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paperpocalypse · 2 years

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case 254.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader Word Count: 1,591 words Warnings: Swearing, violence

You are, by all accounts, married to your work.

And you are a loyal lover. The briefcase is your certificate, the bullets your vows. You keep them close wherever you go. Twenty-four years in the Commission is nothing to sneeze at, and you have never – not once – been unfaithful.

… Not in action, at least. Recent thoughts of retirement have begun tempting you to the point of an emotional affair.

(You’d get married, maybe. To a person, not a job. Live in a one-story home with a pond in the backyard and not too far from the nearest Walmart, adopt a little dog that you and your spouse spoil to bits. You’d die peacefully in your sleep instead of bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.)

“Shit.”

Coughing, you spit and wipe your mouth with the cuff of your sleeve. Damn Arnie made you bite your own tongue.

“The police will be here any minute!” he yells through the walls, and something clatters to the ground. “You can’t make me go back!”

“I’m not making you go back, Arn,” you call back, exasperated. “I got an order to kill you.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

You chuckle and stumble back to your feet.

Arnold had been a loyal employee of the Temps Commission for twenty years. He specializes in 18th century weaponry, his kill count is in the hundreds, and he relies on cigarettes in the same way you rely on coffee. He is also a friend of yours – or the closest thing a Temps assassin can have to a friend – and that’s probably why the Board sent you to kill him.

They had given you two days. You had promised one.

It’s been three.

“You shouldn’t have tried to sell your briefcase to the military, Arnie!”

Arnie doesn’t reply. The squeal and slam of a door grates on your ears, and you swear aloud, rushing to the bathroom.

You break the door open and don’t hesitate to fire in quick succession, just barely missing a shoe slipping from the windowsill.

Clicking your tongue, you pause.

“Dammit.”

Something small and cylindrical is lobbed through the window, bouncing and rolling to a stop at your feet.

“Dammit!”

You book it out of the bathroom, rounding a corner and diving to the ground just as the grenade explodes. The floor shivers. You cover your ears and hold your breath.

If people had ignored the ruckus beforehand, they certainly can’t now.

Panting, you scrape yourself off the floor, reaching back to pull your Glock out and heading back to the bathroom. “Son of a bitch …”

Smoke and burst pipes and rubble are all that remains of the bathroom. Your heart drops to your stomach when you recognize the guts of your Commission briefcase among the rubble. This has got to be the second-worst fumble of your career; you should’ve thrown the briefcase out first and then run out. Your rifle is a lost cause too.

Shaking your head, you approach the gaping hole in the wall and slowly clamber down the side of the building. Arnold couldn’t have gotten far, not with a concussion and the bullet in his leg. Thank goodness. You don’t have as much stamina for high-speed chases as you used to.

The same moment that you land on a patch of broken bricks and dirt, the sound of a gunshot resonates behind you.

You immediately whip around, firing a shot into Case 254’s head before you can even register that his back had been facing you.

Arnold collapses, dead, onto the ground a few meters away from you. Your lips part. You quickly look back up and keep your gun poised.

A man points his rifle back at you.

“Got him before you did,” he tells you, voice low and gruff.

There’s a briefcase at his feet.

“Did the Board think I couldn’t handle this one?” you ask, aiming between the man’s eyes. You like the way he speaks, even though it pisses you off. He’s confident. “Or do they think I defected too?”

“Did you?” he challenges.

Not in ways they can punish. “If I did, Arnie wouldn’t have tried to blow me up with an MK3.”

“… Humph.”

Sirens are getting ever louder. The two of you lower your weapons; you’re no longer wary of this fellow assassin, but the glare he’s fixing you with makes you want to rile him up.

“Tell me your name, hotshot,” you say, walking over to Arnold and rummaging through his clothes.

He grunts sourly. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“To make conversation.” You find some loose change and a coupon for a tanning salon – alright – but what you’re really interested in is the copy of the briefcase’s blueprints. You pocket everything. “It stimulates the mind. I think you might need that in your old age.”

When you face the man fully again, he rolls his eyes.

Then he literally disappears into thin air.

