “But unfortunately for you, Peter wants you to meet him at his house.”

Harry’s face immediately fell. “This will be the end of me, Max.”

Max chuckled. “Oh relax, he won’t kill you.”

Harry gave him a hard glare. “Yes, he will, Modell.”

Max raised his hands in surrender. “If you need a hospital, call me.”

Harry sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Here’s my will: everything goes to Peter even if he’s the one who kills me.”

Max laughed. “Noted. Go, don’t keep him waiting.”

Harry nodded and raced towards the exit. As he reached the entrance, he saw Peter leaning against the door, looking more than a little pissed. “H-Heeeyyyyy Pete…”

Peter looked up and Harry felt his blood run cold. He was definitely pissed. Peter looked away from Harry and began walking, not saying a single word. The whole way back to Peter’s place was like that. Harry tried to start up a conversation but only received glares.

Once getting to Peter’s house, Harry mentality prepared himself for the lecture he was about to get. He stepped in after Peter and shut the door behind him.

“What part of I’ll handle it don’t you get?” Peter said through his teeth.

“Peter, he was-”

“Harry, stop.”

Harry flinched. He knew Peter was mad at him but… he was really mad. “Harry, I promised you I’d take care of it. You watched me walk into Max’s office. I told you to wait outside. It was the one thing I asked of you! But no! You had to go off and literally start a fistfight! I asked ONE THING OF YOU HARRY!” His voice was progressively getting louder, and Harry knew he had crossed a boundary.

“I-I’m sorry, he was saying things and-” Harry began.

“Harry, I don’t care that he was saying things! He always says things! People always will say things! That is not probable cause to run off and start a fucking fight, Harry!”

“I just couldn’t let him say-“

“Oh for fuck sakes, Harold! I’m not a kid anymore! I don’t need you to stand up for me every single time something happens!” Peter yelled. “Even when I don’t do something I’m doing something! I’m holding myself back! I could have easily put Carlton and his friends in that trash can but I didn’t! I was being the bigger man! Me not fighting back doesn’t mean I need to be saved! Why can’t you see that?!”

Harry stared at the floor, feeling a rush of guilt. He knew Peter had his reasons for not fighting back, but Harry had his for fighting. He looked down. “I’m sorry Peter. He was saying bad things about you and I couldn’t just stand by and listen to that.”

Peter sighed. “I know Harry, I get you wanna protect me but you have to stop. There are times when it’s okay and times where it’s not. And that was not okay, Harry.” Peter wasn’t yelling anymore, but his voice still had a layer of warning to it that made Harry almost cower.

Harry looked up at Peter. He was standing across from him, his arms crossed, but he wasn’t looking at him. Finally, after a moment, Peter sighed loudly. “Come on, let’s change your bandages.”

Peter led Harry to the bathroom and began digging through the cabinets while Harry sat down on the counter. He pulled out the bandages and a cloth. Peter ran the cloth under water and left it to sit so he could remove Harry’s old bandages.

A scab had formed on Harry’s lip and the bruises had darkened slightly around his neck. Peter frowned as he pulled the rag out of warm water. He moved to Harry and kept his gaze on him as he wiped his mouth clean if the semi-crusted blood. Despite how vicious the fight had been, Harry didn’t have many bleeding wounds. Just his lip and a large cut on his cheek. Peter wiped his cheek and frowned when he saw Harry’s guilty look. He didn’t try to comfort him since what he did wasn’t okay, but it still hurt seeing Harry so upset. He swallowed thickly before applying Neosporin and replacing the bandages, before dropping the rag in the sink. “Come on.” He muttered, leaving the bathroom.

Harry watched for a moment, before pushing himself off the counter and following Peter into the living room. He was digging through the freezer before pulling out a small bead ice pack and a large bean ice pack. Peter walked over to Harry and put the big ice pack on Harry’s neck and pressed the other to his cheek.

It was silent. A bad silence. The atmosphere matched when Peter got into an argument with Norman. Granted Peter didn’t start it, but he did say a few choice words to Norman that got Harry upset. It was uncomfortable as Peter led him to the couch and sat him down. He visibly flinched as Peter stared at him for a moment before saying, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He began walking down the hall when he stopped. “And stay there this time.” He ordered.

He watched after Peter, feeling a rush of guilt and frustration. He hadn’t wanted to upset Peter, but he was really mad. He stared at the ground for a moment. He hadn’t noticed Peter walkout until a large blanket was draped over his shoulders. He looked up to see Peter avoiding his gaze. He sat down on the other side of the couch and reached into a plastic bag he had brought out. Harry watched curiously until Peter threw a Snickers bar at him, hitting him square in the face.

Peter sat on the other side of the couch and turned on the TV. After flipping through channels he stopped on the ID channel. He leaned himself into the armrest and watched. Peter didn’t feel like talking to Harry at the moment, but he also didn’t want him to leave. He just needed to calm down a little more so that he didn’t yell at Harry again. Luckily Harry knew Peter long enough to know that that was what his body language was saying.

Halfway through the first episode, Harry had spread the blanket over to Peter. If he had done that earlier Peter would have pushed it off. Peter cast a glance over to Harry, who was watching the TV but still looked downcast. He sighed. He was still upset, definitely, but that was still his boyfriend who was still in pain. He scooted over to Harry and shuffled under his arm, leaning into him. Harry looked surprised and began smiling and leaned down to kiss him. Peter hissed dangerously. “Don’t push your luck, Osborn.” He warned.

Harry immediately stopped and pulled away. He glanced down at Peter. He definitely still looked upset. His eyes were narrowed and he was tense against Harry, but Harry could feel him beginning to ease down. He closed his eyes and sighed softly and leaned back.

When the episode ended and the other began, Peter leaned more into Harry. “You scared me,” Peter mumbled. “I just came out and heard the cheering and then you were acting like an animal.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

Peter shook his head. “It isn’t okay, Harry. Never do anything like that again, please. I couldn’t recognize you for a second there.”

Harry stiffened and nodded. “I won’t…” He mumbled.

Peter leaned the rest of his weight into Harry. “Not ever again.”

“I promise, I won’t lose it again,” Harry promised, leaning in and kissing the top of Peter’s head. Peter let out a relieved sigh as he closed his eyes.

#peter parker #parksborn #fic #fanfic #parksborn fanfic #msm 2017 #marvels spiderman 2017

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bapha · 5 years

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Collaboration work with @reluctantlyback for @yoihomezine from last year. We are free to post now, so enjoy! Please read Aza work, it’s a pretty domestic day for the gang. You can read read the fic here or go to Ao3: His Gold by Aza. T, 2.501 words. Canon compliant, post-series, Victuri, russian family.

Yuuri can’t help feeling nervous and awkward during around the Russian skaters his first few days in St. Petersburg. Thankfully, McDonald’s is an international favorite for cheat day meals. And besides, Viktor is there too.

As he laced up his skates and stepped onto the ice, Yuuri marveled at the grand Sports Champions Club rink. Even though he’d already been training there for a couple of days, the sheer enormity of it still stunned him. And of course, the fact that he was practicing in Viktor’s home rink never failed to make his inner fanboy light up with joy.

Once he finished his warm-ups, he skated to the section of rail where Viktor stood, one finger tapping gently against his lip. “Well? Where should I start, coach?” Yuuri let himself purr the last word, knowing exactly how much Viktor loved to hear it. A faint blush rushed to his fiancé’s cheeks.

Viktor leaned over the railing. He put his hands around Yuuri’s shoulders and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “One of these days, you’re going to say that, and I won’t be able to stop myself, dorogoy.”

This time, it was Yuuri who turned pink. He jerked back a little—just enough so that he wasn’t quite so close, but still within Viktor’s arms. “Not here,” he hissed, feeling his cheeks warm further. His coach pouted.

“We’re alone though,” Viktor pointed out. “The others won’t be here for another hour and a half.”

“That—that’s not the point!” Yuuri pulled back a little more, trying his best to ignore Viktor’s pout. “Coach Feltsman trusted us enough to arrange for us to use the rink for a couple hours before he comes in. We shouldn’t abuse that trust.”

Viktor smiled slightly. “I guess… Okay! Let’s work on your short program step sequence. It was absolutely, what’s the English word—stilted! —at the Grand Prix. I want you to keep running through it until I say you can stop.”

Yuuri nodded. Now that he’d memorized his routines and mastered most of his jumps, he rarely needed Viktor on the ice. Besides, Yuuri thought as he skated out to the center, it was probably for the best that his fiancé conserves more energy now that Viktor was competing as well.

The familiar strums of the guitar echoed through the near-empty rink as Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself. He took only a moment to become immersed in the music. Only Viktor’s occasional shouted criticism alerted him to the passage of time. Yuuri danced and spun on the ice, taking full advantage of his high stamina to run through the Eros step sequence over and over. He imagined the endless haze of a night spent getting drunk, every pole dancing class, the heat of a night spent with Viktor. That, he knew, was his true eros, his ultimate performance by which he’d finally win a gold medal. By the time his coach called him over for a break, nearly an hour had passed.

“Very good, very sexy.” Viktor leaned over the barrier again. “I really felt that performance,” he murmured, one hand tracing Yuuri’s collarbone, the other cupping his own chin.

Yuuri gulped. “W-what next?”

Viktor sighed and withdrew his hand. “So devoted. Hmm…quad flips. Land three or four in a row, then skate a few laps and try again. Let’s aim for…three rounds.”

“Yes, coach!” Yuuri pushed off the rail and gathered speed, thinking only of the magnificent jump’s incredible height and power, imagining ice chips flying with the force of his takeoff. He began entry, and with a final push—

He spun in midair once, twice, three times—four! He landed neatly on one foot, and immediately collected more speed for another jump. Yuuri finished the round and began skating laps, allowing himself to cool down a bit before attempting a second sequence.

As he entered the next cycle of three jumps, the doors to the rink opened with a bang and a groan and a general clamor of voices and gear rustling in bags. Yuuri recognized Yurio’s shouts and what sounded like Georgi whimpering in pain. A distinctly feminine laugh—Mila, maybe—echoed over the two.

