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sakuracyanide · 28 days

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headcanon. reincarnated life. cw; death, drug dealing, mentions of human trafficking & general underworld fuckery, domestic abuse.

like nearly everyone else who was reborn, zoisite's life was far from charmed. he was reborn in kyiv, ukraine to a loving family that, unfortunately, died not long after in a car accident. from there, marion was bounced from foster homes, to orphanages, to group homes. never in once place long enough to feel stable or grow roots. due to poor record keeping, marion does not know precisely how old he nor his exact birth date. he does know that somewhere in the mix he was moved from the ukraine to moscow, and it was there he met ivan, a boy a few years older than him. the two became very close. they made far-flung future plans, dreaming of escaping somewhere where snow never falls. it was a childish dream, but one that kept them both going through the worst of times.

he was adopted at the age of fourteen, however his adoptive parents had no idea how to handle a damaged young man who dreamed of a past life. nor could they handle the fact that a lack of stability had left marion with a fierce sense of independence and a refusal to trust any adults. marion was beautiful, intelligent, and could be exceedingly kind - but he was also prone to getting into fights, desperate to prove himself and find a purpose. he just seemed lost, his parents would say, and we're afraid the wrong person found him.

It was no real surprise when he ran away from home. his adoptive parents, though they struggled to connect with him, were devastated. if one wanders through the streets of his old neighborhood they'll still find missing posters bearing his name and a far more innocent photograph.

From there, Marion's crminal record only grew. Despite being marked as an "accomplice" in most crimes, he'd gotten his hands dirty more often than reports would indicate. He quickly took to the lifestyle, learning that trust was not something to be given lightly and learning that affections were only troublesome. Though he was never involved in the making and only rarely in the distribution, he was involved in dead drops - picking up cash or dropping off product in predetermined locations. It had the least mess, the least danger, and being pretty and young worked to his advantage.

Especially with the others. Marion was little more than a pretty face that their new young boss had taken under his wing out of pity or lust. Who could really say? That's why they didn't notice when the payload was a little short, or the cost of the clothes the little pet wore. Ivan would spoil Marion, give him all these little gifts as proof that they would one day go somewhere warm and safe and that this was just a necessity to get there.

Of course, confidence breeds cockiness. He thinks he's untouchable, that nothing can phase him. Comfortable in power that wasn't really his to covet, though anyone who had been on the receiving end on his temper could tell you that Marion was more than capable of handling himself.

He's wrong, of course. And unable to believe his own stupidity when he realized the lavish lifestyle he's shared with Ivan has been funded by a lot more than just weed and contraband. When he confronted the other about this, things took a sharp turn.

Queen Beryl finds him in the aftermath, laying in a gutter with his pretty face all smashed in. his face hurts, but his heart hurts far more. it clenches as he realizes how stupid he was for thinking he was any less disposable than anyone else. in the end, what had he been except a loyal sycophant? a pretty kept pet who could stroke ivan's ego and let him delude himself into thinking he was any different than the lowlifes he associated with.

Ivan had stopped short of killing him and told him that was love. that this was a lesson he needed to learn - and learn he did. when she recruited him to the dark kingdom, his hatred of humanity easily eclipsed that of his fellow kings, as did his need to hold power for himself. the details are forgotten, but he never wants to be indebted to another again.

falling in love with kunzite wasn't part of the plan - he intended to seduce him to suss out his vulnerabilities, then either kill him and claim leadership for himself or puppet him. he isn't expecting a genuine connection or a relationship that isn't transactional. they're equal partners in all things, and that's ultimately how he reconnects with his humanity.

( i slot mamoru still collecting their gemstones here, as he recognizes all of the kings as his guardians who were brainwashed and twisted against their will. )

#headcanon.

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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So like. What if there were a fic of Ivan and Fedyor falling in love? Just saying. Someone could write that...(and could that someone be you?!)

Fedyor Kaminsky is brought to the Little Palace when he is nine years old. Before that, he has lived his whole life in the place he was born: a small village about twenty miles southeast of Kribirsk. It is just close enough for him to be constantly aware of the Shadow Fold, looming like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, and to know, also, the honor that it is when the examiners arrive, he receives a sharp prick in the arm, some sort of strange result takes place, and he is formally declared to be Grisha. His parents know it too, and are eager to tell him of it. They are not well off, and Fedyor is the sixth of seven children. The payment for their patriotic service will be welcome, and while his mother hugs him tightly and tells him to make the Saints proud, he feels, somehow, that they are not that grieved to see the back of him. He is the only child from his village that has been picked, and they all assemble to see him off. Just think. One of their own, in the Second Army.

Fedyor cries himself to sleep his first night in the dormitories, as most of the children do. But he wakes fully rested, hungry for breakfast, and eager to throw himself into his new life. He has a sunny temperament, a personable nature, that serves him well here, and any talented Grisha can climb high in the ranks, almost as high as the Black General himself. Back home, what did he have to look forward to, aside from the taunts and punches of his brothers, who always saw him as more like one of their sisters than one of them? He is learning things here. Religion and medicine and geography and history. And, of course, the arcane art of the Small Science, the one thing that binds these young people from all across Ravka. Their power, their responsibility, and their upcoming effort in the endless wars.

His first few years pass rather well, all things considered. When he is thirteen, it is officially declared that he will be taken onto the Order of Corporalniks, and – somewhat to everyone’s surprise, including his – he is best suited not as a Healer, but a Heartrender. It turns out that unassuming, smiling, friendly Fedyor, who knows everyone’s name and is always given an indulgent second portion of dessert from the doting canteen ladies, packs quite a punch.

It’s here where he first puts Ivan Sakharov on his back, and his whole life changes.

Fedyor and Ivan have known of each other, ever since they arrived in the same class of recruits. Ivan is a tough, taciturn northern boy from Chernast, skinny and scowling and always displeased about something, no matter what. Fedyor once saw him brood through the whole Winter Fete, and he has taken it as a professional challenge to get Ivan to smile. Once Fedyor plays a practical joke on him, to the awe of the entire dormitory, who would not dare to even imagine such things themselves. Ivan scowls at him like the Black Heretic himself, and stomps off to have his important life problems somewhere else. But now they’re both thirteen, Ivan is shooting up like a weed and channeling all that pent-up resentment into some really effective Heartrending, and Fedyor is regretting all his previous liberties. As they face each other and bow, thus to commence the duel on Botkin’s word, he thinks, Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

Then he remembers that he’s the same Order, he has the same red kefta awaiting him when he finishes his trials, that he has as much right to be here as some tight-arse bastard from the frozen northern wastes, and that is why, thirty seconds after the duel has begun, Ivan is flat on his back and looking astonished. Everyone is applauding, and Fedyor feels somewhat confused. He strides over to his fallen adversary and offers him a hand. “Good job.”

Ivan glares at him, exquisitely sensitive to the possibility that he’s being mocked. “You’ll regret this, Kaminsky,” he says, low-voiced. “Mark my words.”

After that, for several months, Fedyor lives in terror of going anywhere in the Little Palace alone, lest Ivan suddenly leap out from behind a shrubbery and murder him. He and Ivan spar in their classes, in practice, in trying to outdo each other in Baghra’s ridiculous lessons, throwing all their effort into the sort of stupid, pointless rivalry that can only be maintained by teenage boys with too much pride and too little sense. They start to look for each other wherever they go, waste no opportunity to glare heatedly, and they are sixteen years old when Fedyor notices to his extreme vexation that during all this time spent staring at him until he has memorized his face, Ivan has gotten a little… handsome.

(What? No? Ivan? Horrifying.)

Fedyor himself isn’t exactly cursed in the face department, once a persistent bout of acne clears up. With his wavy hair, dark eyes, and easy smile, he provokes his fair share of sighs and pining among the female Corporalniks, but he is oddly uninterested in reciprocating their advances. Then he and Ivan get paired together on some training exercise that goes horribly wrong, they are trapped in the woods for hours until someone comes to find them, and with nothing else to do, they are forced to actually talk. Ivan has that northern chip on his shoulder that they all seem to, and probably started fighting Fjerdans when he was two years old, but what he says next takes Fedyor completely aback. “You’re… not that bad,” he says grudgingly. “You’re the only one who’s brave enough to actually talk to me, not just tiptoe like a mouse.”

“Well.” Fedyor throws a stick of wood at him. “Have you considered being less of a total grouch all the time?”

Ivan scoffs, lunges at him, and they end up wrestling in the leaf mold, an exercise that both of them enjoy a bit too much and take extreme care that the other not notice. By the time the search party from the Little Palace comes to retrieve them, they have forgotten all about being lost. In fact, as they were lying on the ground together, tangled up and panting and staring at the stars, Fedyor had the strangest thought that it was the best night of his life, and he doesn’t have a clue what he should make of that.

After that, an even stranger thing happens: they become friends. Well, sort of. Ivan maintains his default posture of appearing to hate everything and everyone, but Fedyor is the only person he tolerates, or allows to yank his chain in any way. And in turn, though Ivan Sakharov is the last person who would seem to need any kind of protection, the favor is returned. Once, when a city boy from Os Alta starts going on about how savage northerners are, staring pointedly at Ivan the whole time, Fedyor launches him halfway across the room. He gets in trouble, but it’s worth it. And they do undoubtedly work better together, Fedyor fighting right-handed and Ivan fighting left. They cover each other’s weak sides, learn to anticipate each other’s moves, and…

It’s a deeply inconvenient fact of life that when you are a Heartrender, and are exquisitely sensitive to pulse rates, you notice when yours starts going consistently haywire around certain people. Especially when, the year they turn eighteen, they are assigned to room together. The Little Palace is spacious, but not enough for every Grisha to have his or her own room, and since they’re no longer children, they’re not expected to share with the entire class. So Fedyor and Ivan end up in a garret room of their very own, and it is here, to his extreme consternation, that the next phase of Fedyor’s torment re: Ivan begins.

It is difficult to share a small room with Ivan and not want to look at him, and unless he is much mistaken, Ivan always seems to be concentrating a little too hard on his books whenever Fedyor is changing clothes. Fedyor is self-aware enough by this point to know that he prefers men, but he has absolutely no idea as to Ivan. Do they do this sort of thing in Chernast, or does it distract from arm-wrestling bears and shooting drüskelle? Ivan is so constantly unwilling to admit any kind of weakness or effeminacy that Fedyor figures gloomily he’s just doomed to suffer in silence. Naturally.

Except then both of them start rejecting any other romantic overtures, and they even go to the Summer Fete dance together, and Fedyor is taken aback when Zoya Nazyalensky asks bluntly the next day, “So, you and Ivan? Really?”

“What?” Fedyor is aware that Zoya and Ivan cordially hate each other, though she and Fedyor have always gotten on. “We’re not – Zoya, it’s not like that!”

He pauses.

“At least,” he adds guiltily. “It’s not like that as far as we’ve said?”

Zoya gives him a look silently agreeing that for the sake of their friendship, they will never mention Fedyor’s terrible taste in men again, though that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As for her, she’s pining after Kirigan, as almost all Grisha do at some point. Fedyor did so himself – the Black General is gorgeous, all right, shoot him – but he cares about nothing except finding the mythical Sun Summoner and engaging in a busy schedule of brooding even more intense than Ivan’s. Ivan, for that matter, seems to have struck it off with him, as Kirigan always values talent, and Fedyor has to fight down an unbecoming surge of jealousy. It’s not like they’re something. Not really.

(Though not for lack of wanting.)

After that, an even stranger thing happens, which is that people start assuming that Fedyor and Ivan are, in fact, a couple. Fedyor gets asked how his boyfriend is doing (sometimes sardonically, sometimes in a tone that turns genuinely surprised when he hastens to correct them) and he minds it less and less. Of course, for his part, Ivan is utterly oblivious. They’re sitting in a sunny hallway one day, Ivan tolerantly letting Fedyor play with his hair (though he keeps it military-short and it’s not like there’s that much of it) when Genya Safin walks by, glances at them archly, and says, “You know, Ivan, you’re much nicer now that you’re going out with him.”

Ivan turns such a deep shade of purple that Fedyor’s afraid he’s going to blow a gasket. “What?!” he splutters. “We are not – we are not – we are not going out! Never! I don’t – what are you talking – I don’t even like him!”

Fedyor’s lip quivers, despite himself. “Come on,” he says, failing to make it entirely lighthearted, wounded deeper than he wants to admit. “You don’t mean that, right?”

Ivan turns to him, flustered. “No,” he says convulsively. “Don’t look sad. Don’t look at me like that. Shh. Of course I like you.”

Fedyor brightens.

Genya gives them an obnoxiously knowing look and walks away.

By now, they’re twenty-one, old enough to be properly deployed as soldiers to the front, and Fedyor can’t help but thinking about where Ivan is, what he’s doing, if he’s all right, whenever they’re apart. He doesn’t like it, it feels wrong and unnatural, they always did better side by side anyway. Finally, they both get back to the Little Palace after a grueling campaign of many months away, Ivan against the Fjerdans and Fedyor against the Shu Han. They see each other, and it’s like lightning, rooting them to the ground. They’re dusty, dirty, banged up, bruised and bloody, but they know as a simple truth, beyond any doubt or questioning, that Fedyor will be coming to Ivan’s room tonight, and that Ivan will sit up and wait for him.

And that, therefore, is what happens. Fedyor can barely concentrate on washing up and fetching supper because he is so fixated on the knowledge of what’s coming later. He goes through the motions, barely hears his friends, barely tastes what he’s eating. He scarcely manages to wait until it’s dark. Then he gets up, slips through the corridors – they no longer bunk together, but he knows the way – and reaches the door. Fights a final attack of nerves, about how long he’s been waiting and how it might go wrong – then knocks.

“It’s open,” Ivan calls from inside, his voice dark with wanting. Of course it is.

Fedyor steps inside, and looks at him. After all this time, it feels like he should make a speech, have something more grand to say, or perhaps even an I-told-you-so. He doesn’t get around to any of that. He can’t stand it. Instead he shucks his kefta in a quick, practiced movement. Runs across the room, and climbs, claws, into Ivan’s arms.

Their kiss is rough and wet and wild, mouths open, teeth dragging, tongues scraping, trying to get as close as they possibly can, and then closer. Ivan’s hands, deft and eager, rough with calluses, spread across Fedyor’s arms and shoulders, the neat muscled column of his torso. “You should have let me do that,” he scolds between kisses, evidently referring to the business of undressing Fedyor. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“You’ve been waiting long enough – ?!” Fedyor Kaminsky really does love this man, but Saints help him, he is dense. “You could have said something!”

Ivan looks at him with pure wickedness in his eyes. “I thought I just did.”

Fedyor groans, grabs Ivan’s head to kiss him again, and they roll down onto the covers together, tearing at the remaining clothes in their way. It’s raw and agonized and real, this coming together, this needing, this consummation and completion, and afterward, as Fedyor lies gasping on Ivan’s chest and Ivan sleepily strokes his hair with a tenderness that seems totally inconceivable to anyone who has met him at literally any other moment, Fedyor knows, in some way, he will never truly leave this room again. That he’s here. Home.

(Later, Fedyor finds out that Ivan actually asked his boss for help with his romantic quandary, and Kirigan’s advice was evidently so terrible that Ivan decided to just give up and go for it with Fedyor rather than trying that again. Even if Aleksander Kirigan is the Black General, the Shadow Summoner, the most powerful Grisha in the world, Ivan does not intend to let him forget it. They are all fortunate that Aleksander thinks it’s funny.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #<<is my tag for them #oops now i ship it #mearcatsreturns #ask

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orangegreet · 3 years

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No Minor Miracles

This is a completed story - pending only an epilogue at this point. Reposted to Tumblr from AO3.

Summary:

“Hello Aleksander.” He closed his eyes at the sound of her whispered greeting. Could she have picked any other night? Any other than this one? “Why do you haunt me when I feel at my weakest to defend myself?” He asked. “You are always droll when we meet. First I am your demon and now I am your ghost.”

_____________

Captured by Grisha slavers and ultimately shipwrecked between West Ravka and Kerch, Alina is orphaned and stranded on the other side of the Fold.

In secret, the Sun Summoner is raised and trained thousands of miles outside of Os Alta and the reach of the Black General.

Ambition leads her to seek out the infamous Shadow Summoner in her twenties—only, he isn’t what she expected.

Yet still, she leaves Os Alta broken-hearted and unsure and both Alina and Aleksander resolve to stick to their own sides of the world for some years after.

—Until a weary night on the war front pushes the Black General to reach out to his old enemy.

What follows is an ongoing struggle for power, information, dominance and, ultimately, each other.

But with two such Saints involved, surely miracles will abound.

Chapter 1 | A Night on the Warfront

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as four of his soldiers continued their debate. The map spread out before them was littered with crude markings. A dirty shell casing sat near the edge of the Fold, the scale of it far out of proportion considering it was reported to be a small camp with no more than five tents.

“The West is closing in. They have some kind of advantage. Otherwise they would not drift so close to the Fold.”

“What do you propose we do about it? You can hardly expect us to sneak through the Fold on our end and catch them off guard.”

“I’m not convinced it is the West at all—our scouts themselves weren’t sure.”

“You don’t expect Shu Han to set up so far North in enemy territory.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying we don't know that it's army at all. Could be refugees seeking the protection being so close to the Fold can provide for all we know. We’ve seen it before.”

The General reached for the decanter, eyes bleary with lack of sleep. He refilled his glass. The soldiers continued to debate.

“You’ve seen it before? And when was that?” Ivan stared down the Inferni.

The young man stuttered, eyes shifting cautiously to the General who paused with his glass aloft.

“R-Rumors maybe but…years back we had intel of refugees camping near the Fold at the behest of the Sun Summoner.”

The General made no outward sign of recognition. He took another drink and placed his glass back on the table.

The neatly coiled rope at the center of his very being seemed to writhe. His heart picked up pace and he shot a covert warning glare at Ivan to keep his mouth shut. The Heartrender glared back, averting his gaze to the Inferni once more.