You blink. The dots connect as quickly as the flaring lights of police cars shine around the corners of the building, and a frenzied laugh escapes your lips.

“What a gentleman.”

Guess the rumors were right – the Commission’s new darling, Five, is a genius as well as an asshole.

On the other side of the apartment complex, the detective tells officers to surround the building. You quickly put your gun away and take off before they reach the back.

“I heard someone running! Over here!”

You run until you reach a chain-link fence, locating a spot where the mesh had peeled away from the post and slipping through with gritted teeth. The air inside your mask weighs on your skin, hot and thick from your heavy breathing. Your feet already hurt. You should’ve invested in those gel insoles Arnold told you about before he decided to defect.

“Stop! This is the police!”

You hold back a groan. You’re getting too old for this shit.

But you keep going anyways. You keep running, turn a corner and cut through back alleys, knock out the few people you pass who are unlucky enough to be out at two in the morning. And for some reason, they keep pursuing you, getting closer and closer –

You hear something like a muffled pop of air. A hand grips your arm and drags you into an alley.

You scramble for your Glock, but as soon as your fingers brush its handle, it disappears. Five pushes you down behind a dumpster and shoves a hand up your mask to cover your mouth. It takes everything in you to keep from gagging when you land on a trash bag way too wet-sounding for your liking.

“Quiet.”

You huff, tearing his hand away. Your arm is pinned against his sternum, your head much too close to his. His breathing is quiet, measured, and slow.

(He’s used to this. Used to running, used to hiding, just like you.)

Five runs warm. You like it in the same way that you like the way he speaks.

Footsteps hurry past your hiding place, then fade into the distance.

After waiting about ten more minutes, you let your head knock back against the wall. “Shit.” You chuckle. “I owe you one, Mr. Five.”

Five doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude. Instead, he pushes himself away from you and drops your Glock into your lap, then grabs his briefcase and stands up. Though you resent the loss of heat, you join him with a more appropriate amount of space between the two of you.

“I’ll take you back to headquarters,” Five states, sounding as if his teeth are about to be pulled.

“Thank you kindly,” you reply. “It must be my lucky day, getting my hide saved and escorted by the Commission’s rising star.”

“I’m sure.” His tone is dry.

Sirens wail as you tell him your name.

“I know,” Five mutters, unclipping the briefcase. “You were mentioned in the kill order for your pal back there.”

Ah. You nod, smiling a bit tightly, and put your hands on the briefcase as well. “Of course.”

A flash, and you’re both back in 1955, the sun too bright and the air too stale. You feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Still hate time travel after twenty plus years,” you comment, letting go. “Did using your powers have the same effect?”

Five regards you silently, lips pursed. “Hard to recall,” he finally says, snapping the briefcase shut.

“The lab’s developing some meds for the side effects. Apparently, they’re doing trial runs soon.”

“That so.”

“Yes.” You squint up at HQ, brush off your suit, and exhale loudly. “Anyway, I better get going. See you later, Mr. Five.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Just Five is fine.”

“See you later, Five,” you emphasize with a grin. “Maybe we’ll be able to team up in the future.”

All he does is cast you an unimpressed glance before disappearing through one of his teleportation portal things.

You stare at the now empty space and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. Well, the apocalypse doesn’t exactly make one a good conversationalist. (Either that, or he finds you insufferable.)

As you stroll into the Commission building to turn in the briefcase blueprint and procure another briefcase, you think of your life so far. You think of your marriage to your work, of the sleepless honeymoon stage and the bitter taste of the past ten years. You think of that dark alley, of that moment of companionship, one-sided though it was.

And maybe you find yourself just a little more unfaithful.

#cliché tropes and prompts #source: bucky-plums-barnes #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #silververse #s3 coming out tomorrow babey !!#forgive me for the person i am about to become

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12romy · 5 months

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32 and 54 please! Chewis!! 🩵 (you are incredible!)

Hi dearie, thank youuuu! So 32 is Pregnancy fic, and 54 is secret relationship... I decided to write something absolutely self-indulging, and went with ALL the clichés XDD

Hope you'll like it, enjoy~

With how often Lewis touches his own belly, he's scared people might end up noticing, but he can't help himself.