Yuuri tried to mentally refocus. Now was not the time to lose concentration and flub a jump, not when the rest of the rink’s skaters had just arrived. He skated faster. He moved into the entry position, and out of the corner of his eye, spotted Coach Feltsman moving towards the rail. Pushing for liftoff, he pulled his arms in and jumped.

Four tight rotations later, he came down hard, double-footing the landing in an effort to stay upright. Frowning, he gathered speed again, catching a glimpse of Viktor’s silvery hair as his fiancé turned to face his own coach. Coach Feltsman gestured wildly toward the ice. Yuuri flinched instinctively and managed only a triple before slamming onto the ice.

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice wasn’t disappointed by any means, but Yuuri couldn’t help feeling wary as he skated towards his fiancé and Coach Feltsman.

“Yes, Vitya?” He wrung his hands out of Viktor’s view.

Coach Feltsman grunted, catching Yuuri’s attention, and in his heavy accent instructed him to get off the ice. Yuuri nodded quickly and moved to follow the order.

As he cleaned off his skates and placed them in his bag, Yuuri noticed that nobody had taken his place on the ice. In fact, Yurio seemed to be engaged in a rather vicious shouting match with his coach, Mila and Georgi standing nearby, mouths agape. Viktor, on the other hand, was watching the confrontation with an amused look on his face.

Yuuri shouldered his bag, prepared to relocate to the gym or dance studio. He caught Viktor’s eye, and moved to his side. “Where to, coach?”

Viktor smiled. “Lunch!”

The arguing between Coach Feltsman and Yurio came to an abrupt halt. Yuuri frowned. “It’s not even noon.”

“No arguing, Yuuri!”

“But—”

“Later tonight, darling!”

Yuuri felt his face turn bright red. He stammered something out, but it was drowned out by Yurio’s gagging noise.

“Shut up, old man! There are other people around you two morons! Gross! I’m even a fucking minor!”

Viktor smiled pleasantly, and it grew to a full-on heart-shaped grin as he spoke. “I should hope not; even if you’re at the age of consent, you’re our kotyonok, so no.”

“I’LL MURDER YOU, YOU GODDAMN PERVERT—!”

Yuuri and Viktor made a quick escape, leaving Mila, Georgi, and an exasperated and somewhat terrified Coach Feltsman to deal with Yurio’s sudden, violent rage.

By the time they had gathered outside the rink, Viktor had queued at least six restaurant websites on his phone. Yuuri watched with some amusement as his fiancé flicked through another food blog with sparkles in his eyes.

“Yuuri, what do you think of this place? It’s a Korean place, Makko Li, and it’s got great reviews—here, look.” Viktor extended his phone long enough for Yuuri to catch a glimpse of a cozy brick interior before snatching it back to flip to a picture of a warm but sleek restaurant. “Or we could go to here, Phali Hinkali; it has nearly four hundred five-star reviews. But it is a cheat day, so maybe Italian? A plate full of carbs is a cheat day classic…”

The sound of doors squeaking open caused Yuuri to glance up. Mila, Georgi, and a reluctant (and stomping) Yurio exited the rink, bags slung over their shoulders. The two older skaters stopped a few feet away from Yuuri and Viktor, allowing Yurio to come to a screeching halt only a couple inches from Viktor’s phone.

“What are you doing, standing around like that, old man?” Yurio wasn’t yelling, but his harshness was still present. Yuuri noticed distantly that his face was still red from shouting. “You’re blocking traffic. Get out of my way.”

Viktor looked up, the picture of innocence. “But Yurio—”

“That’s not my name, damn it!”

“—we’re all going to eat together! All five of us!” Viktor smiled brightly and walked past Yurio to put an arm around Georgi and Mila’s shoulders.

Yurio bristled. Yuuri thought about taking a small step back from the blond ball of anger, but one glare from Yurio had him frozen.

Viktor dragged Mila and Georgi over, nearly barreling into Yurio. “I’ll pay! Join us!”

Yurio’s frown eased a bit. “Fine, but only because you’re paying. I still hate you all.” “Perfect!” Viktor smiled, but then frowned. “Where should we go, moy dorogoy?”

Yuuri thought for only a moment. “McDonald’s. I haven’t had any since I left Detroit, and nothing comes close in unhealthy-cheat-day content.”

Mila grinned. “…McDonald’s? As in the American burger chain? I’m in!”

“Oh, I went there after Anya—” Georgi’s eyes began to water, but he quickly choked out assent to eating there. Yurio glared, but didn’t object, so they all began walking down the sidewalk. Mila and Yurio exchanged scathing insults, while Georgi and Viktor made pleasant small talk.

Despite holding his Vitya’s hand, Yuuri felt isolated. Though Viktor and Georgi made the effort to speak in English, the overwhelming sound of Russian gnawed on his anxieties. At least when he’d moved to Detroit, he’d had a passable grasp of English. All the Russian he knew were pet names and a few choice curses. Before he could worry too much, Viktor squeezed his hand, and Yuuri refocused on Georgi’s somewhat animated tale of his first date with Katya, another woman unsuspecting of the skater’s flair for dramatics.

By the time they reached McDonald’s, the lunch rush hadn’t quite started, so Yuuri walked right up to the counter. While menus varied slightly between countries, McDonald’s had a fairly standardized selection. Yuuri knew exactly what he wanted: a Big Mac easy on the mayo and liberal with the onions, a medium fry, and a large sweet tea. Viktor, to his credit, didn’t even blink as he placed the order, pausing for a moment after finishing.

“Pick out my meal, Yuuri? I’m starving.”

“Uh…I think you’ll like the mushroom and swiss.”

Viktor pouted. “That’s it?”

“You and your insanely fast metabolism,” Yuuri muttered. Clearing his throat, he added “Large fry and a small McFlurry, plus a cup for water.”

“Sounds amazing!” They stepped aside for the others to order, and once Viktor swiped his card to pay, went in search of a table. Georgi and Mila slid into one side of a booth, leaving Viktor, Yurio, and Yuuri to split the other side of the booth.

Yurio glared. “Idite vy,” he hissed, but after a quick frown from Viktor, stalked off to retrieve their food. Viktor scooched all the way to the window, leaving Yuuri to plant himself solidly in the middle. The table was silent. Mila twisted to check on their order. Georgi tapped out a text.

Viktor attempted to make small talk, but Yuuri couldn’t manage anything more than noncommittal mumbles. With the Russian skaters listening, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Even though he knew they didn’t hate him, his mind kept going back to his failed quad flips, insisting they resented him for wasting ice time. And, his mind supplied unhelpfully, they had to hate him for bringing disgrace to the rink’s flawless and pristine image. Who was he, his brain mocked, to think he was good enough to practice at Russia’s premier rink—?

Yurio slammed their trays down. A couple of fries on the top went flying in the air and skittered across the table. “Here’s the stupid food.” He flopped down next to Yuuri, grabbed his burger and drink, and began eating with fervor. The others blinked, and as if electrified by Yurio’s actions, began a mad scramble to properly identify which items were whose.

Yuuri bit into his Big Mac and had to keep himself from moaning. Good old-fashioned American grease, Viktor by his side plowing through his fries…it was the subject of many a Detroit dream. The pleasant silence brought on by everybody eating calmed Yuuri’s nerves. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was back in America, in the McDonald’s just off campus, sinking his teeth into a meal Celestino would murder him for.

Almost. Yuuri could not ignore Viktor’s knee against his, or the way his fiancé’s arm brushed against his own as Viktor reached for his McFlurry, or the twin glint of their rings as they caught the noon sun. It made an idyllic if somewhat bizarre scene, and as Viktor reached for another fry, Yuuri grabbed his hand.

“Hmm? Is something the matter, my Yuuri?” Viktor frowned slightly in concern.

Yuuri smiled softly. “I just feel so happy right now, Vitya.”

Viktor blushed, a soft pink dusting his cheeks. His blue, blue eyes narrowed somewhat as he smiled. “I love you too, zolotse.”

A muffled thump caught Yuuri’s attention. Mila had dropped her chicken tender, mouth still open. Georgi’s eyes became suspiciously bright, and sure enough, he began to cry.

“Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked.

“It’s just—” Georgi sniffled. “Such p-pure love!” He began to sob in earnest, fries long forgotten.

Yurio made a gagging noise. “Blin, keep that romance shit at home, Viktor! Nobody wants to see that out in public.”

“Mind your language, Yurio,” Viktor singsonged, narrowly dodging a fry flying towards his head.

Yurio settled for making a rude gesture and refocusing on plowing through his remaining fries.

“Um, Mila?” Yuuri asked, hyperaware of Georgi’s tears and Yurio’s volatile temper. “What does that mean, ‘zolotse’? Vikor won’t translate it for me.”

She stared for a moment, mouth still agape. “…gold. It means ‘my gold.’”

Yuuri flushed, feeling his face turn red as the linoleum seats. “Really?” he asked, turning toward his fiancé. “But I haven’t won a gold yet.”

Viktor flipped his hair, doing his best to act nonchalant. “Well, you know. I guess you at least got me a gold ring, so.”

Yuuri smirked slightly, forgetting completely about their company. “Of course, Vitya. I love you too.”

By the time everyone had finished their meal, Yurio, Mila, and Georgi were adamant about returning to the rink. Viktor, on the other hand, dragged Yuuri back toward their shared apartment. “I need a little ‘Yuuri’ time,” he’d said, drawing said man into a kiss.

As they walked hand-in-hand down the St. Petersburg streets, Yuuri thought about how nervous he’d been to move to Russia: how he’d worried Viktor’s rinkmates would hate him; that he’d miss Hasetsu excessively like he had in Detroit; that the language would be too hard to grasp; that despite Viktor’s presence, it wouldn’t feel like home.

But Mila and Georgi were openly welcoming (Yurio wasn’t even too hostile), he was slowly but surely picking up bits of Russian, and he didn’t miss Hasetsu the way he once had. His hometown would always be part of his heart, but now...

Yuuri gathered the courage to very quietly say, “Moy dom tam, gde ty.” He burrowed his face into his coat, unable to look up thanks to his blush.

Viktor’s step faltered for a beat but resumed its steady pace quickly. “I feel exactly the same way, my Yuuri. My life, my love.”