Internally he reached for the tether, intending to coil it back up and press it down again but he found once he touched it, he could not bring himself to let it go. Blame it on many late nights, war weariness and something else he refused to acknowledge in the presence of subordinates.

The tether gave a dull throb in his grasp.

The General forced himself to speak and quell the tension building in the tent.

“Rumors perhaps. We won’t know until it is too late. We must assume it is the West attempting the next step in secession. Prepare a skiff. I want the strike unit outfitted with the shielding cloaks. We send the skiff through on one side of the camp while our team traverses the Fold on foot on the other.”

He felt her presence in his chest first as the embers present stoked to a fiery glow. The General continued to stare at the map with a hardened glint in his eyes and ignored her apparition; his hand squeezed the tumbler.

“While the camp is preoccupied with the skiff, the strike team will take them out from behind. No prisoners.”

“And if they are refugees, sir?”

The General lifted his eyes to her. Her raised eyebrows expectant on her otherwise impassive face.

“No prisoners.”

She cocked her head at him but stayed quiet, surveying his whole being. Plotting his features for the signs of weakness, he was sure.

“You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

“But-sir which soldiers should we send on the skiff—“ The Inferni began.

“Ivan.” The General didn’t have to complete his request.

The Heartrender escorted the young Inferni out.

The General looked at her and then back at the decanter, determined to pull his features together though he felt his control slipping.

This, of course, was evidenced by her very presence.

“I feel I should offer you a drink. Though I am not sure if you could taste it.”

“It would be a warm gesture though. I wouldn’t decline to try.” She stepped closer to him and he struggled to keep the tension from his posture, his breath from hitching at the sound of her voice. How long had it been again?

He allowed himself the time to take her in. A decade had passed without seeing her. She looked older in some vague sense. Mostly in her eyes. He could tell by her gaze that she was severely less innocent than a decade ago.

Her posture too. She held herself with grace and dignity, the insecurity of youth long since fallen away.

“You’re looking well.” He said.

She blushed without a hint of modesty and he felt the warmth emanating from one of them. He couldn’t be sure who.

“I could say the same of you. Your hair has grown long. You look like a warrior.”

Her hands were clasped in front of her. Not reaching toward the dark locks that hung past his shoulders, half of it pulled back and tied with leather.

“I have been a warrior more often than not during my lifetime. I’m pleased to hear I look the part.”

She smirked at him and reached for his hand, bringing the glass to her lips for a sip.

“Can you taste it?”

She shook her head with a demure smile.

He took the glass away, musing out loud, “I thought not. This connection is beyond anything which has been studied but I do recall I could never see something unless you touched it.”

He put a hand on the map and watched her as she swiftly took in the details proffered on the table and then glanced back at him. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

“You did used to visit me more often than you do now. Though perhaps those visits were simply part of your own research efforts.”

When he didn’t respond for a few moments she continued, “I wondered if you had forgotten about me altogether.”

His chest bobbed a little higher under his breath as he studied her but eventually he decided how best to play this new hand.

“I do not consider myself forgetful in any regard, Miss Starkova.”

The liquid swirled in his glass as he caught her momentary bristle at the moniker. No doubt many years have passed since she was addressed as such.

He hummed, amused at her ruffled feather and resolved to push his luck, dipping his finger in the glass and looking up at her. “Now you mention, I do wonder…”

He lifted his finger to her lips and she scolded him with her eyes but allowed her tongue to brush over his skin. When her eyes drifted shut he couldn’t stop the backs of his fingers trailing over her cheek.

“Some things don’t change, do they? You favor the same casks of wine pilfered from the cellar of a Tsar.” She tutted and he smiled at her.

The first real smile she had seen him give in over a decade. Her insides pulsed.

“Then you are not forgetful, either.” He said in lament. He turned away from her.

She sighed. “This is tiring, please can we speak normally? Some time has passed since I last received your call. Did you mean for me to come to you tonight?”

He huffed a breath. “A compelling question for us both, I think. I wish I knew.”

When her eyes turned wary, she stepped away from him and he almost shouted at her. “No. Not—not yet. Just stay.”

The wariness turned to concern and she studied his features without reticence.

“What has happened? Tell me.”

“Nothing has happened. Nothing. It’s just—“ His hand raised to stroke her cheek again and he adored the way she leaned into it. Had she ever done that for him before? He could not remember. Not forgetful, indeed.

“Rumors.” He murmured. “Rumors reach me always of your life. Rumors of your death, of your sainthood and of your miracles. Tonight I—I wished for a miracle.”

Smiling sweetly, she cupped his face in her hands and stepped to him.

“My dear Aleksander,” Her eyes searched his for a moment. “The only miracle tonight lies in the possibility of two enemies who allow themselves to meet as friends. It would take two saints to pull that off. I am but one saint and cannot tell you the outcome. How strong is your desire for this miracle?”

His jaw clenched. He was so tired. Tired of wanting. Tired of losing. Tired of feeling like he was trailing behind. Forever out of step with her when he simply desired to be at her side.

His hand wrapped around the juncture of her shoulder and neck and he shook her. “You are no saint. You are a demon. My own personal demon sent from below to torture me on this plane. That must be it. I have yet to die and pay my dues and my sins have grown too great.”

Many late nights had led to this. Many years of keeping the door to her firmly shut led to this.

Time had passed differently for him in this after. Before her were calmer centuries poised in a position of patience and waiting. Since he had known her, known of her existence really, this frenetic energy was sparked inside of him that he could not shake. Time was centered acutely on constant anticipation. Anticipation of meeting her, experiencing her power. Then, once he knew her, heard her speak, felt her touch, mingled his power with hers-everything inside was reignited. His greed, desire, lust, rage, justice, truth, hope. It was chaos and tumult and agony contained inside an ancient man who was not ready for it.

Centuries of emotions being quelled and dulled and hammered flat into nothing before her existence. The last decade spent attempting, fruitlessly, to grow back that callous.

A moment of weakness and he reforged his connection to her. The meager protection he hoarded around himself the past few years fell away like an autumn leaf and now he was nothing more than a naked limb in the winter snow, completely exposed before her. Begging for her warmth.

It was enraging.

Her hand covered his on her neck and she squeezed it but did not attempt to remove him. She looked at him with such sadness that he felt it ache inside himself. Although it could have been his own sadness. There really was no way to tell in the moment.

“I know your sins, Aleksander and I am not here for absolution. I am here because you called to me and I wanted to answer.” His hand dropped away from her. The emotions which were so clear on his face a moment before grew opaque to her.

She swallowed, “I know your sins. And I have missed you.”

A ripple across his eyes and then nothing. He pushed down his insides.

A stoicism formed in his demeanor and it was with complete control that he let out his next sentence. “I hate you. For leaving me, I hate you.”

She drew herself up into a more formal posture with a deep breath.

“You wanted to mold me in your image. But it did not take and I would not let it continue. It has been better this way, I think. I would have hated you had I stayed.”

He scoffed. “You would have gotten over it, given enough time.”

She smiled at him, formality breaking with the warmth in her eyes. “Just as I believe you will, my oldest friend. My eternal friend.”

He blinked and his eyes gathered tears. She pretended not to notice, scared to spook him.

“Why did you leave?”

“You know the answer already. I’ve just told you.”

“Would it have been so bad to stay?” The emotion was seeping into his voice now and she stepped toward him with caution.

“I could not bear to hate you. It is better this way. We are both better, stronger. Worthy.”

Her eyes don’t lose their warmth but he felt the accusation the same. He would have sacrificed every ounce of his goodness, sanity and patience to keep her under his will. He would have sacrificed her for it.

“Are we?” He asked quietly. They both knew what he was asking.

She stroked his cheek and he nuzzled it.

“What you have in patience, I have in hope.” His eyes closed.

“Why do you stay away from me, Alina? Even now? I am well enough tortured. Surely your task must be done.”

Another sigh. “It is not so simple when it comes to you and me. You are my Inevitable. We will have an eternity together in my future and yours. It is only natural I want some time to live in autonomy before we begin. You were granted centuries to yourself, you recall.”

“Centuries of waiting, solnyshka. Centuries alone.”

She said nothing but continued to touch his cheek, his jaw, her eyes taking in every minute detail of his face. He called her there. She did not know when he would again.

“Will you make me wait more centuries for you?”

She hummed in amusement.

“Would you wait that long for me?”

If you ask.

He wanted to say it but he had given her so much of himself already. Greed smothered over his burgeoning embarrassment. She would leave soon enough and his desires wouldn’t be tamped down neatly anymore.

Possessive and greedy. That was how she knew him.

He wanted to possess her the way she seemed to possess him. Her ownership over him felt effortless to him and he half hated her for it. He gripped her hips dragging her flush to him.

Her breath startled and fanned over his face. He paused for only a moment and then pulled her mouth to his.

His lips sliding over hers in a heightened sense of torture. Could she taste him? If not she could surely taste his blatant desire. Completely exposed and on display for her to see.

He wrenched his mouth off hers, hand clasped to the back of her neck.

“Have you taken other lovers?”

The words were hissed through clinched teeth and his hand fisted into the fabric around her hips, holding her close.

Her eyes flashed into his and then down to his mouth where she pressed a kiss. Sweet as gentling an agitated animal. She pressed another and lingered.

Far from being quieted, he panted into her mouth, fisting a hand to her hair in a rush and crushing his mouth to hers.

The moan from her throat drifted into his mouth and he swallowed it up, lifting her onto the table and plunging them into what felt like the most familiar fantasy or memory or deja vu for them both.

Everything was different. Nothing had changed.

He tangled his tongue with hers, a reluctant groan escaping from his own throat.

She knew she should stop it. It would be harder to keep going without him if she let herself have too much.

Gradually their heat seemed to lower into a simmer and they both sighed into it. His hand stroked her thigh and his other held her jaw tenderly.

He pulled her into a languid kiss, holding her face as he pulled away.

“General—“ she started as he slowly parted the fabric wrapped around her waist. He eyed her with a dark silent look as he went to his knees.

“Would you have me kneel to you, Sol Koroleva?”

She smirked at him, weaving a hand into his dark locks and pulling him forward. His answering smile was glorious to her eyes. Victorious and tender at the same time and she relished it as he devoured her center.

“Aleksander.” Her voice was weak and he shook his head, clutching her harder. Hands gripped her thighs and secured them tight over his shoulders and he groaned into her further. His tongue relentless in pursuit of her pleasure. Driving her higher and harder than she knew was possible.

A torrent of pleasure with him and she briefly mourned what she realized was now over. There would be no other lovers. Not for her anyway.

The vibrating tether in her chest was a living thing now. Where it previously lay dormant, it now pulsed. Untamed and unleashed and rooting into her body at multiple weak spots. The palms of her hands, the soles of her feet, the nape of her neck, the base of her spine. Her gut. Her chest.

It was everywhere and she was lighting up from within with the magnitude of its power.

The strength and bond of their somehow ancient connection. Ancient in the way it stretched behind them in time but also in the way it surged forward into the coming years. Into their Inevitable future.

If she wondered whether the effect was the same for him, it didn’t take long to recognize the surrounding shadows pouring from him as he lost himself in her. She whimpered at his alternating ferocity and gentleness before remembering.

Her responsibilities. Her promise to herself.

“Sasha.” There it was. Firm and accompanied with a tightening of her hand in his hair, tugging him away.

When his gaze flicked up to meet hers she almost gasped at the feral look of him. Shiny mouthed, panting. Knuckles white where they pressed her thighs to his shoulders. Eyebrows bunched in irritation at her interruption.

Her rabid, wild Shadow Summoner pulled from his meal before he was sated.

“We can’t.” Her voice was strained. Irritation deepened into defiance across his features.

“Another lover, is it?” He spat the words out.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she felt the wetness in them gathering and shook her head.

“There is no one else. There will be no one else.” The grip on his hair gentled as she smoothed the back of his head and he lost a centimeter of rigidity from his posture.

“Then why.”

“It’s too soon.” The words were stifled. More wanted to follow but she would not let it and he grunted in frustration.

“We can’t.” She repeated to herself.

His face drifted back toward her shining folds, his eyes locked on hers as he brushed a careful tongue over her core. She whimpered again, hand twisting his locks and she meant to pull him away.

“No, Alina. You can.” His heated breath fanned over her and she shivered, “Just you. For tonight.”

She looked dismayed but it melted when he bestowed another long, slow lick to her center.

“Please.” The word came from his lips and it shocked both of them. Her hands stroked over his ears and met in his hair and when he leaned in again she did not stop him.

He was wonderfully cruel in his own brand of torture. His touch purposefully delicate and calculated. He worked her up toward the edge before redirecting his attentions until she calmed.

“Sasha.” The cry was wrenched from her mouth as she tried to snap her thighs shut around his face. To force the attention she was desperately craving thanks to him. He persevered in keeping them open. Leveraging her pleasure for his purposes.

“Promise me.” He demanded between a soft caress of his tongue, tone at odds with the motion.

“Promise what?” It was a struggle to keep her eyes open as her head wanted to tilt back.

“You will come back to me.”

“You already know that I will.”

He pressed a finger into her, then another.

“Promise it. Promise you will be mine. Only mine.”

She keened and clutched his wrist in encouragement.

“And will you be mine, General? Will the Darkling belong only to the Sun Summoner?”

His fingers curled and he licked his lips, watching her take her pleasure.

“I will give myself to you alone, Alina.” His fingers curled again and she shuddered feeling so close to something so big.

“Then I promise to be yours. As much as you are mine. I will take everything you have to give, and everything you try to hide away will be mine. All of it will be mine, Sasha.”

He grunted, swallowing against her and sucking. She screamed out as she finally finished. Wave after wave of pulsing euphoria spreading over her and through her and from her chest and into the very root of her being.

The lapping continued and he kept his eyes fixed on her for the minutes following as she trembled and shuddered under his attention.

Bestowing a few lingering kisses to her thighs and smearing the moisture across them, he carefully removed her legs from his shoulders and got to his feet. When he was planted firmly between her legs, he took hold of her face again.

His forehead leaned against hers. She reached for him this time and kissed him hungrily. To her surprise, he broke away, breathing in through his nose in a deep way. His chest brushed her with each breath.

“I’m trying to prove to you I can be sweet and you are making it very difficult.”

Her answering smile was radiant.

He kissed it.

“Tell me where you are.” The demanding tone was back and she chuckled.

“I’m here. With you.” Fingers stroked his chest. His hand covered hers and he pressed it into himself and growled.

“I forgot how much you infuriate me.”

“I underestimated how enjoyable it would be still.”

His nostrils flared but his chest warmed at her mirth.

She pinched a strand of his hair between her fingers, still grinning, “We’ve brought about your miracle, after all. It is very satisfying to be this holy. Do you not agree?”

He had no words, only kisses which he placed on her cheeks, her ears, a nip to her jaw, a pull on her neck.

“Aleksander,” it was whispered. He sensed her imminent departure and kissed her again with increasing desperation. She met him with equal fervor, both unable to get close enough to satisfy the ending. When his face was buried into her neck and she clutched his body to her, she made a last attempt to secure his soul.

“In light of our miracle, can I make a request?” He nodded against her shoulder, a tender kiss placed over her pulse. “Sometimes you should take some prisoners. Please.”

Her eyes raked over his features, some kind of affection or devotion shared in their last looks. With them it seemed one posture easily slipped into the other. The lives of Saints, he supposed.

Then she was gone.

#darklina #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #alina x aleksander #mutual pining #angst #eventual HEA #smut #politics #power dynamics #darklina fanfic #darklina fic #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Final)

Final Chapter! Special shout out to @striving-artist who has been waiting since October 2019 for her turn on the commission list. This storyline was one I had never considered and wholly enjoyed writing, I loved the different versions of Winteriron we got to meet in this fic and as always, I loved re-writing the movies to better fit our HeadCanons.

@striving-artist thank you for trusting my words and commissioning me!

Cheers!

MASTERLIST HERE

******************

“Mr. Stark?” Steve knocked on the wall of the living room before coming inside. “Your uh-- your robot butler let me in, I hope I’m not intruding.”

“You’re certainly not intruding but I will absolutely put you out on your spangled ass if you call me Mr. Stark again.” Tony did up a few buttons on his shirt and then stood to shake the Captain’s hand. “Please, it’s just Tony.”

“Tony.” Steve grinned. “Sorry, old habits die hard. I might not be the upstanding citizen everybody likes to say I was, but it sure is hard to drop those sir’s and ma’ams.”

“Did you call Auntie Peggy ma’am when you saw her again?” Tony motioned for Steve to sit. “I heard you only managed to see her the one time before she passed, and you couldn’t show up to the funeral without revealing the whole out-of-the ice-thing.”

“I did only get to see her the one time close to the end, but Tony believe me, I called Peggy ma’am even when we were in bed.” Steve deadpanned, and Tony snorted a laugh until the Captain said, “No seriously. Seriously.”

“I’d say I was surprised by that, but Auntie was far too open with the details of her past for me to be surprised she liked to be called ma’am in bed.” Tony laughed louder at the Captain’s semi-horrified face. “But hey, I’d rather not talk about my dearly departed Auntie and her bedroom gymnastics with the still weirdly young guy in my living room. What can I do for you today, Captain? Come by to see James?”

“Actually came by to see you.” Steve sat down and spread his arms out along the backrest of the couch. “See how you were doing and if there was anything I could do to help you along the way.”

“Well, I’m doing fine.” Tony flipped his shirt open to show the Captain the still beautifully blue arc reactor and the distinct lack of black sludge in his veins. “Close to a month of rest and relaxation and the palladium’s pretty much out of my system, my mental focus is back to a hundred and ten percent according to the tests I’m sort of obsessively taking, and now that I can eat without vomiting, I’ve even put on some weight. Doing just fine.”

And then with a smile, “And no offence Captain, but I doubt there’s much you and your pretty muscles could do to solve something like how to create and stabilize a viable element that very well might be the key to unlocking clean, sustainable power for generations to come.”