He started to show, and it made him feel warm every time he looked at himself. Charles is probably worse than him, anyway. He can't keep his hands off Lewis' small bump every time they're together.

Lewis is so glad the season is coming to an end. He's getting tired, and starts to have back pain - although that could be because of the car. He's taking a year off. The pregnancy was not planned, but a welcome surprise. They both cried when they found out, and Charles still gets emotional about it sometimes.

The news of his retirement - he doesn't know if it will be a temporary one yet - should come out Monday morning, after they both leave Abu Dhabi. The country is not very nice to male carriers.

After long talks, Lewis decided to announce his pregnancy and come out. His relationship with Charles, however, will stay a secret for now. Ferrari was not very enthusiastic at the thought of him coming out.

Lewis knows that Charles feels bad about it, but himself doesn't mind. He hasn't been out for his entire career, he doesn't want to force his partner to come out.

Of course, things don't go as smoothly as planned. During qualifying, Max crashes him out.

Lewis grunts in pain as his car hits the wall, Max spinning off a little further away. Panic hits immediately, and he checks his stomach, frantic. He's fine, he's not hurting, and there is no blood - only then can he breathe again.

He also realises at that point that his left wrist hurts more than it should.

"Lewis!" someone calls, and it should be Bono but it's not, it's the voice of his boyfriend.

Lewis turns his head and realises that yes, Charles is here, running toward him. He wasn't in the crash, why is he…

"Lewis, oh my god, are you okay?" he asks again, close.

"Charles, I'm fine," he replies quickly. "We're fine, everything is fine. Fuck, I'm sorry, you must've been so worried…"

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault!" Charles shakes his head. "I'm so relieved that you're okay… I thought my heart was about to stop when I saw the crash. Let's get you out."

He helps Lewis unstrap and pulls him out of the car gently. Lewis doesn't miss the arm wrapped around his waist and his hand conveniently on his lower stomach.

Max comes to them, then, a confused expression on his face. "You're a medic, now, Leclerc?" he taunts. "What the fuck was that, Hamilton?"

"I'm sorry what?" Charles says dryly before Lewis can speak. He lets go of Lewis, stomping toward Max. "That was all your fault!"

"It was not! Why are you defending him? He's fucking fine, what's wrong with you?" Max scoffs.

"What wrong with-" Charles starts, cuts himself with a laugh of disbelief, then screams. "What's wrong with me is that you crashed into my pregnant boyfriend! You could've killed my child you fucking bastard!"

Before Lewis can stop him, Charles punches Max square in the face, making him stumble backward. Ouch, Max shouldn't have taken off his helmet - actually, scratch that, he's pretty sure Charles would've gone for a kick in the balls otherwise.

"Charlie, enough!" Lewis calls, Charles freezing. "I'm fine, and the baby is fine. I'm gonna get checked at the medical wing, just to be sure, okay? Just continue the quali, I'll be fine."

"No way, I'm coming with you," Charles refuses right away. I'm taking engine penalty anyway, who fucking cares."

"Charles…"

"I'm not leaving you right now. We are in trouble, I bet, with all the cameras around… I don't think either of us should stay alone."

"I have to admit, our plan to keep our relationship under wrap is pretty much busted now…"

"I don't know if I really regret it…" Charles hesitates. Lewis takes his hand, gently. The moment was broken with Max angrily grabbing Charles by the shoulder.

"What the fuck mate, what kind of joke is that?" he spits out, angry. The marshalls arrive to separate them before it can get out of hand again - thankfully. Charles insists on following Lewis in the medical car and doesn't let go of him until they have to get out. His own hand doesn't leave his stomach for a second.

They do an echography first, to confirm everything is okay, and the adrenaline from the crash finally comes down. Lewis is crying from relief before he realises what's happening.

"Hey, don't cry," Charles tells him gently. "It's all okay, now…"

"I know, I know… I think my wrist is sprained, so I'm not gonna race tomorrow."

"You what???" Charles screams out. "Lewis, why didn't you say so?"

"Sorry, I kinda… Forgot."

Twenty minutes later, Lewis' wrist is in a sling, and they are ready to leave. The front of the medical wing is swarming with journalists waiting for them, however, same as the back entry.