#Yuri on Ice #YoI #okaeri zine #wewritevictuuri #yoi home zine #yoi zine #fic #Viktor Nikiforov #Yuuri Katsuki #drawing #fanart #colored

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vertanimeni · 4 years

Text

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (2/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy/Grounder OC

Word Count: 4,027

TW: None I believe~

A/N: Hi hi! After some convincing from my friends, I decided to post this series here :D I’ve already finished with season 1 and half of season 2, I’m just in the middle of re-writing and editing. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I’ll be updating every other day at 12pm EST. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

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ii. invaders.

As it turned out, sending word to Chief on the scavenger group was the right call. The group had almost triggered Mount Weather’s fog territory when one of them, a young boy, had used a vine to leap across the river. With little time to think or make a plan, a scout had speared the boy in the chest from afar and dragged his body away.

Well. The entire situation could have ended up worse, especially since the hunters of surrounding villages were out at that time. If they had been caught in the fog, there was no chance of survival for them or the food they might have been hunting.

Unfortunately, this also meant the scout had accidentally alerted the sky people of Trikru’s presence. Kova and Lincoln had been surprised to find the once peaceful camp suddenly in disarray when the scavenger group returned with news that they weren’t the only ones on Earth.

As for TonDC’s training camp? Needless to say, word of the sky people spread across the grounds shamelessly.

“It seems like the Descendants didn’t know there were still living humans here!”

“Hah! The Betrayers were full of rich, wealthy, and influential pigs who stepped on others to survive! I wouldn’t be surprised if they taught their children, including these so-called Descendants that they were the last humans!”

“How self-centered!”

“Do you all have nothing else to do but gossip?” Kova’s sharp voice came from the table behind the gossiping warriors. “Go train like proper students. I’m tired of hearing your voices.”

The warriors turned their heads so viciously towards them that Kova felt second-hand whiplash. The group of warriors faced Kova, faces red in anger, affronted, ready to give Kova a piece of their mind, most likely something along the lines of “How dare you speak to your elders/higher ranks like that!”

That was, until, they realized who had admonished them with little care for respect. Embarrassed at being called out by the great Elephant of Caocin, they shamefully grabbed their things and left. Kova had no doubt that the group was cursing them out as they made their way to the training ground.

Kova took another sip of tea from the cup they made when they returned from scouting. After 12 hours of traveling by tree, running around thick and sturdy branches, noting down important aspects of the camp and the Descendants, they had finally been relieved and were ordered to report to the Chief about their findings.

The most important note of their scouting session was that, yes, one of the Descendants had a gun, just as the scout who had speared the sky boy mentioned in their report. Why? Nobody knew. Not even Chief Indra of the Unforgiving generation, the oldest living generation on Earth, had seen a gun in her lifetime.

Thankfully, as far as they were aware of, there was only one gun. But the idea of the Descendants owning a weapon like that, a weapon practically extinct yet still taboo throughout the twelve clans, didn’t sit well with the Chief. The Chief immediately sent word to Lieutenant Anya, General Tristan, and the Commander herself, just in case.

Two taps on the calf of their legs, resting comfortably on the chair opposite of theirs, brought them back to the present. Without thinking, they held their legs in the air for a moment to let Lincoln sit across from them before placing their legs back down on his lap, careful to not let the outsole of their shoes brush against his pants.

They gave him a questioning look. He wordlessly handed over an envelope, closed by a wax seal with a familiar intricate design. Kova couldn’t help but look away and shut their eyes, taking the envelope and dropping it carelessly, seal facing the table. “That seal,” they took in a deep breath, eyes tightening shut, “that damned seal haunts my dreams.” They muttered under their breath and opened their eyes. “What mission did you get?”

Lincoln shook his head. “Not sure yet. I wanted to open it with you. But Kova—” they raised their eyebrows slightly at the usage of their real name. “—the Commander and Lieutenant Anya gave you 3 years of medical leave.”

A bitter laugh tumbled out of Kova’s mouth. “Medical leave? Is that what they’re calling it now, Lincoln?”

“You don’t have to return to Trikru’s militia yet, not if you don’t feel ready.”

“I’m never going to be ready.” Their gaze finally met his, yet Lincoln couldn’t feel relief, not when he could see the dark circles under their eyes, and the even darker look on their face. “I had seven years left of training before I can finally opt out of of the militia in good graces. I’ve spent two of those years in seclusion, I cannot spend one more minute in that damn residence. Especially now.”

For the first time in all his life, Lincoln realized, he wanted to plead — no, beg — for Kova to return to the residence. At least then he would know that they weren’t wearing themselves thin for a clan who forced their hand all those years ago. But their words stunned him, and while he stared at them wordlessly, mouth slightly agape, they took their envelope and pulled out the letter.

After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what they had gotten. “Lead protector of Fort Nauk.” They answered his unasked question and folded the letter back up neatly into the envelope. “You?”

He opened his and sighed before handing them the letter. They couldn’t help but snort. “Lead facilitator of the scouting group, huh? Looks like we won’t be able to see one another for a while.”

“A-Ko—”

“It says here you’ll be leaving tonight.” They handed the letter back. “Congrats, you get the job closest to all the action.”

“Will you be okay without me?”

“Shit, I better be okay, I have an entire fort to protect, apparently.” They meant to joke around, but their words came out with a tang of bitterness.

“Kova.” Ah shit. They knew that tone of his. “Be serious. Will you be alright? I don’t mind taking another mission to be closer to you.”

“You do that and I’ll never forgive you.” They snapped as they stood up. “I don’t need a baby sitter, I’ll be just fine on my own. It’s not my first time leading, nor is it my first mission.”

“Kova—”

“I better report to the Chief to let her know.”

“Kova, wait—”

“I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, they left Lincoln alone at the table.

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They hadn’t meant for their conversation to end on such a bad note, but the idea of Lincoln sacrificing his own duties just to take care of them left a sour taste in their mouth. Truthfully, Kova had only taken a few steps away from Lincoln when they realized how childish they were acting, but whether it was out of pride or stubbornness, they refused to turn back. Instead, they found their feet taking them to the Chief, true to their previous words—

“Why do I feel like you would rather be anywhere else but this camp? The very same camp you begged to be part of all those years ago?”

—only to find themselves in the middle of another lecture.

Chief Indra stood behind her desk, facing the window of her tent, hands clasped behind her back. She tilted her head slightly towards Kova, who remained frozen in their spot, eyes glued to the floor.

“Why do I feel like you are still not happy?”

“Would you like for me to fake my happiness for your pleasure?” While their voice had softened considerably compared to their usual clear tone, their sharp words could not be dulled down.

“Kova!” The Chief whipped around, eyes flashing in anger, eyebrows furrowing together.

“My apologies, Chief, that was out of line.”

“That’s another thing. Since when did you start calling me Chief?” The Chief stepped towards them, and they ducked their head further, away from her gaze. She must have decided not to push on that topic, whether because she was afraid of the answer, or didn’t care as much as Kova thought. “A-Ko. You were once considered as Trikru’s pride and joy.” Her voice came out in a murmur, hinted with disbelief. “Yet here you are. What happened to you?”

Kova knew Chief Indra’s words delve far deeper than their conversation. Her words held two years of resentment of Kova’s voluntary seclusion, held the pain of not just losing her best warrior and student, but someone she had once considered family.

Despite knowing this, they couldn’t prevent their thoughts from growing bitter. ‘What happened to me? How could you possibly ask me that, knowing damn well what happened to me. Were you not there when the higher ups forced my hand at that mountain? Were you not there the second I became the feared mass murderer I am today? Were you not there when my family and I were praised and despised for my actions? What happened to me wasn’t my choice, I never asked for this, I never asked to be the Elephant of Caocin.’

The room had gone silent. It felt as if even the world outside the tent had fallen into hushed whispers. Confused, Kova looked up, only to find the Chief practically shaking in anger, fists trembling against her desk, her face adorning a scowl Kova hadn’t seen since their own breakdown two years ago. It was only then did Kova realize two things.

One, they had said their thoughts out loud.

And two, at some point, they had also started crying.

Fresh tears streaked down their cheeks, but they made no movement to wipe their face, terrified of catching the Chief’s attention.

“Elephant of Caocin,” the Chief started, her voice straining to contain her anger, preventing her from yelling, “is an honorary title, given by the Commander herself. How could you possibly—”

“While I didn’t mean to speak my mind, Chief,” They practically spat the word, their anger flaring, “I cannot believe that you chose to focus on that out of what I said.”

If this was a few years ago, when Kova still had respect for the militia and the clan, when their hands weren’t tainted by the bitter tang taste of chokeberries, blood and dirt, they would have respectfully asked for permission to leave Chief Indra’s presence. But this was no longer a few years ago. Kova no longer held any respect towards the Chief, towards the militia, or towards Trikru. Kova was no longer Kova. They were the Elephant of Caocin.

Thus, with a subtle bow of their head, one fist across their heart and the other behind their back, as customary, they left the tent, ignoring the calls of what had once been their name.

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Kova had secluded themselves once more in their private tent after their talk with Indra. They had fallen into a mental black hole, one that took a few hours to climb out of. By the time they had left their tent, stomach grumbling in contempt, the sun was beginning to fall past the mountains surrounding the camp, ready to leave the warriors to defend themselves against the growing cold. ‘Winter must be coming sooner than we thought.’ The thought briefly passed their mind in a panic. They mentally noted that they would have to prepare their residence back at TonDC against the cold.

They had been on their way to the main campfire, where everyone would group to see of the scouts, only to be told by Zoya they had missed the scouts departures. Including Lincoln’s.

Frustration coiled in their chest like a familiar snake, and while Zoya had once known Kova like the back of her hand, and would never be afraid of them, she also knew the Elephant of Caocin had a short temper when it came to Lincoln or those close to them.

“They left recently,” She pointed Northeast with her thumb, forcing her hand not to tremble. “Since they’ll be setting up camp eventually, I think you can catch up with them.”

Without another word, Kova made their way out of camp and through the woods. Usually, a scouting mission like this wouldn’t bother Kova (unless it involved Azgeda). After all, they and Lincoln had gone weeks, months on end without seeing or hearing from one another, but this time was different. Maybe it was because they had ended on a bad note earlier that day. Maybe it was because of their talk with the Chief. Regardless of what it was, they had to at least say good bye, even if it meant they had to run to him this time, instead of away.