“Clean sustainable power for generations.” Steve repeated. “Gonna get all that from the battery in your chest?”

“The one in my chest is just a first step, and now that I have a new lease on life?” Tony inclined his head towards a set of blue prints on the side table. “There will be one powering my new place in New York, Stark Tower.”

“I’ve seen the plans.” Steve nodded. “It’s ugly. Big mark on the New York skyline, what uh-- what does Tasha call it? Some sort of phallic over compensation?”

“Ms. Romanov’s wit wounds me even from afar.” Tony snorted. “And it’s Tasha now, huh? You two gotten any closer to dating, or are you still fore-playing by way of intense fire arms training and weirdly long early morning runs?”

“Eh, we’ve moved up to foreplay by way of Terminator movies and Brazilian Ju-jitsu.” Steve replied as if he didn’t see the absolute hilarity in his words. “Slow but steady wins the race, isn’t that right?”

“I’ve always been more of the drive by and snatch guy myself.” Tony tossed Steve a bottle of water then gestured briefly. “I know you didn’t come here to make small talk, and even though I’m always glad to see James’s best pal and a living American icon, let’s just get to it. What’s on your mind?”

“Sure.” Steve drained the water bottle in one go and wiped at his mouth. “We did some checking into Vanko and his story about your Dad. Turns out the claim and accusation was pretty solid, Tony. I know you want to believe the guy is just a victim of the circumstances out of his control but the fact is, his dad was a bonafide bad guy and by crashing the Grand Prix, Ivan headed right down the same road.”

“Damn it.” Tony swallowed and looked away. “That-- that sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You’d rather hear that Howard framed someone for the patent to some tech, than hear a baddie is a legitimate baddie?”

“I don’t know.” he shook his head. “After hearing that story he told about Howard, I wanted to believe he could be reformed or maybe it was a mis-understanding. I know what it feels like to be painted as a villain cos of my dad-or dad figure choices. Granted, I didn’t blow up a race, but what Stane had my company do is worse by about a thousand times. I hoped Ivan was the same. Maybe inadvertently a bad guy because of the stories he was told, even though the stories were lies.”

“Well they weren’t lies.” Steve countered. “And by the way, you’ve done a great job recovering from what Stane did. Turning around from ‘whoops we’re selling weapons of mass destruction to terrorists’ to being the guy blowing up the weapons-- you should be proud of yourself, Tony.”

“I’m proud of Pepper for not cracking under the pressure of keeping everything together while I went through some pretty spectacular self adjustments.” Tony deflected. “But thank you for telling me about Ivan. Any word on why Justin Hammer was asking about him so much the last few months?”

“No idea what that was about, but Fury moved Vanko before Hammer got too close.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Smarmy, self satisfied prick. The guy actually looks physically oily, like a damn snake.”

“He definitely does.” Tony grinned. “What else is on your mind, Steve?”

“You asked Fury to check in on Pierce?” Steve wanted to know, and Tony nodded. “For all sorts of need-to-know and security clearance reasons, you gotta stop asking questions.”

“The hell I will--”

“Tony.” Steve’s voice dropped at least an octave in warning. “I’m telling you. Stop asking questions. I can’t do what I need to do with you poking around.”

“No offence Captain but sometimes--”

“--sometimes problems are solved with brute strength and not politics.” Steve cut in again. “That’s how I dealt with bad guys back in war, that’s how I deal with them now. The people who did all that shit to Bucky don’t deserve to keep breathing and by the Dawn’s Early Light, they won’t keep breathing, you understand?”

“...you’re going to kill him.”

“I didn’t survive seventy years in the ice to wake up and deal with Nazi’s again.” Steve confirmed. “Don’t care which flag they’re marching under. Fury knows where I stand with that, and since there’s not much he could do to stop me anyway, he just wants me to be at least slightly subtle about it all.”

Tony put both hands up peacefully. “I’ll stay out of the way and let you work.”

“Thanks.” Steve folded his arms and tapped his foot on the floor a few times. “You aren’t going to make fun of me for swearing by the Dawn’s Early Light? I’ve been working on that line all week, thought for sure it would get a rise outta you. I’m trying it out for some new propaganda films SHIELD wants to put out to officially announce my return from the ice. What do you think? Too much?”

“I think it’s exactly the sort of patriotic bullshit we all expect a newly risen Captain America to say.” Tony confirmed. “And trust me, JARVIS recorded it, and it will be your ringtone and notification setting from now until the end of time.”

Steve cheesed a grin at him, and Tony gestured for the soldier to keep going. “Alright, baddies and Nazi’s aside, what else did you come this way for?”

The Captain leaned forward and clasped his hands loosely between his knees, rubbing his thumbs one over the other for a minute as he thought. “Tony, I wanted to talk to you about Bucky.”

“...sure?”

“I would like to know your intentions with my best friend.” Those All American blues hardened like steel and Tony raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I grew up watching Bucky hide everything about who he really was and that always killed me. But after everything that’s happened---”

Steve pursed his lips. “Tony, I won't stand to see Buck’s heart broken. I won’t.”

“Oh my god, is Captain America giving me the shovel talk?”

“Steve Rogers is giving you the ‘please treat my bud right’ talk.” Steve corrected. “The Captain America shovel talk will involve an actual shovel and it will be a one sided conversation, you understand?”

“Steve.” Tony chuckled and tapped pointedly at his watch, the one he’d finalized with the nano tech gauntlet design and was only ever 2.4 seconds from blowing someone through a wall. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m fuckin’ begging you to do right by my best friend.” the Captain answered bluntly. “I know all about that fancy gauntlet and if this were you coming into my house like this, I’d probably have put my shield through your throat and dropped you in the river--”

“Seriously, Captain America. Work on the violent tendencies.”

“--I was five and a half feet tall and didn’t break a hundred pounds until I was in my twenties.” Steve said bluntly. “You wanna talk small man syndrome and hair trigger temper, we can talk it all day. But for right now? I just need to know you’re not setting out to break Bucky’s heart now that you’re healthy and Tony Stark again.”

“Does Tasha know about your small man syndrome? Cos I feel like she would have several pointed and devastating below the belt comments to lay on you.” Tony quipped, and the tension broke when they laughed together. “Alright Spangles, less than thinly veiled threats and worries aside….?”

“Bucky says you make him feel found.” Steve said softly. “Does he make you feel that way, Tony? Do you love him like he loves you?”

“Ask me again next week.” Tony took a sip of his own water. “Yeah?”

“What’s next week?”

“Next week is six months to the day that Bucky and I met in that diner over pancakes, so I figure that’s as good a day as any to uh....” Tony paused, shy. “To make it official. You think he’ll say yes if I pop the question?”

Steve’s eyes widened first in surprise and then in hope. “Can I be there to take a picture?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“I’ll stand in the background and no one will notice!”

“You are six and a half feet of corn fed bullshit, Mr. Rogers. No way.”

“Tony, this is my best friend--!”

“And you can congratulate us along with everyone else when we make the announcement at a dinner date to be determined.”

“I’ve waited seventy years to see Bucky happy!”

“Not a chance.”

“Damn you Stark!” Steve burst out, and James walked in just in time to hear Tony crack up laughing over it.

“Stevie.” He tossed his friend a salute, then bent and kissed Tony for a long minute. “What’cha doing cussin’ at my fella?”

“Over reacting when he doesn’t get his way.” Tony pulled James down onto the couch and turned obediently into his arms, snuggling close to his left side. “The usual. “

“That is not my usual.” Steve huffed and James corrected with a quick, “Oh Stevie, that is always your usual. What are you over reacting about this time? Tights too tight? Glitter not smudged on your cheeks just right? Spend too much time polishin’ your--” he coughed pointedly, “--shield alone these days?”

Tony cackled over Steve’s scandalized expression. James was so fun these days, rarely serious and almost always laughing, teasing and flirting and giving Steve the sort of hell Tony had always thought Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes would give each other.

And Steve was way more fun than Tony could have ever imagined, quippy and sarcastic, stubborn to the point of jack-assery but also quick to apologize and quicker still to try and make it up. Tony had never thought he’d be dating Bucky Barnes and calling Captain America a friend but here he was anyway.

In love.

Friends.

Found.

“Tony!” It was Rhodey coming to pick him up for dinner, and James nudged Tony teasingly when the Captain automatically jumped to his feet and snapped off a quick salute. “Oh ho, easy does it, Spangles. No need to salute when we’re just hanging out.”

Rhodey waved the Captain off, then kicked at James’s foot. “Move, Snowflake, let me at Tony for a minute.”

“Glad to see all the nicknames are catching on.” Tony cheesed a grin up at his best friend and accepted a kiss on his cheek. “Is this your official ‘I’m ditching you for dinner’ kiss?”

“You’ve ditched me for at least a thousand dinners.” The Colonel informed him dryly. “And you know better than anyone that when Ms. Potts demands lobster, you take her beautiful self to Maine for some fresh ass lobster.”

“You two going to bitch about how mad you still are I didn’t tell you I was sick?”

“If you mean we’re gonna hex a voodoo doll of your dumb ass and poke it with shit as revenge for you not letting us know you were purposefully, slowly killing yourself?” Rhodey flicked Tony in the ear. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Besides, you’re clearly tangled up with Big and Blond and Bigger and Brunette, so it’s not like you’ll miss me. I’ll call you when I get back. Love you.”

“Love you too, Rhodey.” Tony waved until the Colonel had gone, then nudged James gently. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Mini golf with Happy.” James ran his fingers through Tony’s hair and kissed his temple. “It’s Tuesday, babydoll. Can’t miss it. You and Stevie wanna come?”’

“Captain?” Tony raised his eyebrows. “Mini golf? Might soothe your wounded feelings after being left out of other things?”

“What other things?” James asked, but Tony just hushed him and waited for Steve to answer.

“Putt putt golf?” The blond thought about it for a minute, then nodded emphatically. “Square up.”

“Square up?” Tony whispered. “Is he serious with that?”

“God, Tony. You have no idea.” James whispered back. “This will be the most intense night of putt-putt in the world.”

“Can’t wait.” Tony leaned in for a kiss that went on and on, James’s hand creeping up by habit to rest over his heart, Tony’s fingers digging into the scars where metal arm met immovable muscle. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” James caught him up in another kiss, and when they parted, Tony couldn’t help thinking about the ring he had tucked away in a drawer in the lab.

Soon.

“Hey sweet thing.” James tipped Tony’s chin up. “Can I ask you something real quick? Something important.”

“Yeah.” Tony smiled and then shot a look over at Steve. “Captain? Wanna leave us alone for a minute?”

“Not...super.” Steve stalled, but when James rolled his eyes, Steve huffed and headed out, mumbling about having to buy golf clubs for putt putt.

“I gotta say, I had no idea Captain America was such a goofy gooberson.” Tony decided. “That was definitely left out of the history books. One minute he looks like he’s going to patriotically rampage, the next he’s threatening violence, then he’s pouting about mini golf. How did you deal with him?”

“Put him over my shoulder and carry him away when he got obnoxious.” James shrugged, and when Tony asked, “You mean when he was small?”, the soldier answered, “Nah, I mean last week when he got weird about a smudge on his new shoes.”

Tony laughed and laughed until James kissed him just to shut him up. “C’mon Tony, I gotta know somethin’ important.”

Tony obediently sobered up and James kissed him again as a thank you. “I uh-- I wanted to know if me only knowin’ my last name for a few months now affects how we should hyphenate.”

“Hyphenate.” Tony repeated blankly. “Hyphenate what?”

“If we’re gonna be Barnes-Stark or just Barnes.” James explained, as if that clarified anything at all.

“James, I don’t--”

“Our last names, babydoll.” The soldier pulled a simple gold band from his pocket and held it up to the light. “You wanna be Mr. Barnes or Mr. Stark-Barnes?”

“James.” Tony gaped at the band. “What-- are you-- are you proposing right now?”

“Sorta terribly.” James admitted. “But yeah, Tony. I got some of my things back from the museum and on the loop next’a my old dog tags was my Dad’s old ring and I figured, why wait? I love you and you love me and hell sugar, I’ve been waiting for so long to find someone and then you found me and now I don’t ever wanna lose you again.”

“You’re proposing to me.” Tony repeated. “James, I--”

“You don’t gotta answer me right now.” James whispered. “I know this isn’t romantic and fancy like you deserve but--”

“Yes.” Tony blurted, and James stopped, eyes widening. “Yes. Fuck yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I haven’t even officially asked you yet!”

“Well I learned my lesson about waiting till the last minute to say important things and then almost missing my chance.” Tony took the ring carefully and fit it onto his left hand. “So yes. The answer is yes. And later you’ll just have to act surprised when I propose to you--”

“--what?!”

“-- I was waiting till next week when it was our six month anniversary but this is better.” Tony pulled James in for a long kiss. “This-- this is better. I don’t want to wait anymore or take our time or any of that. We’re not running out of time anymore but I don’t want to waste what we do have. The answer is yes.”

“When ya get around to asking me next week, my answer will be yes too.” James promised and Tony closed his eyes when his soldier pulled him in close again. “Love you so much, sweet thing.”

“I love you too.”

**************

Happy was all huffy when they finally made it out of the house holding hands and trading kisses, and Steve waiting impatiently by the limo holding a hilariously small set of golf clubs and scowling impatiently.

“What’d you guys do, get lost?” Happy demanded and James just smiled down at Tony.

“Yeah. But we found each other again, so everything’s just fine.”

Everything’s just fine.

******************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

The Power of Uselessness

Needless to say it had been a rough couple of months for the remnants of Chaldea. Between their home being destroyed, the three months in void space, and immediately being tossed into the Russian Lostbelt it was fair to say they were due for a win any second now. For a moment that seemed to be just what they were getting. Ivan had been defeated and the source of this little slice of chaos stand before them. But nothing good lasts forever. As now the only thing standing between them and The Great Tree was the very servant who was responsible for them losing their home and her master who by all means outclassed Kiryu in every way. On top of that it seemed the residents of the world grew wise to what would happen should Chaldea accomplish their goal. Was it right to destroy this entire land for the sake of restoring their own? By doing so were they not just as horrible as the very beings that wiped out their entire history? If not for Patxi’s parting words these thoughts would have driven Kiryu to despair. The Yaga’s final moments being used to push Kiryu to make a world where people could smile and be happy. A world where you didn’t have to be strong just to barely get by.

And so he would continue to fight. To push forward onto taking out the Great Tree that lay before them. Billy’s help was crucial along with Mash’s new power. But in the end it seemed to be too much. The Yaga’s sheer numbers and Anastasia’s overwhelming might drove them to their knees.

Kadoc: Why don’t you just give up already? It’s clear you’re outmatched here.

Kiryu’s breathing had become heavy. His spirit ready to press on, but his body however....

Kiryu:....Wouldn’t be the first time.

Kadoc: Oh yeah, you may have gotten lucky up until now but that’s all it was. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you even got past the First Singularity.

Deep down Kiryu knew he was right. It was only thanks to the help he had gotten that he ever made it this far. But would that really undermine everything.

Kadoc: Face it! You’re outclassed here. You weren’t even supposed to be at Chaldea, let alone survive that explosion. You’re just a low ranking nobody who only got drafted because somehow you can manage a connection with servants. Without that, you’re nothing. You’re useless.

The word echoed in Kiryu’s mind like the ringing of The First Hassan’s bell. He always hated that word. His fists tighten as he pushes himself to his feet.

Kiryu: Useless?

Anastasia: Have you gone deaf now? Your Proper Human History had failed. And now it is up to-

Kiryu: Shut the hell up!

Everyone looks to Kiryu. His outburst drawning concern from his allies

Mash: Senpai? Kiryu’s breathing accelerates as he straightens his back

Kiryu: I’ve had it...up to here with people like you. People who look down on everybody just because they don’t live up to your expectations. The only reason any of this was allowed to happen was because of high and mighty people who thought they were better then anyone. You want useless?

Kiryu raises his right hand. Not once up to this point has he ever felt the need use them outside of boosting his servants but it seemed he was making an exception. His left hand grabbing onto his wrist as he focuses everything into his command.

Kiryu: I’ll show you just what useless people can do!

All three of the markings on his hand begin glowing with an intense bright light.

Kiryu: By my command! I order you! Return to my side!

Onboard the Shadow Boarder the briefcase which held the collective Spirit Origins connected to Kiryu begins to glow.

Gordy: What the devil is that? I um...is it supposed to be doing that right now?

Kiryu: Return to my side and live up to your name! Strike this damn tree down in one feel swoop! Return to my side and unleash your power! BUNYAAAAAAAANNNNN!

All three of the marks on Kiryu’s hand fade away and the light on them begins to fade. The area left in silence if not for Kiryu’s breathing.

Kadoc:.....What the hell was that? Are you so delusional you gave your saving grace to a servant who doesn’t even exist?

Anastasia: It seems the stress of the situation has gone to his head, master.

Mash and Billy look toward Kiryu. Billy wondering what exactly was going on. Why didn’t he use those to help get them out? Mash couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. Command seals could be used to restore spirit origins of existing servants but at the moment that current servant was....

Kadoc: Well no sense dragging this out any longer. Finish it.

With her master’s command Anastasia lifts her hand and an ice spike begins forming in her palm. Just as it fully formed the ground would shake causing her to lose concentration, causing it to fall and shatter.

Kadoc: What the hell!?

A smug smile comes onto Kiryu’s face. He knew exactly what was happening. After all, he had willed it so.

The ground shakes once more. A steady rhythm had begun to form. From behind Kiryu, Kadoc could see something approach them. A colossus stepping around the city as it seemed to be on a direct course for where they stood.

Kiryu: The Yaga worshiped Ivan....because of his strength. Patxi called him a living mountain. Well I wonder how they’ll respond....

Kadoc looks toward Kiryu, finding his eyes locking with the low ranking master’s.

Kiryu: to something bigger.