It looks like they don't really have the choice but to confront them. At least, their teams had sent them two bodyguards, which will hopefully be enough.

"I'm sorry for this," he tells Charles.

"Not your fault, Lew," he shrugs. "I'm the one who rushed to your car. It might be easier, not having to hide."

"I hope it will be," Lewis sighs.

"You're ready?"

"I am," he says, taking Charles' hand. "Let's do this."

Charles pushes the door open, and Lewis' hand flies to his stomach out of habit. They would be fine, the three of them.

#chewis #f1 rpf #mpreg #my fic #prompt game #this is so cliché i'm not even sorry #thanks for the ask!

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tinknevertalks · 4 months

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*Starts writing a prompt response*

*Googles Tesla's father's name*

*Googles Canasta*

*Googles gin rummy*

*Googles heir apparent*

*Googles taffeta*

*Has only written 157 words*

#rachel thinks about writing #it's a prompt sarky sent me except i've not done the cliché version 🙈

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prompts4dummies · 6 months

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“For someone so cold, you're very warm. You know?”

“I don't see how spooning will help us complete our assignment.”

#dialogue prompt #writing #writing ideas #writing prompt #writing prompts #cute #soft #the cliché sun and moon trope ofc

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lesbianlotties · 2 years

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'' you just can't help yourself, can you? '' ronance kiss prompt. Thank you ❤️

It was their first date. Everything was going well, technically. For starters, Nancy had said yes when Robin asked her to go on an actual date with her, and she seemed perfectly content, happier, and more relaxed than Robin had probably ever seen her. If anything, the only problem was that Robin, to put it mildly, was incapable of shutting up. This was a usual problem for her in general, even worse around pretty girls, and the worst it ever was when she was alone with Nancy. But a date? With just the two of them alone? Walking together with Nancy’s hand in hers until they reached a private and beautiful spot for a picnic? Yeah, Robin had a feeling if she stopped talking for a second she would just die on the spot. And that would be an unfortunate ending to their first date.

“So, yeah. What I’m trying to say is, if you don’t want to eat your sandwich you can totally have mine, and like, I’m pretty sure mine is pretty much identical, but does it matter? What even are sandwiches anyway? We could skip to dessert and like, if you didn’t want to eat dessert we don’t have to because there are no rules, you know? I’ve never heard about any picnic rules and even if there were, we could totally break them, I would be so happy to break picnic rules with you and-”

“Robin,” Nancy interrupted her. Finally.

“Yeah? What’s up? What’s, uh, what’s on your mind? You can tell me anything, you know? I’m all ears, and I’m listening, and I’m-”

“Do you know that you’re ranting?” Nancy asked her. There was a small, sweet, patient smile on her lips. She looked so beautiful, sitting on the blanket beside Robin, surrounded by the best scenario that spring had to offer them.

“Yeah,” Robin admitted with a trembling voice. “It’s a problem, I know. It happens, it happens so often and I don’t know how to stop and it’s probably so annoying and I feel awful because you probably haven’t been able to talk all afternoon but I really want to listen to you because you’re… you, and you just make me a little bit nervous and I’m-”

“It’s cute,” Nancy said, immediately igniting a blush to take over Robin’s cheeks. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Robin chuckled nervously and scratched the back of her head. “Help me?” she asked Nancy. “I’m just going to keep talking and I don’t know how to stop but I-”

This time Nancy interrupted her with a kiss. It was careful, slow, the sweetest thing Robin had ever experienced. Nancy, who Robin knew as the bravest and strongest girl in all of Hawkins, was breathtakingly gentle with her. Robin could feel herself melting, leaning against Nancy’s lips and the delicate hand Nancy placed on her jaw. Who would’ve thought that life-changing events didn’t have to be catastrophic, and could be the most tender and happy little moments?

Finally, Nancy pulled away, blushing a little and still smiling at Robin, who was pretty sure she was smiling like an idiot, stunned into silence. “So? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Nancy asked, with surprising nervousness at the edge of her tone. But when she watched Robin open and close her mouth, completely speechless, Nancy laughed happily and relaxed. “Well, good to know I found an antidote,” Nancy grinned and brushed Robin’s hair with her fingers, “But for the record, I do love listening to you talk.”