‘By the Gods,’ Kova thought as they ran through the woods, hopping over uprooted trees and roots alike, ‘Radios would sure come in handy right now.’

The elders, who were now mostly ancestors, had salvaged radios a few decades ago, and they worked perfectly fine until suddenly every single one of them had a strange frequency interference. The radio workers at the time said it was just lingering radiation.

‘Lingering radiation. Just wait until I can get my hands on one, let’s see if lingering radiation will stop me from reaching A-Lin.’ Kova mentally scoffed, their eyes focused on the task of finding their brother.

Poor Lincoln. They couldn’t help but wince at how he would react when (not if, when) he found out about their conversation with the Chief. They knew he wasn’t necessarily fond towards the Chief, but regardless, she was still their superior, their elder, one that had taken care of them not too long ago.

Their train of thoughts were pushed to the side when their eyes found a source of light from a campfire, and eventually stumbled upon the scouts themselves.

Before any scout could pull their swords out, they raised their hands and announced, “It’s me.”

Soft murmurs of ‘oh’ came from the scouts before they all decided to sit back down into their relaxing positions, placing their weapons to the side. Most were eating or talking, but there were a few scattered around who were simply sleeping. The ones who were awake greeted them with a simple nod.

“We were wondering when you would pop up.” One scout greeted Kova with a firm grip to their forearm, which Kova reciprocated. “Looking for Lincoln?”

They gave a subtle nod of their head, a soft “Mn.” following.

“He said his seclusion hut is nearby and went to pick up something he forgot.” The scout jutted their head towards their left. “He went that way.”

Kova raised an eyebrow ever so slightly in confusion, but if the scout had noticed the change in expression, they didn’t mention it. “Thank you. Good luck on the mission.” They turned around to leave—

“Wait, Elephant of Caocin!”

The name felt as if the young scout had poured cold water down their spine. Kova turned back, slowly, hesitantly, as if ready for another lecture, but to the scouts, it looked like they had just stopped and waited to listen.

“It’s already dark out,” The scout spoke, and Kova realized their words were true — the sun was gone, replaced by a bright moon, as if mocking their predicament. “Why don’t you stay until Lincoln returns? We have extra food if you’d like to eat. He should be back soon.”

They clenched their jaw. All they wanted to do was find Lincoln. But they also knew the scout’s words were, once again, true. There would be no point running around the forest blind. They’ve visited Lincoln’s hut before, but not to the extent where they knew where to go based on their position in the forest.

Letting out a small huff of visible breath, they gave the scout a curt nod. After having a quiet dinner alone, they settled on what would have been Lincoln’s mat, knowing that when he returned, the two could have a serious talk, and, hopefully, Kova could apologize.

As they settled on their side underneath their fleeced-jacket-turned-blanket, Kova briefly wondered if they would even be able to sleep tonight. Their thoughts derailed to their time in seclusion, how they tried so desperately to sleep, even when their residence would become so dark at night, they couldn’t be sure they still had their eyes. But now, with the light of the stars above them, they could see their hand in front of them, fingers relaxed. They could see the tall grass surrounding the mat, some facing away under the crushing pressure of Lincoln’s bed. And they can see the tree line, where even more darkness, and maybe Lincoln, were.

During those two dark years in seclusion, there had been a few times where Kova would lie in bed for what felt like hours, and they would stare at what should have been the ceiling (if the hut wasn’t so damn dark at night) until their eyes burned and teared up from exhaustion, their muscles aching to relax for even one moment. Only then could they “sleep,” when in reality they would blink and find the ceiling streaked with sunlight and the roosters beginning to crow.

(The point of sleeping was to restore and energize their body, so why did they feel even more exhausted when they woke up?)

This is what happened on Lincoln’s mat, except when Kova blinked, instead of waking up to the sun rising as usual, they woke up in the midst of blue hour, just before the sun could shyly touch its rays upon the Earth.

They had hoped it was Lincoln who had woken them up, but when they sat up on their elbows, the entire camp was asleep, the campfire was merely ashes, and Lincoln was not there.

They shot upright. The scout that had been on watch startled, as if they had been falling asleep. If this was another time, Kova would have teased them with some light scolding, an amused look on their face.

But this was not another time, and Lincoln was not here.

They stood up, swinging their fleeced jacket over their shoulders smoothly.

“Elephant of Caocin, where are you going?” The scout stood up with them, but all it took was one strong, sleep deprived glare from Kova for the scout to slowly sit back down, a shocked look on their face. Kova softened their look, a hint of an apology behind their dark eyes before they turned back to the forest line.

“I’m going to find Lincoln. Don’t follow me.”

And with that, they walked out of the camp quietly.

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The moment Kova knew they weren’t being followed by the scouts, their walk became a light jog, then a run, then a full on sprint. If the sounds of leaves crunching under their shoes or their heavy footfalls didn’t alert the animals nearby, then surely the sound of their pounding heart would, each beat hitting their eardrums.

At night, Kova wouldn’t have been able to tell where Lincoln’s home was, but in the day, there were little signs of where it could be. There were a few areas where mushrooms that had been growing on trees were picked, where herbal plants had been cleanly cut off, and where opened seeds without their pits were lying around. Once they reached a familiar bush of little berries, one that Lincoln was fond of because it reminded him of the berry tarts his mother used to make for him when he was young, Kova knew they were almost there.

So one could only imagine their crestfallen shock when they finally reached the cave (that Lincoln turned into a home during his own seclusion), only to find it completely ravaged. The door of Lincoln’s home had been ripped off its hinges and thrown into the bushes nearby, and the once well cared for welcome mat inside the house had been stampeded over, with boot marks made of dirt trailing from the mat and down the stairs.

Kova stumbled forward once, twice, his name quietly tumbling out of their mouth until one of their knees gave out underneath them. The dirt and dust underneath their knee would surely stain their clothes, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care.

Before they could even think about what could have done this (or who, a small voice whispered in the back of their mind), they heard grunts and the sound of objects being thrown around in the house. At first instinct, Kova had thought he was in the midst of being ambushed and needed help, but it didn’t add up. He had been gone for the entire night, unless he chose to sleep there instead of the scout camp, but even then, if he was being ambushed, there would be the sounds of punches and kicks hitting their marks, not the sounds of paper shifting and metal mugs clattering across the floor. There was a heavy weight in their gut, as if to say wait it out. They knew better than to ignore their gut instinct, so they did.

Although they had been trained for situations such as this, Kova couldn’t push down the panic that rose in their throat when they heard not one, but two pairs of feet heading up the stairs, a thudding noise following with every step as if they were dragging something heavy. They ran and hid behind the bushes, peeking through them by spreading the leaves apart with one hand, while the other went straight down to the weapon holster on their thigh. Their fingers curled around the handle of their knife, but kept it sheathed.

They saw movement from deep within the house until two boys stepped out of the entrance, dragging a man between them. One boy carried the man by his legs and the other by his arms, but they must have been weak, seeing as the two dropped the body as soon as they passed the entrance, hunching over in exhaustion.

“Why is he so damn heavy?” One of them wiped the sweat off with the back of his hand.

It didn’t take much for Kova to recognize who the man was. Their eyes widened and they sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Lincoln, you damn fool.’ Kova had never seen the two boys before, but their clothing style was an obvious indicator they weren't part of the 12 clans, nor part of the mountain men. They must be the invaders from the dropship. Kova could only wonder how they found Lincoln, but didn’t have time to ponder over it, seeing as the two boys picked Lincoln up again.

The skin of their knuckles turned stark white as their fingers curled tightly around the hilt of their knife, ready to rip it out of its sheath. Yet they hesitated in killing the two boys.

They were reminded of the scouts’ reports when they first checked out the drop ship. When the invaders first landed, the scouts' reports contrasted with others, so it was unclear on their abilities. Kova never saw these kids fight, but one scout did and said they were out for blood and revenge. Another scout said they fought like how young children do over a toy. The invaders were unpredictable. The other reason they hesitated was the gun. Based on reports there was only one gun in that group, but who knew how many guns the invaders could have? As much as Kova would hate to admit it, they had no chance if the two boys had a gun on them. It would kill them quicker than they could even touch them. And they would rather die by Trikru’s hands than some invaders.

Kova knew better than anyone else when to choose their battles, despite wanting to choose them all. But for their safety, for Lincoln’s safety, the best plan they could think of was to request a rescue mission. Thus, they loosened their hold on their knife, hung their head, and let Lincoln go.

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#bellamy x oc #bellamy x reader #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #the 100 #the 100 imagines #the night our stars aligned (and our breaths touched)#my writing #writeblr #wip fanfic

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100hearteyes · 3 years

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Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

#that moodboard is way too serious for this lol #clexa #clexa au #clexa fic #clexa fanfiction #clexa fanfic #calmap #my fics #mine

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hollowgroverp · 5 years

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Alright my loves, I bring you the full plot drop for the Hollow Grove Blood Moon event. A few things to keep in mind:

You are welcome to continue your current threads.

New threads can take places prior to the drop or after, please just clarify. Feel free to start some threads in the aftermath of the chaos if you’d like.

The plot drops were written with just enough detail to give you something to work with so if it sparks an idea for you that you’d like to grow you are welcome to run with it. Feel free to message the main with anything major.

With so many amazing volunteers, I was not able to use everyone, however, I did make a point to make sure to include at least one of every player's characters.

The event still runs through Saturday so enjoy the chaos and drama.

The moon crosses the sky in a shade of blood, washing away the sins of monsters as the stars fall from the sky. It’s almost poetic how magical a magicless night could appear. It left the strongest among them weak with vulnerability. The founders' council sees the danger in this and under the ploy of a party gather’s the townspeople for the night. Knowing they can better protect those they have sworn too if they can do it in a controlled environment.

And so the Masquerade Ball is organized, what appears to be a frivolous occasion is far more calculated than that and with every safeguard put into effect, they are certain they are ready to face whatever is thrown at them this night.

As the clave creeps across the towns vulnerable borders they soon encounter several roadblocks trying to enact their plans. When it becomes clear that attacking the ball may be harder than they had originally planned they are forced to turn their attention outwards, drawing those out from the safety of the ball and into danger.