Upon seeing the figure that put Ivan to shame the Yaga would be put into a panic. The hands trembling as they could feel the power quickly approaching them. Kadoc looks around at his now useless army.

Kadoc: You idiots! Just kill the master and the servant will follow! Damn it are any of you listening to me!?

His words fell on deaf ears. The Yaga that weren’t frozen in awe had already begun to flee.

Kadoc: Damn it! Anastasia!

Anastasia: I’ve got him.

Now use to the tremors the servant readies another ice spike. Within seconds it launched directly toward Kiryu’s heart. But it was too late. They were already within reach of the titan that stood behind them. A massive hand covered in a green glove slammed down and stomped the ice spike into the ground. With one swift motion it would scoop up a piece of the ground, carrying Kiryu and his allies up to safety.

Bunyan: .....Master.

With the very ground beneath him moving Kiryu was forced onto his stomach. He lacked the strength to get up but he could still look behind him. The smiling face of innocence looking down at him. The snow beginning to melt from under him as he can’t help but smile back.

Bunyan: I’m back.

Kiryu:.....Welcome home.

Bunyan would respond with a heartfelt giggle. With a swift motion she places the three inside of one of her coat pockets.

Kadoc: This is insane! What the hell even is that!? That spirit origin is pathetic! Paul Bunyan shouldn’t even be on the Throne of Heroes! This shouldn’t even be happening!

From their perspective distances Bunyan can only vaguely hear the ramblings going on beneath her. Her master was now safe and warm inside of her coat. With both hands she grasps onto her axe and stares at the massive tree before her.

Bunyan: And yet....here I AM!

With one swing of her axe the tree would be cut clean in two. Almost in an instant the storm that seemed to constantly surround the Russian Lostbelt would cease. Bunyan slamming her axe down to her side. Kadoc could only look in despair as his beloved servant would begin to fade away. With the Lostbelt gone her spirit origin’s connection to this would was gone. She could no longer maintain herself. All Kadoc could do was look up at the titanic servant now staring down at him angrily. He thought about running but in the end there wouldn’t be a point. For every 100 steps he took she would only have to take one to be in front of him again. He couldn’t help but find the whole thing humorous in a way. That bastard Kiryu managed to pull off another one.

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

Had this one in my head for a while now but could never quite get it right. Wasn’t sure to do this one or the ending of their contract first but the ladder just made me to sad to write down. So I went with this one.

@hasquetzdoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong

#Fate #Fatego #Fate Grand Order #Paul Bunyan #Mastersona #Anastasia #Kadoc

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ladyanput · 4 years

Text

Seeing Red Ch.5

I’m so close to finishing this darned story.

Eva woke up bleary-eyed and sore all over. With a grumble, she pulled on her jeans, ignoring the ache that happened when the material rubbed against the bruises on her inner thighs. As she looked down at herself, she lightly touched the hickies and bite marks left along her collarbone and neck, cursing under her breath as she tugged on a black turtleneck. Red Hood had been quite rough last night, after she had finally been able to let him into the hotel room, not that she had really minded. But now the consequences were causing her to limp towards the elevator and lean against the wall, cursing how she had slept in, she had been looking forward to having breakfast with Marinette and her friends. Rose and Juleka were absolutely adorable, in her opinion, and Ivan seemed like a nice kid. They never set out to do anything malicious, but they had leaned pretty hard into Lila’s lies.

But, hell, if Marinette was going to give them a second chance, Eva could bite her tongue and join her. Not everyone deserved a second chance, but she was willing to give them one. But only because of Marinette.

But when she stepped out of the elevator and saw the looks on the students’ faces, she got an unsettled feeling, stirring deep within her gut.

And when they all eventually got to the realization that Marinette was missing, she felt as if she wanted to vomit.

Police roamed the floor, some had gone up to Marinette’s room, it was a mess. And when Batman and his crew stepped into the hotel’s lobby, the tension in Eva’s shoulders only grew worse.

The blood seemed to pump hard through her veins, the rush of it filling her ears, almost deafening as her breathing grew heavier. She didn’t hear all of the lies Lila told to the police, of her possibly running off with an older man. She didn’t hear about how Alya was shouting that Marinette dipped out often during events, it was commonplace, she’d be fine, completely forgetting about how they were in a city full of villains that would not hesitate to kill their victims.

“Vixen.” A familiar pair of hands firmly grasped her shoulders, slingshotting her back into the present. She grasped the front of Red Hood’s shirt as she stepped closer to him.

"Please, let me help somehow!" Her grip tightened on him as she felt her body begin to shake. Her mind raced at all of the horrible possible scenarios, the Joker, maybe the Penguin, anyone could have Marinette, could be hurting her, she could be dead, or dying, anything could be happening! "Please, I need to help, please."

"We can handle it!" Her gaze was drawn to the towering figure of Robin as he approached. He seemed tense, a bit on edge, as if he were about to lash out at any moment. She pressed her lips in a thin line as she listened to the bickering between the two, before she squeezed her eyes shut.

And there she stood, hearing nothing as the police walked around her, as did the students. Her gaze flickered over to Caline and anger shot through her as the sight of the teacher looking more interrupted than concerned. Did none of them get it, not a single one of them? This wasn’t Paris, these villains here aren’t Hawkmoth, she could seriously be hurt.

“Has anyone seen Adrien?” Alix was the one to ask it, around an hour later. The vigilantes were already gone, most of the police were gone. Eva’s eyes darted around the room, finally noticing the lack of the model, and a queasy feeling curled in her stomach.

“My poor Adrien, he must have gone out to look for Marinette. I can’t believe he’d give into her tricks, he might get hurt..” Lila suddenly sobbed out, drawing all eyes to her before she buried her face into her hands. “What can I do? He could get hurt! Last night he told me that they fought, because she’s been stalking him again”

“Is this what it always sounded like to you guys?” Ivan stepped over and whispered into Eva’s ear, failing to notice the sweat forming on Eva’s brow. She then gave a slow nod, her eyes glazed over ever so slightly as her mind raced. Adrien, Adrien was missing too.. Marinette and Adrien, both gone, no one had seen them leave. They were often disappearing at the same time, but that was during akuma attacks, so it was understandable that they’d get separated in the chaos..

Eva felt herself moving towards the elevators before she realized what she was doing. She pressed the button for Marinette’s floor and slowly the elevator rose. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, listening to the rumble of the gears as he mind raced. Something didn’t feel right, something just didn’t click. Marinette wouldn’t have left with a stranger, she usually tried her hardest to tell Eva where she was going. She did her hardest to let Eva know if she was going to run late.

Eva’s eyes snapped open as she stepped into the hallway. Police tape was covering the doorway to Marinette’s room. There was a dark stain on the carpet just outside of the door, and panic spiked in Eva before she saw it was a dark brown, not red. Coffee, perhaps?

She ducked under the tape and stepped into the room, eyeing it very carefully. The police had been here, and she knew she would get in trouble if she was caught standing in a crime scene, but something… Something drew her here. Something told her she absolutely needed to be here.

Eva stepped deeper into the room, eyeing everything. Nothing was scattered, no mess. The bed was neatly made, her luggage tucked neatly into the corner, next to the empty closet, that contained only a few wire hangers. Eva passed the luggage, heading towards the dresser, but paused at the sound of a soft ‘thunk’.

Slowly, she turned and spotted the round spotted object that rolled out into the middle of the floor. Eva found her mouth going dry as she moved over, knelt next to the odd object. She had never seen it before in her life, Marinette had never mentioned bringing out a.. Was it a box? She reached out, and eyed the symbols on it. Was it a project, maybe regarding the Parisian heroes?

Her fingertips brushed over the symbol of a fox tail, before the small door swung open. Inside, laid on a silken cushion, was a charm in the shape of a fox tail. Eva felt her throat tightened at the sight of it, before she stumbled back with a squeak as a bright light burst from the box. She landed rather hard on her sore bottom with a rather loud groan, her eyes snapping shut as she winched.

“Well, I have to say, you’re not as graceful as I expect my Chosen to be.” The voice that spoke was playful, having an almost childish tone. "Grace is a fox's most alluring quality, you know."

Eva glanced up and stared at the small creature that floated before her very eyes. It was a small fox, from what she could tell, with large purple eyes, about the exact shade as her own.

"Who.. Who are you?" Eva managed as she shifted onto her knees, the abrupt action caused the little fox to float back an inch. "Please, don't go!"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. As for myself, I'm Trixx, I am the Kwami of Illusion!" The chipper mood of this.. Kwami seemed so different than the mood that had been carrying on all day. Eva's mind instantly flashed to Marinette and she squeezed her eyes tight. "Hey, what's wrong? Don't throw up on the carpet, I'm not good at cleaning!"

"Wait.. You were in Marinette's bag. Do you know Marinette? Do you know where she's gone? Is she hurt? Please, I need to find her, I need to save her! She's my family, I can't lose her when I just got her!" Eva reached for the Kwami, who promptly flew out of her reach.

"Eva, you must calm down." A small red and black spotted creature flew down from the top of the wardrobe, joining Trixx to stare at the woman kneeling on the floor, next to the Miraculous box. "Well, I guess the cat is out of the bag. Or the fox is out of the box, isn't it? Eva, Marinette is in danger. Chat Noir has her."

"Wait, what? But why would he have Marinette, isn't he usually after Ladybu-" Tikki and Trixx watched as the gears turned in the woman's mind, watched as the realization lit up in those large purple eyes. "No fucking way.. Is.. Is Marinette Ladybug? Like, that has to be the reason, you kind of look like a Ladybug, and why she had this weird box, and I guess she and Ladybug do look alike, and the two of them are never in the same place at once-"

"Evangeline!" Tikki raised her voice, which caused Eva's mouth to snap shut. "We don't have much time! I know that Robin and his teammates are out looking for her, but.. They've never faced any of the Miraculous before, I'm worried that they won't know how to deal with it. They need someone who wields a Miraculous to help them."

"Oh." Eva blinked, then reached into her purse, pulling out her cell phone. "Is anyone in the class a Miraculous person? Or anyone back in France? Like, you guys teleport, right? At least one of you has to."

"There's not enough time. Right now, I want you to do it. Put on that necklace and become the new Fox heroine!" Tikki picked up the fox necklace, held it out. "Please!"

"Whoa." Eva held up a hand. "No way. I don't have any proper training."

"The Miraculous is all that you need."

"Might I remind you that Red Hood and the others have guns. Surely they can handle this."

"And might I remind you that Chat Noir can destroy anything he touches and turn it into ash?"

".. Okay, fine, how do I turn this thing on?" Eva muttered as she snapped up the necklace and put it on. It felt so cold against her skin, causing her to shiver.

"All you have to do is say 'Trixx, let's pounce', then you'll transform! Trust me, I have a feeling you'll be a natural!" Trixx piped up, a grin on his face.

…

Lady Vixen ran across snow covered rooftops at a supernatural speed. She felt weightless, as she seemed to defy gravity as she jumped from one roof to another without any effort.

Tikki was curled up, protected from the harsh elements by the thick fur of Vixen's tail. She seemed to have adapted to these powers like a fish to water.

"I see they've already begun without me." Vixen clicked her tongue as she caught sight of the warehouse in the distance, noticing that the large doors were wide open.

She made a step towards them as she landed on the ground, but paused when she heard the screaming. She managed to peek around the corner, watching as Robin and Chat Noir engaged in some intense fighting. A quick look around made her see all of the bodies scattered about, many of them with their limbs twisted at odd angles.

Vixen realized that facing Chat Noir head on would be a suicidal mission, if anything. He was strong, used to his powers, and unhinged by the sounds on his rants about how 'Ladybug was all his', like the disgusting 'nice guys' she had met in the past. But then her eyes widened when she got the idea.

She disguised herself as Ladybug, and acted fairly well, she assumed, looking so heartbroken and disgusted at Chat's actions. And it was oh so satisfying when she kicked that cat's ass across the warehouse. And as she stood on his chest, she angled her heel and stomped on his throat, hearing the choking sounds giving her such satisfaction. She glared down at Chat Noir, at those glazed over green eyes that held such fury, such madness. Guilt and rage curled in Vixen’s gut as she was thrown off of Chat, but landed rather gracefully on her feet, just next Marinette.

“Are those high heels?” Marinette hissed from between bluish lips, her eyes narrowing a fraction as she stared at the fox heroine. Vixen merely gave her a grin. If Marinette was well enough to give snide remarks, she’d be fine.

"Hey Sugar Cookie, I think this belongs to you!" The fox unfurled her tail, Tikki darting out and Vixen watched at the heartwarming reunion of the two. She then returned her gaze to where Chat was struggling to his feet, his hand pulsing with a dark energy. She unsheathed her claws and rushed forward.

She ducked under Chat Noir’s swipe, slashing at his stomach, her sharp claws ripping through his costume, though barely grazed his skin, the thin red lines soon oozing blood.

He grasped her throat with his non powered hand, squeezing as he aimed to stroke, but she rapidly ripped from his grasp and began running backwards.

Power pumped through her veins as she prepared to help Ladybug take this bastard down.

…

Vixen smiled as she watched as Red Hood and Nightwing tied Adrien up with some rope they had found lying around. Adrien’s head lolled to the side, a groan leaving his lips. She admired the sight of the boy’s broken nose and the blood dripping down his chin.

“So..” Vixen turned and watched as Marinette, looking much better as she was bundled in a blanket, her lips having regained their rosy colour. “What do I call the heroine who decided shoulder pads and high heels were a smart choice for a superhero costume?"

Vixen had to suppress a snort as she crossed her arms, cocked a hip.

"I managed to do flips and cartwheels in these heels, so you don't get to judge." Vixen pointed a finger at Marinette and gave her a light poke in the shoulder. “But I guess you can call me Lady Vixen.”

Vixen, without realizing what was really happening, listened to her necklace beep. And in a flash of light, she suddenly felt the cold of the bitter winter night. She shivered and hugged herself.

Eva opened her mouth, about to make a joke about the cat being out of the bag, when she heard a loud clatter. She looked up sharply and stared at Red Hood, who’s body seemed so tense. Then he took off his helmet, practically ripping it off and tossing it to the side as if it were nothing.

And Eva found herself looking into the blue eyes of Jason Todd.

"What the fuck? Jaso-" Before Eva could say anything else, Jason grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. Her arms automatically wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his thick dark hair. She whimpered ever so softly, her body giving a soft shiver.

"You're a fucking crazy woman." He had a faint trace of awe in his voice as he stared into her eyes.

Eva, mind racing at the sudden realization of who she had been romping for the past few days, couldn’t stop the giggle that left her lips.

"I had to save Marinette. She couldn't transform without that red fairy."

"Yeah, but your form was terrible." Jason grabbed her by the waist and Eva found herself being tossed over his shoulder, eyes wide as she saw that the other vigilantes were watching."You and I need to work on that flexibility of yours."

"Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?" Eva struggled in Jason's tight grip, but stilled when she felt his hand squeeze her inner thigh. Suddenly, her cheeks burned, as she was carried out of the warehouse. "Oh.. OH!"

Now, Eva would usually have gone and embraced Marinette, crying about how relieved she was that the girl was safe. But when she felt his hand slide higher, and her blood began to race, her mind was suddenly only on the fire that burned in her skin.

When they got back to Wayne Manor, under the radar of most of the security cameras and Alfred, clothes began flying off once they entered Jason's room. Eva found herself pinned under Jason, clinging to him as he thrusted so fiercely into her, causing her to cry out. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, his lips trailing to her breasts, tongue teasing her sweat drenched skin .

“Fuck, I can finally see you as you fuck my brains out.. She managed to pant out, seeing stars as he kept thrusting into her. “Fuck, Jason, yes…”

“You fucking vixen.. Dammit, I shouldn’t have shown you my identity.” Jason whispered against her skin. He hadn’t known what had come over him, his identity was something that was very important. But having watched Eva fight in such a fierce manner and had found out that she had been that fox lady, something had taken over him, his hands had moved on their own.

“Well, you know mine.. We should be even.” She whispered, reaching up and grabbing his face between her hands, pulling him down for a kiss. “Good to know you’re one of the sexiest men I’ve seen in my life.”

He kissed her again, groaning as he felt her nails digging into his back.

“You’re all mine now.” He whispered, nuzzling her neck.

…

Eva snuggled into Jason’s side as she read the book he had open with him. If she had been honest, she never thought he’d be one to read Jane Eyre. But that was probably because they didn’t know all that much about each other, yet here they were, in bed together and naked. It all felt so surreal to Eva, now having entered the world of heroes and villains.

“Marinette had been Ladybug this whole time.. I still can’t wrap my head around it, I thought she was always running off to hide, but she was actually just working really damned hard to keep her secret.” Eva murmured as her eyes skimmed over the words of the book. “But to think she was also in such dangerous situations.. It scares me, but also makes me realize she’s alot stronger than I gave her credit for.”

“I thought the same thing about you.” Jason admitted as he ran his fingers lazily through her hair, before he briefly closed his eyes. “You’ve got balls of steel, Eva.”

“So do you. I mean, how long have you been this vigilante?” She lifted her head and faced him, reaching up and cupping his cheek. “I’m guessing you were one of the Robins forever ago, hm?”

Jason opened his mouth to answer, only to pause. A part of him wanted to tell her everything, even his times under the influence of the Lazarus pits, but.. He just couldn’t, he hated to say it, but he didn’t fully thrust this woman with something that intimate.

“I was the second Robin. I became Red Hood a while later.” Was all he said.

“So, been there pretty much since the beginning, hm? Must have been a mess of a time.” Eva mused, but could barely get another word out, as he pulled her in for a soft kiss.

"Tomorrow.. You and me. We're going to have some fun. Eva.. I like you, you're a spunky lady, and I.. I want us to try being a bit more than just, well, flings."

Eva stared into those impossibly blue eyes of his, speechless, before she allowed herself to blush vividly.

"A- alright then. I think.. I'd actually like that." She admitted, leaning in for another kiss.