“Okay,” Robin chuckled. It was the best she could do. She’d never felt so at a loss for words. She’d never felt so happy and at home with someone else.

#i'm sorry but i'll never ever get tired of nancy gently interrupting robin's nervous rants with a kiss #it's this fandom's cliché and i eat it up every single time #ronance #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #st #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #stranger things fanfic #ronance fanfic #prompts #answered #anon #ronance prompts #my fic #if you saw me post this without the prompt sentence no you didn't

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leurandrews · 10 months

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Some new ideas for haunted or spooky locations for horror (or just anything) that aren’t just houses, mansions or hotels:

Abandoned Zoo

Abandoned Hospital

Abandoned Mental Hospital

Abandoned Mall

Abandoned Amusement Park

Abandoned Water Park

Abandoned Theater

Abandoned School

Abandoned Prison

Abandoned Circus

Abandoned Eat in Restaurant

Abandoned Fast Food Restaurant

Abandoned Meat Plant

Abandoned Factory

Abandoned Ski Resort

Abandoned Toy Store

Feel free to add any more ideas!

#writing #writing prompt #horror #writing ideas #horror prompt #writing horror #cliché

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rosyjuly · 1 year

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IF you are still taking prompts (arrives ten hours late with starbucks): sebmick, cascade

“You’re going to get lost,” a voice says behind him, and Mick almost drops the flask he was filling, knee precariously perched on a stone.

“I’m an excellent tracker,” Mick replies, trying to sound truthful and not boasting, but the king– Sebastian, Sebastian only chuckles.

When he asks for it, Sebastian hands over his own flask with a small smile; the tips of their fingers barely brushing – it’s strange to see him alone, the rest of the hunting party so ahead Mick can barely hear the easy laughter that the wind carries their way over the gentle flow of water.

“It’s beautiful here,” Mick says, his tongue suddenly clumsy and thick in his mouth as he carefully closes the flask.

“Yes, quite,” Sebastian agrees, though his eyes don’t seem to leave Mick’s face, the apples of his cheeks heating up in their trail.

#the middle part being a single sentence is a crime. arrest me officer!!#spoils of war #thank you for this prompt :))#sebmick #five sentence fic #rosy.ask #me pushing out cliché after cliché: it's couture

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drowning-rats-in-fandoms · 2 years

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I am totally a sucker for the trope where the warrior is in the middle of a battle, fighting one handed because they're cradling a helpless child in the other.

It's even better if they both survive and live together because of the found family trope.

#literally din and grogu #star wars #the mandalorian #baby yoda #writing prompts #stories #clichés #ocs #writing #wattpad #a03 #fanfic

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heartsechoed · 1 year

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@conseille

a target as big as the red orchid was intimidating enough to make even vivian second-guess herself. she had expected security to be tight and the staff clever and sharp... but in the end, no one seemed to find her suspicious. vivian was welcomed with open arms by a sweet director and a helpful staff that showed her around the entire place. they almost made it too easy.

yet no one was quite as oblivious as the man she was working under. sungtae reminded her of her own grandfather. perhaps that was why vivian had such an easy time fooling him and why she felt so terrible about it. there wasn’t a distrusting bone in his body; he believed everything vivian told him, and was kind enough to respect her privacy when she offered no details.

there were days when she considered begging pippa to switch jobs. as the gardener, she was allowed to roam the estate freely, but surely there were better strategies. maid or concierge might prove more useful, giving her access to the guests’ belongings... anything with a horrible boss she’d have no problem conning.

after a lunch break spent scoping out which guests made the easiest targets, vivian readies herself to return to work. as she walks to the elevator head to the ground floor, she tries to clear her head of any guilty thoughts. she’s made it this far. quitting now would be a waste of all her hard work.

a voice calling out suddenly jolts vivian back to reality. she notices a girl rushing to the elevator, and manages to push the button to open the doors right at the last second. it’s only when the other steps inside that vivian realizes she knows her. they’ve never really spoken before, but she’s seen her around sungtae many times. from what vivian studied up on the hotel staff, this is his granddaughter the younger one. vivian has seen the eldest at the restaurant, and her intimidating air definitely made her stand out from the rest of her family. this girl ( yerin, she remembers ) matches sungtae’s warmth much better.