It starts with a series of distractions.

The liquor flows, the tempers rise and it's to no one's surprise a fight or two breaks out. Anya Nikolaevna’s mouth seems to get her in trouble once more when she offends a rather drunk and awfully hotheaded stranger who quickly gets aggressive with her things take a turn. Cal Renard quickly steps in to defend her honor but the stranger's friends quickly jump in as well and before anyone really knows what’s happening a scuffle breaks out. Dora Lind tries to break it up and gets caught in the crosshairs, knocking into a table, breaking the glass that she falls into. Poor Lilianna Hastings was an innocent bystander to the whole thing and in the madness of the fight, she was knocked over falling down a small set of stairs. Emmett Bryson and Chase Hastings quickly jumped in to help break up the fight, Chase agreeing to take his cousin to the hospital thinking her leg might possibly be broke.

After far too much to drink Julia Charles wanders out for some fresh air, as she gazed up at the night sky she strolls a bit too far from the ball and suddenly is snatched up and tossed into the back of a van. Not but ten minutes later Patto Bell comes outside looking for his friends Haylee and Dani. Unexpectedly he too is tossed into the same van as it speeds away from the ball.

Danielle Riley finds herself several drinks in as she stands staring absentmindedly out the window. For a moment she thinks she’s seeing something and then Patto comes into view and she finds herself knocking on the window trying to get his attention. Watching in horror as Patto is tossed into a van she becomes overwhelmed with panic. Kitty Mastrano comes across her and words are incoherent in her current state and she begs Kitty to get Haylee Forbes. When Haylee arrives Dani tells her what she saw and for a moment Haylee thinks maybe her friend has had too many but when she tries to reach Patto, she soon feels panic settling in when she can’t find him and he won’t answer her calls. At this point, both girls are insisting that they go search for their friend and leave the ball to try and track him down.

Sparrow Rousseau and Ronnie Greer were certainly enjoying themselves on their night out with one another. Nothing goes as planned though does it? When they move away from the crowd so they can speak more intimately they are caught off guard by the smell of smoke. An absent-mindedly toss joint catches a curtain on fire and, unfortunately for the two love birds, it interrupts a rather romantic moment and quickly turns it into chaos and panic when the corner of Sparrow’s dress catches fire. Watching the sight Valentine Remington is caught by surprise mid-bite and begins to choke. It rapidly takes a bad turn and Val passes out. Seeing this Amber Horne quickly jumps and starts doing CPR to save his life. Val awakes to a fit of coughing. Meanwhile, the fire chaos continues Ezra Gillies wanting to help rushes over with a pitcher of water trying to put it out, only to start the arm of his jacket on fire. Teodor Sigurdsson and Tony Velasquez also felt the need to jump in. Teo pulled the table cloth from a nearby table while Tony grabbed the cap off someone woman and the two managed to snuff out the small fire becoming town heroes for the night.

A series of calls come about suspicious activity at various locations in town. Isla Rafferty gets a notification that the alarms at Hell’s Kitchen are going off. Kara Sykes agrees to go with her on her way out for her patrol. A call about activity at the border has Oliver Hastings volunteering to go and check things out. Cassie Cresswell volunteers to tag along when Oliver mentions he’s headed out, wanting to get away from the crowds and just enjoy the night.

Quietly and silently the Clave works their way through town, preying on those far from the safety of the balls security.

Taking leave from the ball in search for a cheeseburger, Dylan Wright, Ian Tyler, Teddy Beacon, and AJ Thorne head to the nearest diner. The young Hollow Grove residents appear to be having a good time, enjoying the good company they find themselves in. Dylan leaves the group to use the restroom and on her way back to the table encounters a rather shady looking fellow in the hallway. She could feel it in her bones that something was off but she kept her head down and made her way back to the table. But when she passed the kitchen, she saw the bodies of the two kitchen staff laying dead in a puddle of blood. Her mouth opened to scream but the sound was cut off when a hand covered her mouth. Kicking and screaming she was dragged out the back door. Out the window, Ian saw the scuffle and without a word jumped into action from his seat. AJ and Teddy grab him, stopping him before Ian can do something crazy and in a moment of desperation, the three plan to get their friend back. Scrambling out the back door AJ and Teddy are set off to create a distraction as the three Clave men are shoving Dylan into a van. Beating a bottle against the garbage cans they create noise that draws two of the clave members away and divides the third’s attention, shifting it elsewhere as Ian slips out the front door. The third man wanders towards the noise, following his two friends as they disappear behind the building. Ian jumped into the driver seat of the van, finding the keys waiting for him and Dylan. It doesn’t take long for them to realize that Dylan isn’t alone in the van, Julia Charles and Patto Bell are also being held captive. Starting the van Ian pulled away from the clave member heading to the other end of the alleyway. Teddy and AJ spot the men coming around the corner and they take off towards the other end of the alleyway when a van races in front of them and the door opens to reveal Dylan yelling at them to get in. Jumping in they speed away from the alley, the clave members chasing after them until they can no longer keep up.

Ditching the van the six of them hide out in Teddy and Ian’s apartment while they try to figure out what to do next, knowing that they had to alert someone and finding themselves unable to get ahold of anyone at the ball. With that they try and make their way back, running into one of the men along the way they find themselves in a fight for their lives and when he gets his hands on AJ, Teddy sees red, hitting the man over the head leaving him unconscious and possibly dead as they flee the scene, unknowingly triggering his curse.

Kara and Isla arrive at Hell’s Kitchen and nothing appears to be amiss. Inside it’s quite, nothing appears out of place and for a moment the women think nothing is wrong. It’s not until they are getting ready to leave that they overhear noise at the back. With the two approaching quietly the intruder doesn’t even realize they are there. It becomes very apparent something is awry and Kara and Isla overhear a terrible plan. In their rush to leave so they can alert the others, Isla knocks over a glass, the shatter drawing attention to them and the two women are forced to make a break from the danger. Jumping in Kara’s car they drive off headed back to the ball. On the way back they find themselves with suspiciously no cell service and the radios down. As they are headed back their car runs over a spike strip that blows out all the tires causing the car to come to a grinding halt.

Gia Rafferty wasn’t but a block away when she witnessed the cars sudden stop. Confused by the sight she hurries towards the car in time to see Isla and Kara getting out. She calls for them as she starts running towards them, but is cut short from reaching them when she’s grabbed by a man. Her instant reaction is to push him off, shoving him into the road. The timing seemed to be on her side because she did not see the car coming down the road alongside her. Posey Mitchell had just wanted to get home at a decent hour when she’d left the ball, there was no way she would have seen the man coming and just like that she’d hit him. Panic set in as her car came to screeching halt. Isla and Kara finally reaching Gia and the four women stood staring at the man.

They quickly explain to Posey what’s happening when another commotion catches there attention as another car runs over the spike strip. Poor George Chatwin, like Posey was just trying to get home. Hitting the spike strip cause his car to spin off and as Haylee and Dani’s car came around the corner from the other direction. They had no way of even seeing George’s car and crashed into it rather quickly causing the car to flip upside down with the girls still inside. The nearby group immediately worked to get them out of the car, finding that they were badly bruised and cut up. They were so distracted trying to help Haylee and Danielle that they don’t notice the five clave members slowly circling them, ready to attack. Fighting back the group takes cover behind a car, Kara firing her gun as they tried to figure out how to safely escape.

Chase and Tessa Hastings had been on their way to the hospital, trying to get Lily there when they saw the smoke and pile up of cars up ahead with the resounding noise of gunshots. Chase switched his car to reverse, searching for shelter at the fire station when Tessa and Lily point out that they see people they know. At this point, Dash Hastings came out of fire station in time to find Chase pulling up, he yelled out the window to his cousin that something was happening and thinking on his feet he yells at Chase to let Tessa drive and for his cousin to come inside. Giving Chase the keys to the ambulance, Dash climbs in the fire truck and tells his cousin to follow him.

By then, the clave was closing in on the group and things were looking bleak when suddenly Dash came barreling through in the fire truck, running four of the five down and causing the fifth take off. Yelling to the group, they started trying to load everyone into the different vehicles so they could escape the situation. As Gia was getting into the fire truck gun shot’s ring through the night as the fifth member of the clave started shooting at them. A bullet hit Gia in the arm and Isla helped get her into the fire truck. Reacting swiftly Kara shoot the man, killing him on the spot. Once everyone is secure the group heads for the hospital.

Following the call to the border, Oliver Hastings and Cassie Cresswell arrive to find nothing there. Like Kara and Isla had found, there didn’t appear to be anything actually going on at the border. When Oliver went to put the call in through his radio was greeted with silence. Neither were able to place any calls. Finding this a bad sign they got back in the car and headed towards the ball. Not even a half mile from the border they are suddenly blinded by the bright lights of headlights in the review mirror. With another card riding their bumper they were soon driven off the road. Their car coming to a skidding halt stuck in the fresh spring mud. Acting on sheer instinct Cassie and Oliver bolt from the car, plunging into the dark woods surround them racing away from those chasing after them. Gunshots ring through the night once more and for a moment they think they’re out of the woods and they’ve lost those who were hunting them. Finding several empty houses they break into the basement and hide out. It's once the adrenaline settles that they realize Oliver has been shot. He’s bleeding out slowly and his energy drains from his body. Wrapping the wound Cassie tries to stop the bleeding. Having badly injured her ankle after catching it in a hole in the woods she’s in no shape to get help and escape capture. She tries to give him her blood, hoping it might heal him but finds the blood moons effect have an impact on that ability too. The two wait hoping someone will find them before its too late, as those who hunt them lurk outside the very place they hid.

With most of the town’s little ones at the Greyson home, it was no wonder Sophia Nygaard found herself in a worried state most of the night. Several calls to her husband and Violet left her with very little comfort and when the call went unanswered later in the night Sophia’s panic only rose. Not even Chester Cole can calm her down Checking the security camera’s she found they were streaming nothing and with that, she knew she couldn’t stay. Colton DeForest came across them at that moment and knowing his own child was there the worried father insisted he go with them, Wyatt LeBlance overhears the three and also insists that he come along to check on his son. In their panic, the three worried parents left the ball in haste, their children’s safety the only thing on their minds. On his way out Wyatt told Luna Shaw he was going to check, hurrying off before she could even object. Cole drove hoping to keep his mind on the task at hand and not let the worried parents distract him.