About an hour later, she found herself down in the kitchen, grabbing herself a snack and something to eat. She smiled at the sight of Marinette standing in the kitchen, sipping something warm from a steaming mug, Damian's tall, broad form next to her, his arms wrapped around her waist. The way he looked at her.. Eva felt her throat tighten slightly as she saw how they looked at each other. Like they knew that they were meant to be.

She wanted that. Stupidly, she wanted that with Jason. Sure, he'd said he'd wanted to try it, but he'd change his mind later, most men usually did. Besides, once he'd find out the truth, he'd run for the hills to get away from her.

David's face flashed in her eyes and she shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep, shaky breath before finally heading into the kitchen with a bright smile.

"Aren’t you all supposed to be asleep?” Eva attempted her best carefree voice, pulling her robe tighter around herself and giggling when she saw how Marinette and Damian jumped upon her interruption.

“Though, I suppose I should be too.”

“Kinda hard to sleep with hearing a headboard slamming repetitively on the wall.” Tim shot Eva a glare, but Eva merely smiled back. She held his gaze, taking in his handsome face, yet the dark shadows under his eyes. Carefully, she swayed her hips as seductively as she could, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Well, Tim, if you ever wanna join in, I’m more than open to it.” She purred out, giving a flutter of his lashes. She felt her revenge was complete once his face went absolutely crimson. Without giving him another glance, she turned towards Marinette, who was still sipping from the mug. “Hey, sugar cookie, you okay?”

And at the haunted look in Marinette's eyes, Eva knew whatever words she was going to speak next were going to be lies.

…

As soon as Eva got back to the room,she found Jason still awake, still reading the book. Her lips quirked as she made her way over to him.

"I kind of seduced your brother." She spoke up, drawing his attention as she made her way towards the bed. "He was complaining about the noise."

"Tim always has something to complain about, don't worry about it. And I wish I could've been there to see his face."

“He went cherry red. Think he’d take me up on the offered threesome?” She stuck her tongue out at him when he gave her a look.

“He’d have to be crazy not to take a chance with you.”

A knock at the door stopped whatever Eva was about to say. She went quiet as she stood and slowly opened the door. There stood a red faced Tim.

Without saying a word, Eva grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him inside. Soon his clothes joined hers on the floor.

Taglist:

@the-navistar-carol @chocolate1721 @emo-elaine13 @mochinek0 @drarryismylife101 @toodaloo-kangaroo

@moonlightstar64 @imtryingsstuff @shamefullove

#seeing red #Evangeline Bourbon #maribat

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matchasprouts · 3 years

Text

Listen Closer - Chapter 18

[ finally updating <3 i've been hanging out with a friend all weekend so i haven't really had the chance to write! very excited to move on to the big game though. hopefully it'll all fit into one chapter without killing me dead since it'll be in Garrett's perspective, but we'll see how much i wanna write about it ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

“He kissed you?” Lawrence asked over dinner that night, after Garrett finished telling him about his day. “Like… on the mouth?”

Garrett let out a sharp laugh that cautious way Lawrence said it, covering his mouth until he’d calmed down. “Yes, Lawrence, on the mouth. It was insane! I’ve never seen him lose his composure like that, I honestly thought we were about to fuck.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Lawrence replied, referencing Garrett’s propensity for taking just about any chance for public sex that he got.

“I wouldn’t either, but Perez walked in and he acted like she was gonna kill him for it,” Garrett said, rolling his eyes at the memory of the interruption. He would have had a lot of fun that day if it weren’t for her coming in. Though, giving Strahm a little taste of what he craved only for it to be taken suddenly was very satisfying as well.

When they were done, Lawrence helped Garrett clean up. Mark hadn’t come home yet, he had some work to catch up on and decided to stay late. He was probably also preparing for the big game that would be starting soon.

He still wasn’t home by the time the two of them laid down, and Garrett sent him a quick goodnight text before closing his eyes. He heard his phone ping with a response almost immediately, but the lack of sleep last month was still kicking his ass and he passed out before he could reply.

---

“Huh. That’s new,” Garrett commented as he looked down at the corpse in front of him, a man with his head sawn in two. The trap itself seemed to be just the circular saw covered in the blood of the dead man, the chains around his wrists attached to the wall with it.

“My best guess is that he was supposed to get out of the chains before they dragged him to the saw.” He didn’t actually know anything about this trap, as he hadn’t seen it be built or heard anything about it. It honestly looked like something John himself put together, but he knew that was unlikely, unless it had been built when John was in better condition.

He began to glance around the room, looking for a tape or keys. Generally, he wasn’t allowed to touch the tapes, since they were almost always in evidence by the time he was called in. He didn’t find a tape, but he found a key in a small hole in the floor, covered up with a piece of wood that was near indistinguible from the rest of the floor.

“Hey, where’s Strahm?” Garrett asked Perez when she handed him the evidence bag that he dropped the key into, so they could check if it would have actually worked.

Perez gave him one of those looks, making it clear that she knew exactly why he was asking. “In his office, I imagine. He came in but didn’t show up when I called him down to the scene. I can only guess why.”

See, this is why you should knock before coming into Garrett’s office.

“Hm. Good to know,” he replied, grinning at her before getting to work on his sketch. He loved knowing that she could see the tension between him and her partner, because it made it so much more fun.

He handed the sketch off to her when he was done, making a small note about how simple this trap was, and how he thought it was probably Kramer who designed it, making it easier to build since he couldn’t put it together.

He’d know if he was right or not when he asked later.

Soon enough, he was back in his office, humming a soft tune to himself as he worked.

The office was becoming something like a third home to him, seeing as he spent more time in it than his own apartment at this point. Sure he was glad to have a different job and coworkers than when he worked at the bookshop, but he spent a lot of time in here.

It didn’t help that the other parts of Jigsaw suddenly decided to pick up the pace and set an assload of traps, some of which Garrett didn’t even know about until they happened. He was inclined to think that he was the only one working on the big game now, but he knew better than that. After all, John had been very excited (or, as excited as that man could get) to show him the rack last time he was at the meat packing plant. Of course, he’d been ecstatic to see it, the rack was his favourite torture device, and he loved the new twist on it.

Damn. Not even he could escape his shitty puns.

Either way, Garrett got out of the precinct as fast as possible, not because he was tired of being in there, but because Mark had told them that if the both of them went back to the motel today, they could get the trap finished and be done with it, which would lessen the time in between setting it up and the game starting.

As excited Garrett was to see the game unfold, he was also eager for it to be done with. At this point, he was only really tuned in to seeing the rack in action, and seeing if Strahm lived or not.

Though, he’d also get to see just how good of an actor Mark was when he was pressured, and he was very excited for that.

“You ready?” he asked Mark once he had his bag slung over his shoulder, carrying the two final pieces of the machine itself, while Mark had all the extras- the tape, the pictures to be strung up, the pig mask that the player would be given, and the red light bulb they were going to switch out the normal one for. Atmosphere was important, after all.

“Let’s go,” Mark replied simply, apparently deciding that he was going to drive the shitty rental car that Garrett himself could barely fit in. That was going to be amusing, but he said nothing.

He let a snicker escape when Mark realized he was too big for the car, but he stood by his decision and made the very awkward drive to the motel, glaring at Garrett every time he laughed at the sight of him all crumpled up in the driver’s seat.

They took a longer route to the motel this time, just to be safe and ensure that they weren’t being followed. But it didn’t take too long for them to park in front of the gross only building.

Garrett pulled his mask and hood up, glancing at Mark and finding him with a confused expression. “I’m kind of easy to pick out in a crowd,” he pointed out, referencing his bright white hair and face scar. “You should probably cover up too, just to be safe.

Mark paused for a long moment, before sighing and pulling his own hood up. Then they got out of the front and grabbed the bags from the back, heading in as soon as Garrett found the room keys.

Ivan tried to talk to them again when they headed in, trying to get them to explain who they were, only to be shut down with a sharp glare from Mark. Garrett snickered quietly to himself at the look on that freak’s face, before quickly heading upstairs.

They set everything up before putting in the new light bulb, neither of them particularly eager to work in the red light. Mark set up the pictures, tape, and mask while Garrett finished putting together his most annoying, but likely most satisfying, trap.

Garrett was going to be the one watching every camera that they were connected to, acting as the watcher of the game. He originally thought about participating, but John shut that down quickly. There needed to be someone who could take down stragglers and put Strahm in his trap, and Lawrence wouldn’t be able to do that himself.

It was a little disappointing, but at least he’d get to see the Rack and his own trap in action.

They didn’t stay any longer than they had to, heading out as soon as they were done. Ivan didn’t try to talk to them again, but someone else tried to get their attention.

There had been a drug addict that was sitting beside the front door every time Garrett showed up, usually choosing to yell at him whenever he came in. He’d done the same thing today, but took it up a notch and grabbed Garrett.

He almost killed him on the spot, forcing him to freeze as his eyes widened even more than they usually were. The addict seemed to already regret his decision, probably because the lighting made Garrett’s very wide eyes look red, instead of his usual brown.

The jacket was released almost immediately, but that didn’t stop Garrett from cracking his fist down on the man’s jaw, ignoring his cry of pain or the fact that his knuckles now ached.

“Let’s go,” he growled to Mark, grabbing him by the arm and all but dragging him out of the building.

They didn’t talk about it on the ride back, or after it. In fact, they planned to never talk about it again. Luckily, they were distracted when Amanda wheeled John over, placing him right in front of them.

“Is your trap done, Garrett?” John asked him, pulling the oxygen mask down to hang around his neck. When Garrett nodded his confirmation, he continued. “Good. The game can proceed earlier than planned then. Is your final tape finished?” he asked Mark now.

Mark recorded the tapes for Rigg’s part of the game, the part that Mark himself would be participating in. Garrett had gotten to listen to them, and he had to admit that he’d gotten a lot better at the Jigsaw voice.

He nodded, confirming that they were done. “Then we gather the players soon- within a week, at the most. Take a break while you still can. Garrett, you will collect Mr. Denlon and his co-players. Amanda will retrieve Dr. Denlon and Detective Matthews. Mark, you have your files, try not to hurt them too much.”

It’s funny that he thought Mark was going to be the problem- though, to be fair, Mark didn’t exactly see players as people anymore. That’s why Garrett was gathering the players for John’s half of the game, because he didn’t trust Mark to not hurt them.

John waved his hand to dismiss them both, and they took the chance to head home to the apartment before it got too late, not particularly fond of the idea of sleeping in Garrett’s work room.

Besides, Lawrence was at home, and he never liked sleeping alone.

“So, do you think Strahm is going to follow Rigg’s trail like he’s supposed to?” Garrett asked as he drove them home, both of them far more comfortable in his own car, which was actually built for people their size.

“If he wants to find Jigsaw, he’ll have to,” Mark replied, finishing whatever text he was writing on his phone and sending it off. “With how much he thinks it’s me, he’ll think that he’s being led to exactly who he wants.”

“Which is why I’ll be knocking him out. I’m a different build, height, and strength level. The last thing he’ll probably realize before he passes out is that whoever I am, I’m definitely not you,” Garrett added. The plan was thought out to the smallest detail, and that was one of the most important parts. Strahm wouldn’t even have a trap at all if he’d just minded his own business.

Garrett would never admit it, but he definitely wished Strahm had stayed out of it. He wasn’t by any means a good man, or a good agent, but he wasn’t being trapped for rehabilitation; he was being trapped to die.

It made him feel uneasy. Sure, Garrett wasn’t a perfect model of John’s teachings, but he still believed that killing someone for the hell of it was fucked up. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t like that Strahm was given no way to escape.

So, he was going to give him one.

#story tag: listen closer #self ship fic #self shipping #self insert #scrap.writing #scrap.ships #s/i: garrett whitlock #mark hoffman #lawrence gordon #peter strahm #romantic: 🦿🩺#romantic: ⛓🕵️‍♂️#romantic: 🖊💧#(poly) romantic: ⛓🩺🖊#chapter 18

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diamo-chan · 4 years

Text

AAAAANGST (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ

(not beta-read – we die like men)

Pairing: Eloise x Ethan - what else could you expect of me (￢ε￢)

Word count: 1,8k

They were all chilling in the living room, Beliath annoying Vladimir to pass the time when he was locked in the mansion instead of relaxing in the Moondance, with Ethan, who was sulking upstairs, Aaron and Raphael were leaning against each other, reading in silent harmony, because there was no way they would leave the house when the water was coming down in buckets. No one knew where Ivan was, but most likely he locked himself in his room.

Eloise went upstairs to the attic to get new candles, after the thunderstorm has left the mansion without electricity, and the last candle on the holder went out. No problem for the vampire boys. But Eloises senses were kind of gone at this level of darkness, so she had to follow the wall on her way to the second floor, it made her struggle even at the first set of stairs.

While she passes one door there is suddenly a shriek from within as lightning floods the hallway from the end of the corridor. At that point she notices that her hand lies on the door of the boys bathroom. There were sounds coming from behind that door. Whimpers and whispers.

Jumpy? Crying? Apparently she found Ivan. Carefully Eloise knocked at the door to not startle him any further.

“Ivan? Are you alright?”

The answer came quick and almost unexpected: “Fuck. Off.“

Nope… not Ivan. The usual energy was drained of any bite that those words might have held under different circumstances. But that didn’t stop her from her plan. No way she would let someone cry on their own, this was not something she would be able forgive herself for. In the orphanage there was always someone who took care of those who were at the edge of breaking under the care of the strict educators and social workers. Even worse than the feeling of abandonment in the past, was the lack of love in the present. This is why everyone needed people who care about them. Even total assholes. Even Ethan.

“I will come in, Ethan.” It was a warning, not a question. And she didn’t even give him the time to get to the door and lock it, pressing herself against the old wood

“No… “ The weak sound of objection that rang through the door, it broke at the end.

She entered the boys bathroom and locked the door behind her out of reflex. It was everything she had imagined: a little bit messy, with that typical masculine smell and tons of different shampoos that could belong to no other than Beliath.

In the furthest corner, between the toilet and the bathtub, sat Ethan, on the tile floor, knees pulled all the way up to his chin. His hands were clenching and unclenching while pressed to his sides. And he looked angry that she entered without being asked in. maybe angry was not the right word. But to put it simple: he looked like shit.

Not in an insulting way, but rather his face was a grotesque mask of over-layering emotions and he was having a hard time in keeping up the one of fury while suppressing the rest. Eloise believed that there was even relieve, somewhere among those layers.

One step away from Ethan the girl sat down on the edge of the tub and leaned down so her torso was laying on her thighs. This brought them on the same eye level. Hastily he removed the streams of his tears with his shirt. Every rumble of thunder made him tense up, while his gaze locked itself on the floor somewhere in front of her feet. The echo in the small tiled room made the sound of the rain incredibly loud, a constant rushing that overscreamed the silence and muffled his sniffles. Eloise felt the weight of the loneliness that surrounded him. It was surely different when he was in the club, surrounded by people, the bass in his bones, the alcohol in his veins. There was a terribly sober and drowning feel to this.

“You should come downstairs. Sit with the others, keep yourself in company.” Eloise suggested.

Ethan forced a laugh and his eyes were cold when they met her grey ones, there was a resignation to the pressuring fear clouding them. “And give them the satisfaction of seeing me pathetic like that.”

‘They would not care’, Eloise wanted to say, but stopped herself. He would definitely get it the wrong way. No, she didn’t know her housemates well enough to reassure him that way. And even if she did care, the others might not be the best at helping, if Ethan decided to stay here, on the cold tiles, between toilet and tub. Gloves off, hair wet, whether it was from sweat or water, didn’t matter. But his fear did!

She crouched down to his eye level and took his face into her hands to prevent him from hiding in his shell. The blue irises of his hid a storm and were surely competing with the sky outside by the way they were shooting lightnings her way, in annoyance of her intrusing way of handling him. He was an ugly crier, she took note of it, the red of his puffy eyes stood out even more in contrast to his generally pale complexion.

He bared his fangs in a desperate attempt of scaring her away. But Eloise didn’t even move an inch. With the seconds that passed a whole story was told by his face as his fury lit up even more intensely after the confusion over her neutrality passed. She could see his hands shake with the wish to slap hers away. A thought crossed his mind and once again there were tears at the brim of falling. The brilliant white of his hair has adapted a sullen and grayish tone. Denying them was futile, in the face of the situation she found him in.

Thunder shook the windows with a mite that could only come from the fact that it was right above them. Drops fell unto his knees. It was so very bright, suddenly, Eloise had to shield her tired eyes. In the luminance of the moment, she could see the whole extend of the chaos in Ethan’s heart that was reflected on the young bony features. It snapped. He gave up. The light in his eyes dimmed. It looked as if he died over again.

She stood back up and turned to the door, shaken to the core, fleeing from the responsibility that was too much for her, when a shaking, sweaty hand clamped down around her wrist to stop her in her motion. He had leapt after her, was on his knees, one hand against the floor to keep his balance, the other holding hers to prevent her from leaving. “Wait... Stay…”

Eloise exhaled deeply. She didn’t want to leave him alone, but seeing him like this made her insides clench with the knowledge that she could not heal this. It wasn’t as easy as giving him blood and everything is back to normal. And since the hope that he will one day open up to her entirely is a tiny flame in a windy valley, any wrong word might cause him to push her away again. Maybe Raphael would know what to do, or Aaron, or Beliath as he is the closest to him.

“The others are still waiting for new candles. I can get someone… Beliath or-“

He shook his head. “They will manage. You will hurt yourself in the darkness.“

Blinking her surprise away, she came back to him, closer, so close that her knees were touching his. He was right, the others were vampires, they would not crave the light. But more importantly Ethan had asked for her company. It was almost strange with how she felt like the personification of cancer whenever he talked to her. But now… this Ethan was different.

She unclasped the hand, he was holding her with, so she could sit down next to him. There was a resistance before he let go. Was he afraid that she would run?