“ hey, ” vivian promptly greets her, putting on her friendliest smile. “ good timing. you do not want to take the stairs here. ” joking comes as second nature to her even now; sometimes vivian wonders how much of it is truly an act.

she should keep her distance from yerin and leave their exchange at that. vivian will give sungtae enough grief when she disappears one day and he finds out the truth about her; she’d rather not add to that list of disappointed people... yet it’s not in her nature to be cold or distant.

before she can get another word out, however, the elevator stops abruptly. the sudden halt causes vivian to lose her balance for a moment before quickly regaining it by steadying herself against the wall. without thinking, she reaches for yerin as well. her hand catches the other’s wrist easily, tugging gently to keep her in place.

“ you alright? ” vivian asks breathlessly, her grip still firm on yerin. “ that came outta nowhere. ”

#conseille #the girliesssss #it's been forever since we wrote them #and now it's finally their time!!#they get the most cliché prompt but it's for a good cause #very important to bring them closer - literally 👀#( thread ; vivian drake )#( starter ; vivian drake )#( v. italy )

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lurafita · 2 years

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Ever thought that maybe selling your soul to the devil isn't that bad a thing?

Everyone just always assumes that the devil will try to collect as soon as possible, and bring upon the person's early demise.

But what if a soul grows with the experiences made? What if, the more a person lives, the more powerful their soul?

So a parent sells their soul to the devil in exchange for their child to get a donor heart. The child lives, grows up, builds their own family. And the parent gets to witness all of it.

And then, years and years in the future, when the parent is dying from old age, all their family around them to say goodbye, the devil comes to collect.

"You have led a fulfilled life. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Thanks for everything."

#possible story prompt #break the cliché #twist the trope #deal with the devil #happy endings all around #it doesn't always have to be gloom and doom #maybe you can even hang out with the devil once your mortal shell is no more

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scottxlogan · 2 years

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So many of the prompts you just reblogged are SO GOOD but maybe 1 or 9 for Scogan?

So I posted these as I posted them anon, but since you specifically made the request, I wanted to share the links with you here so that you know that I didn't forget them. They were all so good so thank you for suggesting them. Here you are:

Moment of Truth (Rated T, Scott/Logan) After years of training Scott knows his purpose in facing the end of the world. On the verge of extinction and injured Scott Summers is ready to risk it all to do what he's been trained to do, but when he and Logan find themselves in a dark corner away from the war at hand their feelings for one another resurface and they face an even deeper meaning in each other. Will it be the end of everything for Scott in self-sacrifice or will love bring him back to a new purpose beyond Xavier's dream? The Reservation (Rated M, Scott/Logan) Scott and Logan have been swamped with meetings leaving them both ready to unwind when the day is over, but when they discover that Emma booked them a room with only one bed, will it make things even more awkward or open the door to explorations they weren't brave enough to face on their own without the nudge from their good friend?

#scogan #anon #scogan fanfic #wolverine #cyclops #scott summers #james howlett #50 cliché tropes and prompts

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thesaurus-lover · 1 year

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just had to write something for the exchange student trope because it's cheesy but oh-so entertaining...

The girl in front bows slightly—almost over-politely. "Thank you for having me!"

Our teacher clapped once. "Likewise, thank you for being here. I'm sure it'll be a wonderful month with you." Then, she gestured to the seat next to me. "For now, you can sit there, next to the back window."

Oh.

"Class, let's treat her well."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Weaving through the cluttered front aisles, the girl scurries over. She briefly pauses before taking her seat, smiling at me. "Hi."

"Hi," I mumble back, and immediately, I'm embarrassed at how stunned I sound.

I'm totally fucked.