Luna finds herself in a worried state, frustrated that she hadn’t had more time to figure out what was going on and in her anxious state she finds her way to her brother, who is in good company with Holly, Chou, and Pippa. Her brother Ned Ibarra is quick to ask what’s going on and when she explains Ned tries to call Violet with no response. Worried about what might unfold the siblings agree they should go, Holly Chevelair, Touma Dannika, and Pippa Wilde agree to go with them wanting to help.

When Cole, Colton, Sophia, and Wyatt arrive it becomes very clear that something is very wrong. Scoping out the property they try to identify where the children, Violet, and Vince are in the large estate. It becomes clear they are not the only ones there as the four realize the clave is here. When Luna, Ned, Holly, Touma, and Pippa arrive they find Cole, Colton, Sophia, and Wyatt fighting off a few members of the clave. Sophia informs them that Violet has the children locked in her room in the north wing of the home and sets them on a mission to get the children and Violet out while they fought off these Clave members.

When Luna, Ned, Holly, Touma, and Pippa reach that area of the house they find that some of the Clave members have also figured out where Violet had hidden the children. Needing a distraction Holly is the first to volunteer and Pippa agrees to help Holly so that Luna, Ned, and Touma can get to the children and get them out. Holly pulls out all the stops with her theatric showing and Pippa plays along drawing the Clave members away from room long enough for Ned Luna and Touma to get inside. One by one they help each child escape down the hallway to a secret entrance in the wall that leads to a series of hidden tunnels in the Greyson home. Pippa and Holly make a break for barely escaping the Clave before the Clave realizes that the children are gone.

When they gather on the front lawn they find that Colton, Sophia, and Wyatt have captured the Clave members they were fighting. Loading up the children, Holly agrees to hide them at Miss Anne’s when Colton get an unexpected call. That’s when Violet tells them...

Vince Nygaard and Briar Matthews are missing.

It had been a good night for Adam Haley and Alexandra Cunningham, quite even. As the night began to wind down the two decided to head home, lulled into a sense of security that maybe just once the night wouldn’t all go to hell right out from under them. Arriving home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary but the second they crossed the threshold of their home they found the truth to be far from that. There sitting in the living room was Morgan, rocking in the chair with Briar in his arms as he cooed at the little girl. Frozen in shock, fear took over them both. Taunting them it became very apparent he was there to cause strife. Setting Briar down amongst her toys he grabbed his daughter and gave Adam the ultimatum that would break his heart. It was then they realized they were not the only ones there. Jack Haley and Delilah Reyes sat unconscious in chairs sitting in the dark, gagged and bound. He reveals he’s in the company of both his daughters as Delilah and Jack both start to wake and Alex is faced with the reality that her sister sat before her. There is no time to process anything though because suddenly the odds are even less in there favor. A mixture of emotions running over Adam as the man who had single-handedly ruined his life held Alex in one hand and his brother in the other giving him one choice: Chose which one should die at his hand this night.

In the end, his decision wouldn’t matter. Morgan slit Jack’s throat, never having any intention to kill his daughter. Overcome with rage and grief Adam made a move at Morgan and in the scuffle, Morgan knocked him out, doing the same to Alex he tossed her over his shoulder, retrieved Briar from the living room and left the house, leaving a passed out Adam behind him and Delilah screaming from the place she sat gaged and bound.

Scout Matthews just wanted to see his little girl and after a night of plenty of laughter and joy he couldn’t stay away and so he made his way to Alex’s place. What he didn’t expect was to run into Nicholas Adler on his way, who had told him that Delilah was missing but he’d tracked her back to Adam’s. Finding this an odd coincidence they hurried the rest of the way there. When they arrived they found the door ajar and alarm instantly sunk in. Inside they found Adam passed out and Delilah tied to a chair. They wake Adam and free Delilah and soon find out what had happened and together they set out to find Morgan. Tracking Alex’s phone which was discretely tucked into the pocket of her dress they are able to catch up to Morgan rather quickly. In a surprising turn of events, they catch Morgan off guard and together they are able to get Alex and Briar back unharmed and they’ve captured Morgan in the meantime.

Meanwhile, at the ball, disaster strikes.

A very drunk Jacob Thorne finds himself waiting outside when Ria Desai arrives to retrieve him, outside they sit watching the sky as they talk. Unbeknownst to them, they were about to stumble upon an insidious plot. Isaac Byrne had been wandering around outside the ball, driven by concern when he’d saw them. Grabbing Jake and Ria he pulled them into the shadows as a small group passed them. From the shadows, the three soon discover that members of the clave were trying to find a way to attack those inside enjoying their night at the ball. They speak of a plan to take out the Originals and capture the Supreme. Waiting until the coast was clear the three jumped into action. Hurrying inside they make haste to warn those who might be in danger, passing Stefan Reyes, who was preparing to leave, they warned him about the Clave’s plot to snatch the supreme hoping he can help them find her and they head into the party to warn the others.

Finding Nathaniel Greyson with his brother Dominik Greyson they warn the originals of what they’d heard and without alerting the crowd to the impending danger. They take Jake and Ria off with a small group of those who can not defend themselves to hide out in the kitchen.

Joslyn Blackwell wanders into the night seeking the solace and quite on a viewing deck outside. Reveling in the silence she gets the overwhelming feeling she is not alone. Before she can turn around to see the man lunging from the shadows. Avery Carter-Wate catches him by surprise and knocks him unconscious saving the originals life.

All it takes is one word to reveal the truth. Uncle. It had been the most innocent word but it would be the one to reveal the truth to the wrong person. It would mean the end for one. Jonathan Knight and Emma Sawyer thought they were going to get away with just enjoying their night in good company as they headed back to the main area and that’s when they see a body laying slumped into the middle of the hallway. Jonathan and Emma start running towards the body and it doesn’t take but a few feet for Jonathan to realize who it was. Madge Knight lay in a puddle of blood gasping for breath. Emma steps in, addressing the stab wound to her abdomen. The life slipping quickly from her body as Jonathan pleads for his sister to hang in there. Picking her up they come across their uncle first, Noah Blackwell sees them coming towards them first and ushers them away from the crowd. An act of war, Noah knows this is no accident. Someone had struck his family and they would come for the rest of them. As Emma tries to help Madge, Noah sends Jonathan to get a car and goes to find the rest of his family warn them.

Noah returns to find Lukas Blackwell, Tobias Pierce, and Mac Cameron. Gathering the Blackwell’s best fighters he alerts them to the danger setting Tobias off to find Joslyn and Mac off to find Maggie.

Unaware of the dangers that were creeping up on them Maggie Blackwell found herself caught off guard as well. Thankfully Nathaniel showed up just in time. As the Clave member went to make their move Nathaniel stepped in stopping him. Filling Maggie in on what was going on they made the plan to gather the others to help fight off the clave. Together they could stop the madness and protect their people. Maggie heads off to find her siblings who are already gathered and ready to fight and Nathaniel recruits anyone in the pack who could fight. Quietly and discretely the news started to spread throughout the ball that danger lurked and together they prepared themselves. Those who could not fight were carefully advised to head to the kitchen where Jake and Ria were keeping the others.

From the outside, the room looked like it was primed for attacking, like shooting fish in a barrel but when the Clave made their move they were not prepared for the counter-attack they were met with. The fight breaks out and together they hold the clave back.

Following the shocking discovery that another woman shared her face both Ever Altair and Isabelle Cresswell were reeling from the revelation. The night would come with one more unexpected twist. Ever had escaped to a bathroom taking a moment to try and work through what had just happened, she wasn’t alone there though, Nyx Brraganza and Phoebe Stones also happened to be in the bathroom when a man entered, an automatic red flag for the three women. While cool on the exterior they were on high alert and when the man lunged for Ever the other two women were quick to jump in and help fight the man back. Trapping him in a stall they exit the bathroom trying to bar the door shut when Stefan Reyes would come across them ready to the warn them of the danger they’ve already clearly discovered. Stefan thinking Ever is Isabelle tells her what Isaac had mentioned and Ever explains that she’s not Isabelle.

Despite the confusion, they quickly realize they need to set that aside because the danger is still very real, the man in the bathroom still trying to escape and quickly more Clave members approach. The four take off in the other direction looking for Isabelle. They come across Thomas Scheffer who had just seen Isabelle wandering into the planetarium. Sensing the urgency and also the fact that they were now being followed by a very angry group of people, Thomas joins the group as they hurry into the planetarium just in time to see a few people heading inside. Hiding out of sight they devise a plan.

Isabelle Cresswell’s head was spinning, someone was running around with her face. As she made her way back to the ball she got the feeling like someone was following her. Seeing the planetarium doors up ahead she ducks inside hoping to have lost whoever it was. When she enters she finds that she is not alone, Laura Wilde sat staring up at the domed ceiling. Isabelle expressed her concerns of what she thought was happening and the girls grew paranoid when the doors open both of them screamed but it was only Lindy Cabrera. This caused them both to start laughing at how ridiculous they were and they explain to Lindy their reaction and for a moment they have a nice moment finding their jumpiness amusing.

All of that would take another turn though when suddenly the door opened once more except this time a handful of unfamiliar faces began coming into the room and they looked threatening. Panic set in and Issy and Lindy tell Laura to make a break for it to the doors on the other end while Lindy and Issy start throwing things at the Clave members. One man grabs Issy and Lindy smashes a chair over their head just in time for Ivan Blahnik to pull open to other sets of doors pulling Laura out and away from the group who rush for the door. It quickly closes behind them leaving Issy and Lindy the chance to rush out the other doors with the help of Stefan and Thomas. The group barricades the doors to keep the Clave members trapped inside while Phoebe goes off to find an original to deal with it.

Meanwhile back in the main room Nathaniel Greyson stood side by side with his brother Dominik Greyson, the brothers fighting back the Clave. They’ve been successful and the numbers of their enemies thin and the Greyson men are certain they have secured a victory. Letting their guard down for only a moment they do not see the man they’d knocked out coming too, they don’t see him reaching for the gun. The shot rings through the room and an eery silence falls across the crowd as everyone turns to look to see the devastation that noise could bring. Panic crosses Nate’s face when he hears the sound of a body collapsing behind him and he turns to see Dominik, standing between him and the Clave member, his suit jacket wet with blood. Noah Blackwell snaps the Clave members neck as Nate falls to the ground beside his brother, pulling him into his arms and watching slowly as the life slips from his body.