Instead she supported herself against the bashtub when she sank to the floor. Eloise was between the tub and the vampire, who made no movement to pull away or give her more room, the chalice ended up presses flush against him. Once she was more or less comfortably seated she felt a tingle against her hand. Then the caressing pressure of fingers interwining with hers. Her heart skipped a beat and there was surely a bright red blush covering her from the roots of her black hair down to her décolleté.

Ethan rested his head against her collarbone. The movement was slow, hesitant, to give her the chance to back out of it, to break their proximity. But she gave him more room to get comfortable and rest instead, moved her hair out of the way so he would lay on her skin. His mouth was right next to her neck, close to the marks what were slowly fading. If all of this would turn out to be a lie, would he bring her to the edge of death? Again?

Eloise’s hand reached up and let her nails comb through his hair that was indeed sweaty, but that did not matter. In a slow pace she massaged his scalp in the way that always comforted her as a child. Surprisingly enough, he let her, even pressed closer to her. A content hum escaped his involuntarily curling lips. Docile like that, he was like a child, with a small pout on his lips; his attempt, to go unnoticed, failed. His cheeks were still warm from crying; forehead feverish from the racing thoughts, that must occupy his mind. She felt the goosebumps on the arm where their fingers were interwined. How long has he been here before she found him? The wish to hug him rose up in his chest, but that would be too much for now. Don’t rush Eloise.

His breathing became even and calm. The weight of his head was a steady reminder of his vulnerability, the just how breakable this moment was. In his trust she let herself relax as well. Slumping down into a more comfortable sitting position while still supporting the white haired boy.

In her own dozy half-sleep Eloise heard footsteps come closer. Someone pulled the handle of the bathroom door, only to find it locked. Ethan’s lashes fluttered slightly but fell back shut, the hand that was holding hers tightened a bit. The young girl smiled and let her eyes rest as well.

Tomorrow she would whine to him about her sore neck. So his hands do those wonders to her already tensed muscles. Even if his sole motivation was to keep her quiet. She would have to accept that. Just one more of the many things, she was willingly accepting, when it came to Ethan.

#moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers headcanon #a very long one #i bet no one will read this til the end #but i wanted to write #the bathroom scene #using the last week of vacation until christmas

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dark-and-kinky-hetalia-scenarios · 4 years

Text

1p Russia/Ivan Braginsky

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He tries to be sweet and he will feed you candy while he drinks vodka

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your arms, he wants to melt into your embrace

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He prefers to use protection and not get it on you

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ivan has an ice dildo mold

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He lacks experience because sex doesn't interest him that much

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He doesn’t have a favourite, but does enjoy anything, where he can hold you in his arms

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

This is not the time to be goofy it’s the time for being close and being one

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Ivan tried to shave but it didn't go so well, so he stays away from shaving his privates. He does also prefer the natural look on you though

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s very intimate and romantic

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t jack off at all, it’s not the pleasure he seeks but the intimacy, so doing it alone seems pointless to him

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Body worship

Bdsm

Dom/sub, with him being dominant

Marking

Wax play

Lingerie

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His bed and his office chair

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When he feels like he isn’t close to you, he will initiate sex to gain intimacy, otherwise it’s very hard to turn him on

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do)

Ivan doesn’t have any hard limits, but he does have a fair amount of soft limits

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He likes to tease you as well as please you with oral, but he doesn’t really care much for receiving

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Ivan is slow and gentle because he’s afraid he’ll hurt you

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No, Ivan doesn’t see the point of half assing it, it isn’t anywhere near as intimate as what he wants

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yes Ivan is open to just about anything as long as it will bring him closer to you

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Ivan is a beast when it comes to stamina and can easily go for up to 7 rounds, he doesn’t though, his sex drive isn’t high enough to drive him into multiple rounds

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He prefers to use what he has got naturally, but he does own a few toys and if you ask nicely he might just use them on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Yes Ivan is a big tease, he loves to see you squirm beneath him

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Ivan is mostly silent

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Yandere Ivan is a much bigger fan of receiving oral because he sees it as a sign of your submission

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Let’s just say there’s a reason he’s afraid of breaking you or hurting you in other ways

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It’s low but he craves the intimacy

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t want to sleep afterwards, so he stays up for hours while drinking

#hetalia #1p hetalia #1p russia #aph russia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia lemon #hetalia alphabet #alphabet #hetalia scenarios #ivan braginsky

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savannahsdrabbles · 4 years

Text

Ocean Song - Part Four

rating: PG summary: Marine biology student April O’Neil makes a startling discovery.

notes: 2.7k words. A03 link can be found here. Special thanks to @cloakedrabbitand @starfiretheninja for beta-reading! ALSO the first three chapters of this fic were basically written back in 2016 when I started the fic. So this chapter officially marks new content! :D

He awakens, head spinning and shaking with disorientation for what feels like the hundredth time in the past 24 hours.

Had it only been only a day? It felt like much longer. Without being able to check the sun, he wasn’t sure how much time was actually passing between bouts of unconsciousness; all he knew was that he had done this several times before. The dead weight of his limbs, the sloshing feeling in his stomach, and the way that the ground spun beneath him had started to feel almost routine.

Blinking heavily, he shook his head and then immediately clapped a palm to his mouth as his stomach rolled in protest. No – he couldn’t be sick here; the thin layer of sand underneath him was not nearly deep enough to bury waste, and he didn’t think he could mentally handle the addition of another strong smell in this already overwhelming environment. Better to wait it out.

The turtle sighed, pressing his forehead into the sand and keeping a palm clamped to his mouth as he slowly took stock. He was laying on his side in the corner of the clear prison, shell to the rest of the room and limbs curled as close to his chest as possible. The metal-cold-hard-rope was still clamped onto one of his legs, forcing him to twist his hips awkwardly so as to remain in this position. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, making him wonder if he had bitten his tongue the last time he had been dragged into unconsciousness. Or perhaps They had done something to him? All he knew was that everything hurt to varying degree, the worst of which being his head. It felt as if someone had pried open his skull and molded his brain between their palms.

Once he felt certain that the meager contents of his stomach would remain in place, the turtle slowly eased into a sitting position with one side of his body pressed against the clear wall. The surface felt cool and slick on his skin, causing him to shiver as he cast weary eyes around the room.

His prison was still dimly lit this time, which was a blessing in some ways. He vaguely remembered waking up one of the first times, when the room had been flooded with harsh lighting that hurt his eyes and made him want to bury his head in the sand. The sensations were confusing – the sand was unnaturally coarse on his skin, the light above him did not give off any warmth, and everything was just wrong wrong wrong wrong.

There had been Humans in the room at that point – tall ones in white pelts that stared at him and used Spoken Human Words that he wasn’t conscious enough to understand. They’d kept their distance at first, slowly moving back and forth through his hazy vision while every cell in his body screamed at him to run. He had been so tired and confused at that point that he just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but then several of the Humans suddenly stepped forward and opened the wall nearest to him.

His mind had jolted fully awake at that point, though his body remained motionless on the ground. He remembered wanting to back away, chest heaving with panicked desperation as he begged his limbs to move beneath him. The Humans moved quickly and spoke in low voices, almost as if trying to soothe him before one reached out and pressed his head into the sand. He remembered trying to scream as they turned his face away from them, but the only sound he could manage was a high-pitched whine. He gasped in pain as several sharp objects were shoved into his shoulder and thigh, but within seconds the Humans drew back clutching containers of red liquid – his blood.

They returned and repeated the process several other times after that – sometimes when he was awake but too delirious to do much but lean away and whimper. Other times, they waited until another round of gas stole him from consciousness and then crept in. He only knew that something had happened based on the dull ache that ran up and down both arms and the foul scent of Human clinging to his skin.

After the fourth or fifth time – or maybe it had been more? – he began to question whether this was it. Father had always warned him and Brothers to fear Humans, saying that they would likely be killed on sight if caught. Was that what was going to happen next? Was this how he was going to spend whatever was left of his life? Trapped in a small, cold box and being repeatedly gassed and poked and prodded by the creatures he had been raised to fear? And what of Small Brother – was he trapped elsewhere in this prison, undergoing the same fate?

The last thought made his stomach violently roll again.

A small, whining keel had clawed its way up his throat as he wrapped sore arms around himself and started to rock, the metal-cold-hard-rope digging at the skin of his ankle with each movement. Small Brother gone. Brave Brother and Strong Brother gone. Water gone. Gone gone gone alone gone.

“He needs to be back in the ocean!” Red Girl’s voice suddenly floated through his cloudy mind. Yes, that was it.

He’d been angry at first, when he awoke to find her staring back at him. He’d gone against instinct and years of teaching when he had first spotted her, clearly in distress and tangling with a squid that seemed intent to make her his meal. Even Small Brother, with his always-happy-to-help attitude hesitated at the sight of a Human in what they’d always considered to be a safe place. But she was so small and scared, and it only took a moment before they leapt into action.

Had she returned to gloat at his capture? Or to finish him off?

Either way, the fear and anger became too much and he had panicked. He remembered crying out in Family Tongue as he beat on the wall, crying in pain, crying for his brothers, crying for anything that could get him out of this wretched place.

What he hadn’t expected was the equally scared and concerned reaction he received. Rather than reach in and take more of his blood or gawk like the other Humans, Red Girl’s face had creased in worry and she had backed up with palms in the air. Fear scent radiated from her, and he found himself stunned into momentary silence. She had had the same expression when tangling in the squid’s limbs, being trapped and slowly suffocated. She saw him as a threat.

And so he’d taken a chance – a last ditch effort to communicate that this time he was the one in need of rescuing.

She and Boy Human had seemed to understand, talking excitedly between each other in rapid tones that he had to concentrate to decipher. But then the sleeping gas had come again, and when he next woke, the room was empty.

The turtle rubbed at his eyes and inhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax. How long ago had that been? There was no sun or moon here, so he wasn’t even sure how long he had been asleep this time. But they had said that they would help him get home, right? So they had to be coming back eventually.

At least now he knew that Small Brother was safe. The simple knowledge of this lifted weight off of his shoulders and made it easier to breathe. If he couldn’t find a way home, at least his family wouldn’t be losing two Brothers – they’d already had to deal with the loss of Father many moons before.

Voices from outside of his prison suddenly wove their way into his thoughts, and the turtle perked up. Was that them? Had Girl and Boy come back for him?

“Here here! You come back!” he clicked, excitement too great to bother translating into Spoken Human Words. Forcing himself to ignore the dizziness that still clouded his mind, he pulled himself to his knees and beat on the wall eagerly. Across the room, the door handle jiggled and he heard a beep. “You come back help Clever Brother help go back to ocean Home-”

Then the door swung open, and in stepped a red-furred human… but not Red Girl.

***

“It’s bigger than I thought.”

Dr. O’Neil nodded nervously, his eyes focusing first on the turtle and then back at the two solidly built men standing behind him. Between them and the wild animal in the room, he couldn’t help but feel more comfortable with the animal. Muscular arms peeked out from under t-shirts bearing “Oroku Inc.” nametags, signifying the men as “Anton” and “Ivan”. Across the room, the creature barked nervously, dropping to its rear end and scuttling to the far end of the glass containment. “Actually, that’s another interesting detail! Based on the blood tests that we ran, the specimen appears to have DNA most similar to that of a loggerhead turtle, which typically grow to be approximately three feet in length and between 250-300 pounds. Upon arrival, we measured him as being four foot ten inches and 219 pounds – which is significantly longer than most loggerheads, but not proportionally heavier. I would love to be there for the study and dissection – I’m assuming his bones are thinner in order to compensate for his length and allow easier navigation –”

The taller of the men – a lanky black character apparently named Anton - raised a hand to cut Kirby off as he began to speak. He spoke in cool, lilted English with a slight Japanese accent hiding behind his words. “Yes, I’m sure Dr. Stockman and the boss will be grateful to know that he was in such great hands. As I’m sure you can tell by our early arrival, they’re eagerly awaiting him back at the lab.”

Kirby nodded, blushing lightly. “Of course, my apologies. It’s just not every day you see a creature such as this – I’m sure that you understand. Our team has been buzzing since we discovered him out in the bay.”

“I’m sure,” Anton nodded again, though his half-lidded eyes betrayed a genuine lack of interest. Across the room, the turtle let out a shuddering breath. “Speaking of which, I assume that you recorded the coordinates where he was located?”

“Yes, of course.” The redheaded scientist turned a page on his clipboard and tapped it in affirmation. “All of our findings and details about the retrieval were transmitted earlier today, so Dr. Stockman should be able to access everything we know.”

“Excellent.” The laboratory assistants turned to each other, speaking in Japanese for a moment while Kirby awkwardly toyed at the edges of his paperwork and cursed his lacking language skills. When they turned back around, the shorter man spoke up in a thick Russian accent.

“Should he not be sedated? The boss said that there could be a risk of violence, and that he didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Yes, well, um,” Kirby glanced back down at his notes nervously. “We’ve attempted to keep him sedated throughout the day by administering doses of sevoflurane, but his body has been burning through the medication at an unprecedented rate. Until more is known about his biology, I’m extremely hesitant to consider administering such heavy doses – they could have adverse effects on liver function, cause neurotoxicity –”

“Relax, Dr. O’Neil,” Anton interrupted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The good doctor sent us with a back up, just in case we ran into any issues. Care to illustrate, Ivan?”

Ivan grunted as he reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew a small, circular device that made Kirby gasp.

“Wait – is that a shock collar? I – well, I really don’t think that’s a good idea -”

“It is… similar,” Ivan interjected. He was more hesitant as he spoke, taking several seconds to weigh his words before speaking them. With careful hands, he lifted a latch on the side of the collar and pressed to adjust its size. Once he seemed satisfied that the circumference was about as big around as the turtle’s neck, the man reached back into his pocket and retrieved a small egg-shaped remote, then simultaneously pressed a button on each piece. Several high-pitched beeps echoed through the room, followed by a low buzzing sound. “The boss had Dr. Stockman create this in order to induce temporary paralysis on larger creatures. As long as the device is activated, the wearer will remain conscious, but unable to move. It makes transportation much easier, as well as helps with certain studies. I shall show you.”

The two lab assistants stepped towards the cage in unison, eliciting another bark of fear from the turtle, and pulled open the door. The creature yelped as the men closed in, throwing out his arms in protest and letting out a warning snarl that sent chills down Kirby’s spine. Before he had a chance to advise them to retreat, both men stepped into the cage and then leapt back, Ivan shaking his hand and cursing in Japanese. “You little monster – he bit me!”

Anton surged forward, using one leg to brace himself and the other to deliver a swift kick to the center of the turtle’s plastron. The creature gasped, falling heavily back onto his carapace and stirring up a cloud of sand as Anton continued to firmly press into his chest. The turtle snarled in frustration, arms desperately alternating between tearing at the thick fabric of Anton’s pants and trying to keep Ivan’s reaching arms at bay. “Come on now, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Gentlemen –!”

Before the turtle could do any serious damage, Ivan lunged forward and snapped the collar around their prey’s neck. The turtle let out a panicked yelp and bit down again, this time sinking gapped teeth into the nearest hand and locking his jaw.

“Yeaugh!” the Russian man bellowed and shook the injured arm in pain, causing the turtle’s head to whip violently back and forth but refusing to release his hold. “Anton – get it off of me!”

“Give me that –” the black man lunged forward and snatched the remote from his partner’s flailing hands. With one push of a button, the turtle suddenly went slack and dropped limply to the ground beneath them. His eyes remained wide open, darting around in confusion.

“Stupid beast,” Ivan growled and kicked at the turtle’s side, eliciting a yelp but nothing else. His hand was already oozing blood, which steadily dripped down onto the turtle’s motionless form. “I’ll make sure that they don’t give you anesthesia, just for that. Or maybe I can just take care of you myself on the way over – how do you like the taste of lead?”

“I doubt he has any idea what you’re saying,” Anton rolled his eyes, then turned to Kirby. “Where’s the loading cart that you brought him in with?”

“Now wait – hold on just one second,” the scientist shook his head, brows furrowed as took a step towards the men. “This is all wrong – I understand that you gentlemen have a job to do and I’m sure you’re lovely people, but as a biologist it is my responsibility to ensure that each and every creature we work with is treated with the utmost dignity and respect. As such, I can’t just let the two of you waltz in here and –”

Kirby suddenly felt something press against his chest and stopped short, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I don’t think you understand, Old Man,” Anton pressed the barrel of his gun forcefully into Kirby’s chest and growled. “Our boss wants this creature more than life itself and has already paid you more than you are worth for it, so we will continue to do with it exactly as we please. Now,” he jerked his head and Ivan roughly grabbed the paralyzed creature under its arms. “Are you going to help us get it into the van, or what?”

Next Chapter!

#rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt #fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #nickelodeon #savannah drabbles #sea turtles au

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wordfires · 4 years

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Dostoevsky on Worship and Moral Stability

Throughout his novels, Fyodor Dostoevsky utilizes one or more characters as moral pillars to uphold the story and keep other central characters from sinking into the constant threat of moral depravity. This moral pillar becomes an object of worship, illustrating Dostoevsky’s idea that without a relationship of worship of some kind leading to or based in moral stability, man cannot maintain any sort of stability, mental or physical.

A relationship of worship is one not taken lightly, but it does not simply have to be religious in nature. To be in a relationship of worship, according to Dostoevsky, one must put the object of this worship above oneself, and the object must reciprocate in some form. In the religious sense of relationships of worship, this is shown through personal relationships with the Christian God. In relationships with people, these relationships of worship are shown through characters having similarities that allow them to relate to each other and crucial differences that allow them to worship each other. These relationships of worship help maintain the moral stability of people, which in turn maintains physical and emotional stability.