#IT'S TO-THE-LETTER CLICHÉ WHY IS IT SO FUNNY #writing #my writing #short story #excerpt #drabble #writeblr #imagine your otp #fluffy imagines #fluff prompt #🍃.scribbles #❄️.ogs

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solis-angelus · 4 months

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FIC PROMPT/IDEA (very basic)

When Sirius falls into the veil, Harry loses his lungs. Bellatrix goggles at the fabric, an expression of pure disbelief written on her face, as if questioning the fabric to confirm her cousin dearest's demise, utterly absorbed in its caresses that she becomes blissfully unaware of her surroundings, as if under an Imperius. So much so that when Harry hurls her with a crucio right there in the middle of a suddenly paused battle, she goes down without complaint. The curse fizzles out after a moment though.

—

When Sirius falls into the veil, Remus goes blind. Still, he grabs onto Harry's thin shirt by the hem and manages to grip his arm when the boy seems to be making a run for the archway after his Godfather. Harry's sudden maneuver when he twists his wand to land on Bellatrix, catches him off-balance and in his physical and magical exhaustion (it had been a full moon the night before), he goes down in a pile of ragged robes and clacking wand wood.

The quiet doesn't last long enough.

—

When Sirius falls into the veil, he doesn't fall to the ground on the other side. Rather, he tumbles sideways straight into someone's open arms and has a moment to register the almost forgotten familiar skin before being abruptly pushed back out. It seems someone pushed both him and his hugger-captor out of the whatever-white-grey-place that was and now they were stumbling back and Sirius is fairly sure he's going to fall on his face this time around (much more embarrassing and much more painful, no question).

Instead of making a fool of himself, as was intended surely, he careens right into someone when some other someone in motion crashes with his side. The person he crashes into is none other than Bellatrix because of course it is. The person behind him seems to have had better luck, it seems, as there is no additional weight from behind pushing him further into cousin dearest.

Said cousin, who had just made to stand up from some sort of half kneel-half bow position and in his crashing Sirius had launched his knee to her forehead and knocked her out. Great.

He doesn't register the chaos moments away from unfolding as a voice he hasn't heard in over a decade and half, speaks out.

—

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Remus hears the words. Yes, he does but he's too tired to tell his tormentor to call it off. They need to bugger the fuck off and leave him to his very-disappointing afterlife in-between.

—

Sirius turns. He's seeing double, his brain very helpfully informs him. The hazel eyes he's burning holes into finally looks up to him after abandoning his long stare at the lying face flat Marauder. He distantly imagines he'd be treated with the same fanfare if not more had he actually gone through with the painful fall on his face. James' lips quirk up. His eyes crinkle. “H—"

—

Harry vaguely notes Sirius accidentally knocking out Bellatrix. (Good riddance. He thinks viciously even though he's 90% sure the spell she launched was red and not- some other colour- green ). A stunner. He cannot believe the burnt-into-his-retina image, but oh well.

But then he comes face to face with a mirror of himself. With hazel eyes. Instinctively, Harry lifts his wand, no spell or magic, nothing in mind. (It seems he underwent the Imperious thing that came over Bellatrix a minute ago, bliss utter bliss, empty mind).

The eyes widen, “H-”

the figure topples over. Petrificus totalus taking it's perfect effect, Moody steps up the dias. And promptly casts the same spell a dozen or so times it seems, taking Bellatrix out first (not that there was much to take out at the moment), following close with Lucius (who for some bizarre reason, had gone still as a statue, thus not getting any more statue-like as he simply falls forward. Harry hopes the nose breaks.) Moody misses the third and fourth times with the respective Death Eaters (Harry has to guess by the scuffle and apparition pops, apparently they can do that inside the chamber. What a joke of magical security.) In hindsight, the wards must have already broken during the battle. The other Order members get most of them, he thinks, not turning back to look. Moody finishes up with Sirius, for good measure, it seems, judging by the satisfaction in the auror's jaded eyes. (The ministry needs to be urgently convinced of Sirius’ innocence, he briefly registers)

—

Hermione is lying in the hospital bed next to him. The curtains on the bed left of him are drawn, he numbly guesses it's Ron.

—

I need your opinion on how to pursue this. Give me future plots, any character you'd like given focus/have any quality, give me anything I'll accept it for thinking through. Please.

I literally have no idea about any plot. None. It's the imperius bliss ~no thoughts head empty~ for me.

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