Dominik Greyson was dead.

Emma Sawyer comes running in, her beautiful dress covered in blood as she finds the Blackwells trying to gather themselves after the fight. Tearfully she tells them that Jonathan never returned with the car to take Madge to the hospital and that in that time Madge had died. Heartbreak and panic set in, Noah and Joslyn hurrying to find Jonathan as Emma took Maggie and Lukas to Madge.

Madge Knight was dead.

Jonathan Knight was missing.

Astrid Zhen comes upon Jonathan first. He lays beaten and bruised in the parking lot not five feet from his car. Another man clearly knocked out a foot from him must have been engaged in some kind of fight with the other man. She’d heard this man’s sister call Noah, Uncle. She knew he was of importance in some way to the Blackwell’s. It would be crazy for the idea to not cross her mind. Leverage would be nice to have. Pippa Percy comes running out into the night looking frantically for Jonathan when she comes upon them. Pushing past Astrid she checks for a pulse. Relieved to hear him breathing. When she turns to Astrid she finds her gone but coming out of the building she sees Theresa Rutherford making her leave she called out her and the two women struggled to carry Jonathan inside until Joslyn and Noah appeared to help them.

Back inside the chaos began to quiet as the reality of the night began to set in. They’d captured a good majority of the Clave who had come to attack them and with the cell reception restored they were able to start making arrangements to get the injured to the hospital and start moving the Clave to the prison. It had been a night of great loss. Several dead, an original and the descendant of another original lost to this world. There would be no do-overs this time. They’d won this time, saved thousands but at what cost?

When morning comes they find their abilities back to normal and that death is still a very final thing.

They also find that what chaos breeds as Cassie Cresswell shakes awake one Oliver Hastings, who awakes not a wolf but hybrid. When morning came the stress had forced Cassie to turn and she’d bitten Oliver by accident who was slowly bleeding out with her blood in his system. After attacking the Clave members still hunting her she returns in her human form to find a lifeless looking Oliver. Shaking him until suddenly he’s jolting back to life. The two find there was going to be a great deal to handle now that not just two hybrids roamed this world.

#hgadminnote #hgevent #hgbloodmoon #okay this is 5k+ words so I understand if you dont read it all it should be pretty searchable for your characters info.#I can give a high level summary at the end of the event #also please forgive me if there are any typos I've read and had others read this but at some point my eyes started to cross reading it all

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fakesurprise · 5 years

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The Jay Theory

Yesterday we spend dealing with a ghost that was genuinely possessing a car. The ghost had never read any Stephen King, no one would believe the car was possessed and it had been developing the kind of issues that lead to being homicidal.

But that means today is a day ‘off’ and after helping break a car in half while Anya and Charlie forced the ghost out of it, a day off is nice. Or it would be except the entire kitchen area of our hotel suite is filled with - small boxes.

I blink a couple of times, gingerly push one without touching it. My Talent lets me push and pull things, and it moves just like a small box. Charlie had rapped on my door earlier to let my know Anya was dragging her out shopping and I’d said no to joining them.

Charlie is human, for everything she can do. So are Anya and me, really, but without glamour Anya scares people who instinctively know what her talent to harm and can do. And even with glamour.hiding my acne draw a lot of stares. Enough that I’d just make the shopping uncomfortable and not normal. Most days I don’t care; I have too many freckles, so of course people are going to stare.

This morning the knowing didn’t help. I just didn’t want to, so I stayed inside. The boxes go up to the ceiling, and I use my talent to pull one off the top and to my hands. The box is full of spoons. As is the next random one I pick, and the next.

“Do you need more?!” Jay says excitedly behind me. Jay is eleven, travelling with us now and not at all human for all that he seems human no matter what he does.

“I - I was going to make some coffee. It doesn’t need... this?”

“Oh! But Anya said you were sleeping in cuz you were low on spoons maybe so I got you some!:

I get my phone out, take a picture of an open box, and the rest. Send that to Anya with ‘wth?!’ as my message. She’s always teases me that even my texts are shy, but it’s never a teasing to hurt.

Anya sends a link back to me and I skim it. I think Lia had told me about spoon theory but when your stepmom is an ex-magician you never know if they’re just making some weird metaphor you’re meant to figure out months later. I knew Aram and me had talked about willpower and ego-depletion in the use of talents, but given my stepdad is ex-secret-agent he’d meant it in terms of courage, using a talent and that one could only be ‘on’ for so long, as a warning when travelling.

I text Anya back with; ‘need fork and knife theory. just have spoons,’ which gets laughter in reply. I decide trying to explain ego-depletion to Jay would even be worse.

“I was tired, and needed sleep,” I say. “I’m okay without spoons.”

“But! I got a lot of spoons and I can do bindings and bind them all together and make you a coat,” Jay offers proudly.

“I already have a coat,” I say, because anything else could make this worse.

“But but but everyone would be staring at the coat and not you and I could make it lots of colours too!”

“It’s not -.” I rub the bridge of my nose gingerly. I’m not sure how fae glamour works; my acne is still here, but somehow not here because the glamour hides it. I like being able to rub the bridge of my nose though, so I try not to wonder too hard about it. “Sometimes I jut don’t want people staring at me.”

Jay gives me a blank, confused stare.

“You’ve never wanted that?”

“Nope. WAIT!” I jump a little, but nothing explodes or changes. “I was blind for almost a year you know, and people got weirdy sometimes like a Jay wasn’t there when I was or they didn’t want to talk to me and that’s not the same thing but I bet it is from another angle cuz a Jay is jaysome but they were staring at me like i wasn’t jaysome and that was pretty weirdy and I did a shouting a few times!”

I open my mouth. Decide not to point out Jay had shouted the word ‘wait’. “.... you were blind?” I settle for.

“Uh-huh! I helped Honcho and it did an oops and he fixed it but that was another oops until we fixed that one too.”

I think I am even more confused, but decide to just ask Charlie later. “It’s not getting mad. I can’t get mad; I’d stare at me too. It’s just - tiring to be stared at all the time, and if I went shopping there would be all these awkward stares and Charlie and Anya having less of a shopping trip.”

Jay scratches his head. “That’s kind of confusling you know, cuz they don’t think that at all cuz you’re their friend!”

“They do sometimes; it would be hard not to,” I say simply.

“Oh, but that’s just thinking-thoughts, and those aren’t the same as real-thoughts cuz they sneak up on you and pretend they’re yours by being all intrusive and doing a sneaking and! you’re really pretty so lots of people stare but! I can help you do a sneaking of you want?!”

He could. I’m pretty sure Jay can do most anything without even trying. I shake my head. “I’ll be okay. Sometimes it’s hard to be me, but it would be harder to hide?”

That doesn’t quite make sense, but Jay grins as if he understood it, and then looks worried.

“But that means someone else needs these spoons?”

“Probably?”

“Okay!”

Jay vanishes, along with all the spoons. And all I can hope is that he doesn’t give them all to one person.

I get my packet on, text Anya to find out where she and Charlie are, and head to meet them. The scariest part about Jay is sometimes how right he is, but that’s something I’m definitely never telling him. I have a list. it grows longer every day. But somehow it’s almost worth it most days, just for the ways he shakes me out of myself.

#writing #prose #magician series #family series

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koltarmi · 5 years

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things i noticed/liked/thought while i was watching anastasia live ver 2.0

This past summer, I got the chance to go see Anastasia again and was lucky enough to see it with a whole new cast! At that point, Zach Adkins had become the principal Dmitry, Molly Rushing was Anya, Ken Krugman was Vlad, Max Von Essen was Vlad, Lily was Vicki Lewis, and the Dowager was Janet Dickson.

Details are below:

Act 1

Kelli Youngman did an extra twirl trailing behind the rest of the Romanov sisters

Dima sounds real pissed especially in the beginning of he song. He gave off a kind of old movie conman vibe with the attitude and accent in "A rumour"

Ken did some preening in "a rumour" when talking about hobnobbing with the Royals

Dmitry yells "WE'LL BE OUT.” in the attitude one would say, "BYE, WE OUT BITCHES”

My first crush ever was on the animated Dmitry solely because of that belt on "the biggest con in history" gave me chills every damn time. I was so pleased that Derek exceeded my expectations and I was always worried no one else could compare, but damn was I wrong because Zach did as equally well on that.

Instead of raising a chair in defence, Dimitry hides behind the couch he was lounging on.

Zach's Dimitry doesn't have the biting sarcasm of Derek's version, which is great. Who would want to watch the same performance after all? It's softer and he drawls his witty remarks which still have the same amount of sting as Derek's Dmitry who's remarks are quick and blunt.

Ken's Vlad does this over the top bow when he introduces himself to Anya.

Molly's version of Anya and Zach's version of Dimitry reminded me more of the dynamic between the two in the movie.

MOLLY'S VOICE WHEN SHE SINGS "In My Dreams” 😍😍😍😍

When Vlad teaches Anya how to walk properly, she sticks her arms and out and sort of bounces along which Vlad then mocks doing the flappy arm thing from “Paris Holds the Key”

Ken's Vlad adds a lilting tone to the end of some sentences giving them a touch of humour.

Anya's breakdown in “Learn to Do It” is not teary. In fact, it's the complete opposite. She is absolutely pissed off.

Vlad does a tsking sound when Dimitry tries to argue with Anya while she's angry.

When Dmitry steps on Anya's foot while they're dancing, Vlad looks so exasperated and says, “Just... just...just...” cue loud sigh.

When Anya kicks Dmitry's shin, a scolding voice.

The third time around he takes in a deep breath and counts in a higher pitched tone.

Dmitry looks so offended when Vlad says Russian was for common folks like him.

The Russian telephone that works line he chuckled for a long time before realizing oh fuck his boss didn't find that funny.

When Anya is brought in, MVE's Gleb doesn't use intimidation. He acts more like the good cop.