One of Dostoevsky’s first major works, Notes From Underground, is an example of a failed relationship of worship, which will, as evidenced by the circumstances presented in Notes, result in unrestrained moral depravity. As the book opens, the unnamed narrator relays that he has been in isolation for 20 years— half of his 40-year life. However, this information, along with other things, is conveyed throughout the first part of the novel with a tone of sarcasm and spite. The narrator, often referred to as the Underground Man, constantly lies and then immediately recants, along with making a variety of negative claims about himself and society. This instability in making claims is a reflection of his moral instability, which is based in a failed relationship of worship revealed in the second part of the novel. Where the first part was a showing of character in the present, the second part is the tale of how the Underground Man came to live as he does; it is a retelling of the events that took place 20 years ago that made him decide to go into isolation. After a variety of wild escapades, the man finds himself in the company of a prostitute, although he does not know her occupation. Throughout the strange relationship they develop, he consistently treats her with cruelty, throwing her aside in favour of his own views and opinions. This leads to her leaving him quietly and with dignity, a stark contrast to the Underground Man’s depravity. His failure to recognize others in a state so self-centred is what causes his failure in a relationship of worship: he makes himself his pillar of stability, but his inherent immorality makes this impossible and thus causes his collapse.

In Crime and Punishment, for the majority of the novel the central character, Rodion Raskolnikov is driving himself further and further into madness with guilt and worry that plague him after his murder. He hallucinates, cannot sleep or hold regular conversation without becoming exhausted or infuriated, he does things without the thought that went into every one of his actions before the murder. He gets physically sick with emotional instability. All this time, he has no one in his life that means anything to him. Even his sister and mother lose meaning to him when they make a choice about his sister’s marriage that he disagrees with. It is only when he meets Sonechka, the moral pillar of the novel, that he is able to pull himself out of depravity. However, he is only able to form a relationship of worship with her due to their similar beginnings in the novel but crucial differences in how they used their foundations. Raskolnikov and Sonechka both began in Dostoevsky’s definition of immorality: Raskolnikov began with murder, Sonechka began as a prostitute. But where Raskolnikov’s murder was for selfish reasons, Sonechka worked to support her family, which consisted of her alcoholic and unemployed father, dying mother, and three young siblings. This marks Sonechka as moral rather than immoral due to her motivations. With the level of moral stability granted by Sonechka, Raskolnikov admits what he has done, relieving himself of the weight of denial, he begins to act truly human instead of monstrous, and he turns himself in to the police instead of squirrelling himself away in his apartment so as to not be caught. Even in jail, now with Sonechka, a figure described as angelic and pure, he maintains sanity and becomes religious, which shows enough stability to form another relationship of worship. Without Sonechka and her angelic presence to worship, Raskolnikov was drowning in despair and depravity, it was only when he began to worship that he began to breathe.

In The Brothers Karamazov, this idea only becomes more evident. In Alyosha and Mitya, there is worship in tandem with stability, and Fyodor and Ivan provide the stark contrast of instability. Alyosha worships his God and reveres the elder Zosima, which gives him the moral stability that allows him to act as the moral pillar of the novel. Before joining the monastery, Alyosha had floated around, moving to whatever suited his fancy, but upon joining the monastery, he gained stability. This stability born of worship allows him to stand stable and lend others stability when speaking to him, as he holds them out of depravity: even this reflects the act of confession involved in worship. Madame Khokhlakov confesses to him, Fyodor confesses to him, Mitya confesses to him, even his elder confesses to him, and even Ivan, who is without worship, confesses to him. This act of confession is part of every relationship Dostoevsky’s characters have with their respective moral pillars.

Mitya in his own sense worships Gruschenka- she is his angel, his figure of worship. She holds him out of depravity even more so than Alyosha, even though Alyosha heard his confession, he was not the object of worship. When Mitya feels that his object of worship has abandoned him, he sinks into despair, and reaches his moral low point fully depraved, wishing to kill himself if he cannot have what he worships. And when he is reunited and reconciled with his object of worship, he no longer wishes to die, he wishes to live, another trend common in Dostoevsky’s characters in relation to the item of their worship. Mitya’s relationship of worship allows him to maintain a previously unseen level of honour and dignity even as he is convicted of a murder he did not commit.

Fyodor, even though he is known to have the moral low of the book, worships as well— he worships money, which brings him happiness in that he can continue to be uncontrollable; however, the fact that money is not a moral pillar of any sort, nor a person, does not bring him any stability. Additionally, Fyodor would never have any stability from his worship simply due to its nature: Fyodor only worships that which is immoral, thusly he will never achieve moral stability. The moral instability this creates comes to a peak at his murder, illustrating that not only do moral figures bring others around them up, but immoral figures will bring those around them down.

Ivan, however, epitomizes Dostoevsky’s ideas of a relationship of worship through his complete lack of any sort of relationship. Ivan is unable to form relationships due to the way he sees himself: he only prides himself on his intelligence and builds the facade of his personality around it, but in reality he holds himself in incredibly low esteem. This gives him a split sense of self, unlike everyone else in the novel. This split sense leaves him unable to form anything other than surface relationships; in his eyes he cannot let anyone know how worthless he is, which keeps them at the surface, and he is not even worth worshipping them. This keeps him from even attempting to develop a relationship with the woman he loves, Katerina Ivanova, despite the fact that according to precedents set in Dostoevsky’s other novels, their similarities to each other could be foundations for a relationship of worship that could save them both. The only thing that keeps Ivan afloat in this incredible instability is his intellect and ability to reason. However, when this is shattered as it is revealed that he underestimated the servant Smerdyakov and was just as deceived as everyone else by his apparent weakness, Ivan is unable to cope. He has no relationships to fall back on, there is no one to hold him up. He uses the last of his strength to testify against Smerdyakov, but in his collapse he has fallen so ill he comes across as a madman, and no one believes him. This is the state we see him at during the end of the novel: so morally and mentally unstable he has fallen gravely ill with uncertain chances of recovery. While all other characters get a solid and clear ending, Ivan does not. His future reflects the instability of his past, and this complete lack of stability is what Dostoevsky warns against with the various relationships of worship he shows in his novels.

Ivan, with his complete lack of relationships and inability to accept himself, is left in the most explicit state of instability: sickness that is equally likely to end in life or death. Where Dostoevsky uses many of his characters to show the importance of having a relationship of worship, Ivan is an explicit statement of the dire consequences that an absence of a relationship of worship will have.

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kitaychan · 3 years

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White Flame

Chapter 7

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological Horror

General Summary: Royal/ Magical AU. As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: Ivan sighed, the warmth radiating from the sun gave him a sense of tiredness, the gardens of the castle were his favorite place, sitting by the fountain, and watching the servants going back and forth through the halls, their swift movements and casted down stares entertained him. Sometimes he greeted them, it was fun to see their hopeless expression, their nervous movements, trying not to offend him but not being too friendly either, they were scared of him after all.

Ivan frowned at the thought, why was it that he, even surrounded by all these people felt so alone?

Secret

The palace had never looked so well.

Ivan was astonished, every time he walked around the palace, he discovered something new. The mosaics in the hallway’ windows were vibrant with color, no longer dulled with gray tones.

The book shelf’s had been rearranged, giving the library an outstanding presence, a variety of glass engraved bottles were neatly placed in what Katya called ´The Laboratory´.

The main hall with its polished floors reflected the paintings from the ceiling, the chandelier hanging from above shined vigorously, resembling a waterfall.

All those changes were Yekaterina’s doing. She had insisted on hosting a ball before the main celebration with the western Kingdom, a kind gesture of welcome for the defeated princes and an opportunity for Ivan to engage in an unknown territory of diplomatic dialogues and courtesy acts.

To Ivan’s dismay, that meant a new handful of rules and behaviors to acquire.

Ivan had to admit that Natalya’s father was an excellent advisor, helping Katya to arrange the restorations as well as to cover their lack of King, or father.

He could still remember that dreadful night. Katya locked the door, dismissing the guards and asking them to clear the whole wing and for Ivan to call Natalya’s father. Ivan had complied, not understanding why she had asked such thing.

He sat in the hallway waiting for his sister to come out of that horrid room. He had found himself under the gaze of Natalya’s father. Ivan found it strange, to be scrutinized by those blue eyes. “You’ll have to endure difficulties from now on.” Was what he had said.

Katya had cried, looking for comfort but instead of reaching for his embrace, she had turned to Natalya’s father, asking for advice, teary eyed as she was, she kept looking out for their wellbeing.

Ivan had to console his sister for a week, she would constantly cry out, tormenting herself of being a horrible daughter, upset for lying to everyone about their father, for writing letters on his name.

In addition to that, they had to host that godforsaken ball.

For Ivan it wasn’t such a good idea to invite their ex- enemies into their home but Katya insisted to host the ball, saying it would be suspicious to delay or cancel it. She had been so busy these days that he could barely get a glimpse of her and when he did, it would usually end up with her scolding him. Not only was Katya impersonating their father through letters but she was also resembling his behaviors towards him, being either dismissively cold or unnecessarily harsh.

In a shameful attempt of pettiness, she had hired a tutor to teach him ´the proper etiquette´ as if he didn’t know already. This process of learning, apart from being extremely boring, had proved to be useless, the more time Ivan spent with his tutor the more he despised him.

The man was petty and Ivan wasn’t keen of his antics, the way he scrutinized him and underlined his mistakes, irked the prince into a state of irrational rage. He could take those behaviors from his father or Katya but he wasn’t going to take them form a foreigner and even less from this man whom had obviously lived in luxury his whole life, Ivan was sure that in a battlefield this man would be dead in a matter of seconds.

It was only logical for Ivan to skip one or two of his lessons, preferring to take a walk around the palace and observe the servants that frequented the stables.

Ivan sighed, the warmth radiating from the sun gave him a sense of tiredness, the gardens of the castle were his favorite place, sitting by the fountain, and watching the servants going back and forth through the halls, their swift movements and casted down stares entertained him, sometimes he greeted them, it was fun to see their hopeless expression, their nervous movements, trying not to offend him but not being too friendly either, they were scared of him after all.

Ivan frowned at the thought, why was it that he, even surrounded by all these people felt so alone?

Katya had tried to convince him into forming a court again, saying that he could make friends with other ‘lower princes’, even when he had allowed almost every request she had, he refused to let her have her way with that, it was too dangerous.

Ivan understood her plead, as he had grown bored of his short conversations with Katya and Natalya. They were kind and loving, he couldn’t deny that, but Katya was always talking about his future duties as a king and Natalya… well, she was… unique, one moment she would praise him for every single thing he had done, and the other she was cursing him for not advancing quicker in her courting.

He had already tried to contemplate the idea of marrying her, reasoning that Natalya was a beautiful woman, she was intelligent and honest, she would probably be the kind of wife who wouldn’t hesitate in pointing out his mistakes, which in his situation was an appealing trait. Honesty is a strange feature when you are surrounded by people trying to please you.

He had managed to ignore the issue for a while, until a dreadful night, during dinner, his aunt had sheepishly asked him how many children he was willing to have. For Ivan, the problem weren’t the children, for he was not bothered by them, he found them quite cute and cheerful, the problem was the idea of having them with Natalya. If he couldn’t bear with the idea of kissing her on the lips, the scenery of something beyond that was horrendous.

After that night, Ivan was more aware of Natalya’s insinuations. Since her father left, she started to slip letters into his room. Not knowing what to do, Ivan had gifted her a book, so they could perhaps talk about it. He had expected her to answer his questions, about her life in the outskirts and the books she had received, but he found himself reading an ardent confession of passion and “never-ending” love for him, alongside a harsh and wrathful demand for her rightful time of waiting to be finally over.

Ivan didn’t know how to reply to her and asking Katya would be of no use, the last time he had approached the topic, she had assured him that it was completely normal to feel like that but with time he would grow to love Natalya. Ivan felt annoyed, he did love Natalya but not like that, why couldn’t Katya understand?

Ivan huffed, walking by the fountain, he took out the silver clock and glanced at it. The godforsaken clock couldn’t mark the time properly, stopping at random moments of the day, always giving off the wrong hour, why did his father cherish it so much?

It didn’t matter, seeing the wrong time irritated him even more, and he threw it, aiming for the top of the fountain and failing pathetically, the clock flew in the opposite direction, landing next to the roses. The prince was glad nobody saw his bad aim, but he didn’t pick the clock back, it wasn’t his after all, his father never gifted it, perhaps for its uselessness.

He glared at it, until a pair of hands took the clock from the ground, the same brunette girl from the stables was holding it, her eyes focused on the silver glimmer while her fingers traced the engravings.

Ivan stood up, calling out to her. “You! Come here!”

She flinched, letting the clock fall softly to the ground and stepping back. Once her eyes locked with his, she picked up a basket, turned on her heel and scurried away.

He hastened his steps, following her into a hallway, other servants glanced at him, clearing the way, and before she could turn on a corner, he raised his voice. “Do not run, it’s an order!”

She halted her steps abruptly, turning to frown at him. “I am deeply sorry, your majesty. I didn’t think you were addressing me.”

Ivan looked around, the walls were made of stone, it seemed like a totally different palace, void of any elegancy or indulgence. He straightened his posture, scolding her. “You have some explaining to do.”

She showed him the basket, full of berries, holding her gaze and arching an eyebrow.

His confidence seemed to drop considerably, most servants would lower their head and nod at everything he said. He lowered his tone. “How did you do it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I went to the town and bought them”

Ivan shook his head, motioning with his hands, not knowing how to explain. “No. How did you control it? the fire...”

She averted her gaze, stepping back and holding the basket in front of her. “I told you it was a spell.”

A pair of arms enveloped him from behind, Natalya’s voice made him flinch, was she following him again? “You are a witch, I knew it!”

Ivan turned and glared at her, prying off her hands.

Natalya shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Yekaterina requests your presence.”

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll go in a minute,” he glanced at the brunette girl, she was observing them silently. “Natalya… can you leave?”

Natalya looked around and scrunched her nose. Her blue eyes scrutinized the girl. “You shouldn’t talk with the peasants”

“You shouldn’t tell me what to do. Go back and tell Katya to wait.” Ivan replied annoyed.

Natalya’s eyes widened, she huffed but complied, her blue dress contrasted heavily with the surroundings, she lifted her skirt as to not get it dirty.

“She’s right, your majesty. You shouldn’t talk with the peasants, it might damage your arrogance. I’m sure you can find a book of spells in that spacious library you have.” The brunette girl sighed, turning to leave.

Ivan frowned, taking her arm, she flinched, dropping the basket. He stepped back, the looking down at the berries. “What is your name?”

She turned back, her voice was harsh, her checks slightly flushed. “For what? Is your father going to punish my family again? Have I ruined everything for dropping this?”

Ivan stepped back at her outburst, frustration coating his words. “My father is dead and I am not him, I don’t even know you.”

Her eyes widened, she huffed and lowered his head, keeling down to pick the fruits. “Chun Yan”

Ivan blinked, knitting his eyebrows, he sighed. “I’ll see you by the fountain at one o’clock if you do not arrive, I will send the guards for you.”

She didn’t answer.

---

Ivan was frustrated. His lesson had been a total fail. All his answers were wrong, his pen was running out of ink every five seconds and the wind was blowing so hard, the window opened and his notes flew away from the table, scattering on the floor.

His tutor adjusted his glasses, sighing exasperatedly. “Dear Lord, you are worse than Gilbert. At least he acts foolishly on purpose, you on the other hand, are terribly clumsy.”

The man was pacing impatiently around the room when Tolys arrived to say that the food had already been served.

Ivan followed the brown-haired man, he was dressed in an elegant attire, the brown uniform could pass as a fancy choice of Tolys’ but Ivan knew it was to match Feliks’, the puffed sleeves were new and the white color of it contrasted heavily with the rest of it.

Ivan frowned, Tolys’ shoes were worn out. He had gifted him a pair a few days ago, why wouldn’t he use them? If Tolys wanted to insult him, then Ivan had the right to play around with the brunette’s usual nervousness.

A smile crept into Ivan’s face, his words coated with a sweet almost innocent tone. “Tolys, do you believe in magic?”

The brown-haired man nodded at him. “Yes your highness, I do.”

“Why?”

Tolys stopped and turned to him. “Your father wa- he paused, averting his gaze -he is very open in using it in front of everyone, your highness.”

Ivan frowned, the people in the castle were too keen or afraid of his father, of his power. “He was also a good liar, Tolys, he didn’t have real magic, he only took it, as a loan.”

“I… uh… ” Tolys seemed distressed while he opened the door for him.

Ivan smiled, Tolys was easy to scare. “Never mind, do me a favor and retrieve my clock from the garden, it must be somewhere alongside the roses. And be quick, so you can join us in the feast.”

The brunet nodded and bowed, walking hastily out of the room.

The table was large and prominent, it called for your attention once you entered, the silverware was neatly placed and the seats were already filled, except for two, Ivan knew his seat was at the head of the table.

The room fell silent when he entered, everyone turning to look at him, Ivan could recognize some of the people there. Like Tino and Vlad, the “lower” princes, from the lands his father had conquered. Ivan felt uneasy around them, some would look at him with hatred, others with fear, he felt so alone during these banquets.

He smiled, not addressing anyone in particular, glancing at Katya, who was seated in the right of the empty chair chatting with “prince” Feliks. Ivan forced himself to walk faster and greeted them lowly.

The green-eyed man smiled, his lips were tight, not hiding an inch of his faked courtesy. “Good afternoon, Prince Ivan, we are like really hungry, what took you so long?”

Ivan took his seat harshly and muttered. “I was in the middle of a lesson.”

The green-eyed prince rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but this had been arranged beforehand, so you should try to be on time, use that awful clock you have. Where is Tolys?”

Katya placed her hand in Ivan’s shoulder, he looked up noticing that the room had fallen silent, he sighed and answered shortly. “He is retrieving something for me.”

“You should treat him better, he is a prince too.” Feliks sneered.

Ivan glared at the blond and raised his voice slightly. “I know, but unlike you Feliks, Tolys knows his place in here.”

Feliks laughed, taking hold of his wine. “We surrendered to your father, we are loyal to him. I owe you nothing, Ivan.”

Ivan frowned, he could picture the others smiling at Feliks, they were all traitors. “Then what are you doing here, Feliks?”