When he does realize who he's talking to. His demeanour changes and he stutters before dismissing the officers with a wave of his hand and a "eep" like noise (this is like the best I can describe it).

After he says it's the uniform and the office that make the bad impression, he proves it by plastering on a wide grin.

In the last refrain of “The Neva Flows”, Anya sings the refrain along with him playing the part of a loyal comrade who knows better now, except she stops when he sings, “The Tsar lies cold”.

The drunk guys aren't as excited when they tell that the Tsar is drinking his vodka in hell. Instead the sorta half mumble and sound tired.

Love the way James Peirce says, “Girrrrrrrrrlfriend” and how the group of them sway in a circle to look at Anya.

Molly chasing after those guys while screaming was adorable and hilarious.

In the beginning of “My Petersburg”, for the first few verses Zach sort of says-sings them, belts on the first “Petersburg” then goes in to full force singing into “I've bartered for a blanket/stolen for my bread”.

At the end of the first verse, he nods his head forward and tells Anya, “Come on.”

Zach growls the line “rough company” and holy shit i was shook.

Why did they cut Anya and Dimitry singing “You and I on the fly/just in time” I love it so much.

His response to Anya when she says that neither of them has a family is so earnest it hurts me. Derek's Dmitry says it hesitantly almost forgetting he's conned Anya into this, while Zach's Dimitry is softer and assures her that her family is waiting for her in Paris and I honestly don't which interpretation I like better because I love both of them.

The tone he uses when he tells Anya the object she's holding a music box is exactly the same when he tells her it's broken and that made the audience chuckle.

When Anya opens the music box, Dmitry throws his hands up, rolls his eyes in exasperation, and walks away when Anya opens up the music box on her first try. 'Of fucking course she got it open on her first try,’

When he asks her how she opened it, he sounds more curious than he does confused.

The seats we had this time were way closer to the projections on the wall and holy shit, they look even more magical up close that I wanted to touch them.

My sister teared up by the end of “Once Upon a December” because the song made her so sad and nostalgic at the same time.

Dmitry sounds so regretful when he tells Anya that they don't have enough to get out of Russia.

They drop a coin when Dmitry tries to give Anya back her money and for the rest of the scene and the next one, I kept worrying someone would slip on it.

When she talks about how stubborn Dmitry is she says the part about him being almost as stubborn like her in a somewhat bragging tone.

Molly's singing when during the little reprise of “In My Dreams” about the diamond is just absolutely gorgeous.

Man, Constantine Germancos and the rest of the ensemble singing “Stay, I Pray You” gives me chills everytime. Hearing it live is just so much more gut wrenching than the album. For the first stay, I pray you, he holds the word “stay” a little.longer and DAMN.

Anya rolls her eyes and gets up to walk around the train when Vlad says he loved the diamond studded watch more than Lily.

Lyrica Woodruff and Kristen Smith-Davies made a really an exaggerated motion of scooting over when Zach had one foot on the bench that got a chuckle out of a few people.

Anya slides off the top of the bench she's sitting on when the train comes to a sudden stop.

When the jump off the train the scene turns black, but for some reason this time the lighting from the two offices (Gleb's and his superior officer's, which was on stage right) made it bright enough that you could see Molly, Zach, and Ken hurry offstage

MVE's “Still” 👌🔥✔👌✔👌👌🔥✔🔥🔥🔥👌

When Vlad says that Anya will break his heart, he laughs it off. But when Vlad tells her how he'll never see her if she's accepted as the real Anastasia, the realization of his friend's warning hits him like a ton of bricks.

TBH, a little disappointed Dmitry didn't bound offstage like a young goat, he just ran.

Molly's smile is absolutely radiant when she finishes “Journey to the Past”.

Act 2

Vlad's shaggy beard is gone when they change into their fancy Paris clothes.

Zach is a much better dancer than Derek. The boy's talent lies in his voice not his coordination while Zach seems to be a better balance between vocal power and dance.

The look Anya and Dmitry shared as they circled each other was goddamn magnetic and when he offers a hand to dance and she gets twirled away by someone else the look on his face is so disappointed that it wrecked me.

Molly's “Crossing a Bridge” is so full of hope it makes me emotional. Her voice singing that song is so pure???!! Like that's the only way I feel describes it correctly.

I don't remember if Christy did this, but when Vlad announces he's going to try find Lily, Anya reaches up to neaten Vlad's bowtie in a good luck gesture of sorts.

Vicki Lewis' Lily is not as comedic as Caroline O'Connor's. She has much more serious and drier humour, which perfectly compliments Ken's Vlad.

The best way I can describe it is Vicki's Lily is basically a Vodka Aunt ™

This Count Leopold is less slimy more pompous.

MBP's Dowager is full of grieving and sadness while Janet's Dickson's is tired and bitter. Also the way she drags the word “Cleaveland” with disgust was pretty funny.

The way she sings “tell them/no more” she really puts emphasis on the “no more” which makes her sound so defeated.

At the entrance of the Neva Club, Lily says this to the doorman after greeting her a good evening: “The only good thing it means there's one day less.” She then laughs and says she's being Russian and with a deadpan expression and tone she looks out to the audience and says, “I love life.” which is such a big mood.

When everyone is passed out at the Neva Club during “Land of Yesterday”, Vicki's Lily is dancing and drinking from an empty vodka bottle without hands before she wakes them all up by belting a high note.

When Lily and Vlad go outside to talk and she acts cold to him, she very purposefully drops her handkerchief and Vlad rushes to pick it up.

During “The Countess and the Common Man” when Lily says she loved him, Vlad pauses for a few seconds looking for the right words to say before hesitantly replying, “You loved me,” which got a chuckle out of the audience.

The two really drew out the part where they're exhausted. Vlad was finding his pulse while Lily took a breath and stretched.

Ken and Vicki really went at it. Like she straight up was feeling up his butt.

The part where he belts “the Common Man”, Vicki wrapped herself around his leg which made them look like the cover of bodice-ripper harlequin novel.

MVE's reprise of “Land of Yesterday” The man has a voice like velvet.

When Dmitry rushes in to reassure Anya, he sounds so genuine and honest. It's clear he's head over heels in love with her and he's forgotten the whole thing is a con.

After Dmitry sings his part in “In a Crowd of Thousands” Anya scoots a little closer to him when he sits back down at the bed.

BOTH MOLLY AND ZACH'S VOICES IN THE SONG MY GOD, IT MADE THE AUDIENCE FELT LIKE THEY WERE INTRUDING ON A PRIVATE MOMENT.

So when Anya sings that young Dmitry was “not too clean”, Derek used to act jokingly offended but Zach's Dmitry is just so enraptured by Anya telling her side of the story he's just smiling at her the whole time like wow pro tip get yourself a zach's version in Dmitry who looks so lovingly at Molly's Anya cause that's true love.

That loving smile becomes a look of shock, confusion, and the slightest bit of hope when Anya goes, “And then he bowed.”

I LOVR THE WAY MOLLY SAYS, “You didn't have to. I remember.” It's not surprise or shock at the sudden memory. She says it like a fact. Water is wet, fire is hot, the sky is blue, and I remember the boy on the street who made me smile, it was you. It's been you all this time.

The rush towards each other, so utterly happy, but then Zach's Dimitry suddenly realizes what's he doing and freezes. He pulls away from Anya and that look on his voice is so similar to the look he had in PHTK when she gets spun away from him.

So I timed this as soon as they walked offstage, Zach had about 55 seconds to change while Molly had about 70 seconds to change.

Quartet of the Ballet, man. The lyrics are the same, but sung by different people who have different interpretations of the same characters is whole new damn experience.

Zach and Max's voices went really well together and I want a duet between them immediately.

In “Everything to Win”, Zach sings beautifully and then says "wHY PANIC NOW??” and resumes his lovely singing which got a chuckle out of the audience. Boi looked like he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

When Anya comes out, he asks her in a hopeful voice, “What happened?” and her stoic facial expression turns into one of complete and utter betrayal and anger.

The confrontation between Maria and Dmitry is a totally different tone, because neither them holds back and basically yells in the other's face.

“I was hungry and desperate when I met you, but I wasn't dishonest. I hate you for that.” She says the last sentence so quietly you can almost miss it, but damn if that doesnt hurt I don't know what would because we've seen an annoyed, violent, and angry Anya. This quiet anger and betrayal is so much worse.

When they're back in the hotel and Anya is packing her things, she throws the doll Dmitry bought her and it falls to the ground. And when she's ripping Vlad a new one, she rips the medallion looking thingy from his suit and throws it on the ground.

Again, Janet's Maria is again tired and bitter and it really shows in the scene between her and Anya.

When Maria and Anya hug, Dmitry is in the background, the doll she threw away in his hand.

Just like in “Land of Yesterday”, Vicki's Lily belts a high note to silence the press in “The Press Conference”

The confrontation between Anya and Gleb is just so intense. He tries playing the good cop card again, when it's clear she won't fall for it, he becomes more clear with his threats.

I remember seeing video of Christy adding this move in The Neva Flows Reprise where she falls back into the chair and Molly does it as well, she backs up into the chair as if this conversation physically hurts her and pushes her back, defeated into the chair, head slumped.

When he demands one last time, who she is, we see the Anya we know and love return in full force. Her head and spine that was slumped straightens as she stares him down and walks toward right into his gun, proudly declaring that she is The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevena Romanov.

And it seems her confidence and courage in her identity weakens Gleb's. His hand shakes as he points the gun at her chest. He tries to point it at her head, but that just weakens his resolve and he crumples into the ground, dropping his gun. (If I haven't made it clear, I fucking love MVE's interpretation of Gleb)

The whole conversation between the two after this is softer and filled with quiet understanding and regret. And they part as comrades both knowing the truth.

The way Zach's Dmitry says, "I don't want to be in love with someone I can't have," is so bitter like he believes that now that Anya is proven to be Anastasia he will never be worthy of her love, which he is 110% wrong.

Molly's Anya says the line about her first kiss with a prince like a fact.

When they kiss, Dmitry is shocked like his wildest dreams has come true before he realizes this is real and just gently kisses her back.

#anastasia the musical #molly rushing #zach adkins #max von essen #ken krugman #vicki lewis #janet dickson #anastasia broadway

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