Feliks twisted his cup. “Maintaining peace, not everyone is a bloodlust beast.”

Katya scolded him. “Feliks, do not mistreat my dear brother.”

Ivan smiled again and stood up, raising his cup. The others shared an uneasy glance and raised their cups as well. “I´d like to thank you all for your presence here today. We rejoice with your company and your hard work, without it, the kingdom would not be what it is today.”

Tolys entered the room looking worriedly at Ivan and taking his seat, beside Feliks and raising his cup, almost missing the general toast. “For the king!”

Ivan sat right after they cheered, how stupid it was to have a toast for a dead king. At least Feliks was right about something. They owned nothing to him.

Tolys leaned in the table, catching his attention. “I’m sorry your highness, there was nothing by the roses.”

Ivan knitted his eyebrows together, where could it be?

Feliks turned to him, smiling. “Ivan, I’m really sorry for your loss, let’s hope that your reign is longer.”

With those words, Ivan fell silent, how did he know?

Katya glanced uneasily at him, fidgeting with her napkin.

Feliks laughter was like a bell, he glanced at Yekaterina. “I’m referring to the clock, he seems to be attached to it.”

She sighed and resumed a conversation with him.

Every time Ivan tried to intervene, he would get nasty glares from the blonde and dismissing words from his sister, even Natalya was ignoring him.

This situation made him grow uneasy, he glanced at his plate, he had barely touched his food, he wasn’t hungry, he just wanted to go out and have some fresh air. He could hear a lot of voices, murmurs, and laughs but deep in the distance, he could distinguish the ticking of a clock, echoing harder with each second.

He decided to leave, they would not miss him, anybody was talking to him anyway. He stood up and left without a word. Katya would be mad at him for this, but he wanted to get out of there.

Outside, in the garden, he found some of the servants chatting. There were a few of them gathered around a young girl. She was talking excitedly, showing them something with her hand. Ivan approached them slowly, realizing that she was holding his silver clock.

Ivan hastened his pace, shouting at her from the distance. “Give me back my clock, you thief!”

The servants turned to him fearfully and moved away, revealing a familiar girl. What was her name again?

She hurried to him and presented the clock, Ivan snatched it from her and put it in his pocket. “Why are you still here? I want you out now.”

The girl shook her head and muttered. “I didn’t steal it and you told me to wait here.”

Ivan knitted his eyebrows together. “You told him!”

The girl’s voice wavered. “What are you talking about? I was going to return the clock.”

Ivan glanced at her, she had a simple dress, plain, old, perhaps it had been white but now it was almost gray. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun. He remembered his father telling him that hairstyle was usual in oriental women, Ivan wondered how and why was someone from that far in his castle, meeting his eyes. She was probably a spy or something. Those dark orbs were pleading as if that would convince him.

“You say that now because I caught you,” he reproached her.

She shook her head again, furrowing her brows and replying, almost shouting this time. “I was fixing it. You told me i had to be here!”

How dare she? She had no right to raise her voice at him. He was beyond furious, he felt the air around them getting colder.

Katya’s voice broke into the scene, she was accompanied by Tolys. “Ivan, what’s going on?”

He turned to his sister and pointed at the frightened girl. “She stole my clock! And dared to disrespect me.”

Tolys approached the girl while she argued. “I didn’t… you asked-”

Ivan glanced at her, she was scared and she should be. He addressed Tolys. “Take her away, I don’t want thieves in my palace.”

While the brunette was dragging her away, she kept on with her excuses. “I fixed it! Look at it. Please. You told me I should wait here!”

Katya was scrutinizing him, taking his hand. “Ivan, dear, calm down. Let’s go inside.”

He took out the clock, it was ticking, just as usual, marking one, the right hour. Ivan felt his hand tremble and glanced at Tolys, at the girl, but he could no longer see them.

#hetalia #aph russia #aph ukraine #aph belarus #aph nyo china #aph lithuania #aph poland #hetalia fanfiction #aph fanfiction #hws russia #hws belarus #hws lithuania #hws poland

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lou-is-creative · 4 years

Text

Unpredictable (Pt 4)

ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ: 6 Underground

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: Four/Billy // Eight/???

ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ: Four/Billy x male!Oc

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: Fucking Pudding guy

ꜱᴏɴɢ: Don’t wanna be - The Score

𝔹𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥!

ᴀɴ: ᴘɪᴄ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ? ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴜɴ!

"Just like I explained it to you earlier, some of us can't distance themselves from the horror anymore that humans do to one another. You are one of those people now. "

Eight followed One into the old plane and looked around a bit. Computer screens, a huge pinboard with a map on it and several pictures of people. Some of them were circled, some of them crossed.

And weapons. Actually, mostly guns. All kinds of guns.

Eight looked up and focussed on One who was now standing in front of a wall that had the numbers from two to nine placed on it. Number one was a picture of some old bald man and a gun shot decorated the picture. Looks like they had already eliminated their first goal.

He took a step forward and looked at the picture of the man who seemed kind of familiar.

"Isn't that the guy who was beaten to death by his own people after ordering gas attacks? Ro-Roman, Rovan- "

"Rovach. And yes. He was beaten by his own people. Not to be that person, but it was us, who got him in that situation."

One answered and Eight nodded in anticipation.

"That's quite awesome."

He said and took a step back to let One speak.

Eight now stood right next to Four. Who couldn’t help but noticed how small the boy really was. It was at least ten centimetres difference. Which was impressive because if he wouldn’t have stood there, right next to the blonde man, he probably wouldn’t have come around to notice. Eight had this kind of appearance that made him seem taller than he already was. It was the energy he spread in the room. No space for anyone to criticise him, or notice how small he actually was. But Eight wasn’t as tall as his courage made him, and Four noticed. And he wasn't the only one. But no one said anything, -although Three was already opening his mouth-, but as One started speaking he chose to close it again. Which Probably wasn’t the reason. It was more likely the gaze of Two that had forced him down.

"From now on, Eight, you're dead. You're gonna be restricted to cities that you've never visited before, people that you've never met. All, of course, except your fellow ghosts. None of whom you'll know by name, only number. For safety. And so no one gets too close."

Eight nodded shortly and kept looking at One, who was now starting to explain the current situation.

"This is our target hit board."

He pointed at the wall.

"These nine men have been doing too much shit. Rovach Alimov, Ex-dictator of Turkistan, he ordered gas attacks to destroy hospitals in his own country."

One moved on and ripped a paper from the wall with the number two written on it. He revealed the face of another man.

"Alexander Smirnov. Leader of a big company that has been around for more than twenty years. Ruling the world's supply of medicine."

One paused and turned around.

"Such as medicine that is able to cure cancer."

The older eyed the boy, whose eyes seemed to get even sharper now. And it wasn't just about his eyes but about the whole energy around him. Four dared to take a look at the newbie. He looked so calm, but he felt so explosive. But he didn’t tense. At all. That guy had a form of self-control Four could only wish for.

"He decides the price. But it's not the only thing he decides..."

Four carefully put a little more distance between him and Eight. Small people were always unpredictable. And he preferred to keep his life.

One pointed at one of the bigger pinboards. It was filled with pictures of hospitals. Pictures of people who didn’t look like people anymore. They looked like corpses. Their skin was as white as snow but seemed to have a blue glim, just like they were drowned before the pictures were taken. Their eyes were red, probably due to ruptured blood vessels. Their bones stuck out of their bodies, as if they were starving. Children, elderly people, mothers with new-borns... The sight alone was horrible.

Eight dared to take a step closer and look at them and read the words written on the board. Then he turned around to face One.

"He infects people with different diseases to test his medicine."

One said and took a deep breath before he continued.

"He abducts people from around the world and brings them to Russia. He has been doing this for the past thirty years. And no one ever dared to move against him. Which is where our part begins."

Eights eyes were glued to the pinboard, as if he was searching for something.

"Normally, we'd talk about the details somewhere else but time's running out so we'll have to do this here."

One explained and Eight finally forced himself to turn around. Four was left wondering why he seemed to be so obsessed with the pinboard in front of him. It was a question that was about to stay unanswered for a long time.

"Let me make this short."

One started and walked over to a different board and wrote down the name of the guy they were hunting down.

"This is who we want to defeat. Our endgame, if you want to express it like that."

I certainly don't, Eight thought, as he automatically thought of the last part of the Avengers. He didn't want to be reminded of it.

"The problem is that even if we had the best plan in the world to infiltrate his palace, we wouldn't get very far. We have to put him under pressure."

One circled the name and wrote another one right under it.

"This is where this guy comes in. Ivan Smirnov. Because if there is one thing in the world this bastard loves, it's his son."

He now connected both names with a line.

"But since this weakness of his is well known by all of his enemies, he chose to hide his son. And there is only one other person that knows where to find him."

One then wrote down another name.

"James Thomson. His godfather. Once we get this guy, we can go on and grab his son but-"

One paused, chuckling a little while running his fingers through his hair. He wasn't amused, he was annoyed. Eight raised a brow.

"Let me guess, you don't know where he is so you have to find someone who does."

One pointed at Eight and swung his finger through the air.

"Bingo. But! We do know who the secret keeper is and we have already found him."

"Oh, that's good news I suppose."

Eight responded and leaned against the table.

"It would be."

Four said and Eight turned around to face him with question marks plastered on his face.

"We fucked up and now he's shitscared."

The blonde continued and Seven nodded.

"Four's right. He barricaded himself on a small island. Security everywhere."

He said and One looked at the ground for a second.

"Yeah. But there is a way in. One way."

He looked up and faced all of them before focussing at one of them in particular.

"This is where you come in."

He pointed at Eight before grabbing another picture from the table and putting it on the pinboard. It was a picture of a blonde girl with a bright smile and blue eyes.

Eight crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at the picture with a questioning look before he scoffed.

"Really?"

He asked shortly and shifted a bit.

"I'm a good driver, a talented killer and you recruited me for seducing a girl?"

Complete silence came over them as Eight was done talking. He just summed up yesterday’s discussion about himself. Tension filled all of them. No one could tell whether he'd accept or neglect the mission like it was. But as soon as the young man started to smile, relief spread through the room.

"Nothing easier than that."

Even One seemed relieved to him agreeing and the others looked at the boy.

"Okay, you got any useful information? How old is she, what is she into, does she have any social media I can go through to find out stuff about her?"

Two raised a brow. Eight seemed to know exactly what to do. And… how to win someone over. He had potential.

"We'll get to that point later. Let me finish first."

Eight nodded and leaned back again, his hands placed on the table behind him.

"Okay so here's the point. Her name is Amanda, she is eighteen years old, so two years younger than you are. Nearly three. And she is her father’s little princess. She is allowed to date, but only if that guy is a decent one. Now you'll meet her, and you'll make her fall for you, she will be in a relationship with you and you'll meet her dad on that island. You will go play the polite and innocent guy and find out where he lacks security. You come back, and you'll visit her again. Just not alone. We go in there and make him talk. And believe me, once Two starts working, he WILL talk."

Eight turned around, trying to make out who Two was. Which didn't take him long because Two was smiling briefly.

"Okay, I got it. Be a picture-perfect boyfriend... I should be able to do that."

Eight ran his fingers through his hair, grinning a little.

"So, when do I meet her?"

"Tonight."

Again, Eight had to turn around to face the one speaking. Although he knew who it was this time. The blonde guy who seemed to be about his age. The guy with the good taste. One furrowed his brows.

"Since when are you the one to make decisions?"

Four shook his head and held up the phone he had in his hands.

"Found her social media account. She's going out with friends tonight. Figured this could be a chance."

Eight just couldn't stop grinning and Seven nodded in approval.

"I like you. You have a good taste and you act and don't just talk."

Four smirked a little as he was looking back at Eight before he shrugged and leaned against the wall.

"That's just who I am."

One looked from one of them to the other and he wasn't the only one who found this rather confusing.

"Okay, you're not supposed to flirt with Four, you're supposed to win that girls heart."

Seven interrupted and Four and Eight exchanged amused looks. This was probably the point where Eight first noticed Five. A woman with long brown hair and dark brown eyes. And he probably wouldn't have paid any attention to her if she wouldn't have starred him down.

"Anyways, today it is. I think you'll get enough information about her on the internet. She's pretty stupid so chances are high she'll post where she'll be."

One said and turned around to face the pinboard again. Eight nodded before focussing on Four again.

"When is she going and where will she be?"

Four scrolled through the phone.

"Uhm 9pm at New Hope Club. It's about three hours car drive away from here."

Eight took a look at his watch. But due to the different time zones, it wasn’t accurate anymore.

"You have about six hours left to get ready."

Three said, pointing at his watch before turning around to Two. He seemed to whisper something into her ear that was worth a punch in the side. But also worth a smile. Eight raised a brow but then looked back at the guy in front of him.

"Okay, so, where can I find some food? I am starving."

Four shrugged a little. And the others left the room, one after another.

"I think I still have something in my fridge. Just follow me."

Five eyed them a little. She was the only one left in the room besides the two guys. But Four didn't pay much attention to her and neither did Eight. They just walked off, leaving her.

"So, you're all like a big family or what?"

Eight asked curiously and walked next to Four who started laughing a little.

"Don't use the f word, One hates it."

Eight raised a brow but just shrugged.

"Well, we all have words we hate, right? I mean, totally normal..."

Four looked at Eight and raised a brow.

"Normal?"

Eight faced him and smirked a little.

"Sarcasm, dude, sarcasm."

"Oh."

Four exclaimed and Eight looked at him.

"I'm sorry, I tend to be really sarcastic."

"Nothing you have to be sorry for."

Four shrugged and scratched his head as they walked through the wreck. Eight looked around, he liked the atmosphere. And while they were walking, they eventually passed the glass for the orphan bet. Eight stopped, giving it a confused look.

“What’s that for, tip?”

He asked and Four, who had continued his walking held in and turned around before he grinned a little.

“No. We got a bet going on that One is actually an orphan.”

He casually shrugged and Eight starred at the glass for a while before he faced Four, pointing at the already full thing.

“May I contribute?”

He asked and Four again just shrugged, a small grin captivating his lips.

“Go for it.”

Eight grabbed a little bit of money from what he had in his pocket and put it inside before he kept on following Four.

“There we go.”

The blonde announced as he opened one of the doors which led to a rather big room. And if Eight wouldn’t have known that it was Four who was living here, he probably would have thought it was the room of a teenager. Clothes on the floor, an unmade bed and a Whisky bottle right next to it. The fridge was next to the door. It was chaotic.

“You gotta excuse the mess, I normally don’t like people in my room.”

Four said and Eight just shrugged.

“Relatable, man, also it’s not that bad, I can still spot a bit of the ground.”

Four turned around and wanted to defend himself but Eight shook his head and waved around with his hand.

“Sarcasm. Again. It’s fine, really. I’ve seen worse.”

A small smile came across his face. It was different from his grins and smirks. It was kind of… tender.

“I was just acting, I knew it was sarcasm.”

Four finally said and Eight just nodded, knowing damn well it was a lie. He let it slip this time. Four bend down to open the fridge.

“I can offer some pudding and uhhh some sandwiches and sausages and tomatoes.”

The blonde turned around and scanned Eight from head to toe. The raven-haired looked at him, kind of confused, kind of dumbfounded.

“You look like a pudding guy.”

Four finally said and grabbed one to give it to the other who looked at him, not knowing whether he should be offended by the comment or astonished by Fours guessing skills.

“Chill, I just figured you liked pudding. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

Four grinned devilishly and Eight playfully lifted a finger as if he was about to give Four a lecture.

“Watch it, I might get revenge on you. Never underestimate a small person.”

Four just chuckled and walked over to his bed and let himself fall. Eight eyed him shortly.

“You wanna keep standing there and look at me or come here and stalk that girls social media? I promise it has a lot to offer.”

Eight raised a brow.

“I think I’ll join you when you give me a spoon.”

Silence. Four looked up from the phone to raise a brow at Eight while said person blinked shortly before his eyes grew bigger and he looked at the ground, rubbing his sleeves.

“Oh god what did I say…”

Four, who really had to hold himself back raised his voice.

“Do you prefer the small spoon or the big one?”

Eight looked up again and he saw how hard Four was holding himself back. And he decided that he wanted the other to lose this game. He raised a brow before running a finger through his hair while smiling in a kind of shy way.

“I guess it depends but... I’d prefer it if you’d give me the big spoon.”

Four blinked a bit before he started laughing loudly. His laughter was like a wave of happiness echoing through the room and it made Eight laugh as well. Screw winning this game.

“Your acting is on point I nearly fell for it.”

Four said and Eight chuckled a little as he shook his head.

“Gotta try harder next time.”

Four also couldn’t help but shake his head a little, still grinning. Eight shrugged and tapped his pudding.

“Still need a spoon to eat.”

“Eat with your fingers.”

“Oh I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

And again, Eight and Four had to laugh. But this time Four finally got the new boy a spoon before the latter sat down next to him. The ice was broken.

“So, what do you think, is she hot?”

Eight asked as he ate his food, leaning over to look at the screen of the phone.

“Kind of, but I am not into blonde girls.”

Four said and scrolled through the account.

They spent about an hour on going through her feed before Eight let himself fall back to contemplate what kind of guy this girl was into.

“I think she’s into trouble. I mean, her dad supervises her all the time. Bet she’d like a little adventure.”

Four said as he looked at Eight. Eight returned his gaze with a thoughtful look on his face.

“But I have to be a good son in law as well so… Maybe some nice-asshole kind of guy?”

Eight asked and Four nodded a little.

“Sounds good. So what’s a nice asshole name?”

He asked back and Eight starred at the ceiling.

“Probably Jack. It’s easy to memorize, catchy, neither good nor bad and likable.”

“Jack is too ordinary.”

Eight raised a brow at him.

“What am I supposed to call myself then, Hamish or what?”

Four looked at him questioning.

“Hamish is a bad decision, really.”

“Sarcasm, spoon boy, sarcasm.”

“Why am I the spoon boy? If I remember clearly, you were the one craving a spoon!”

“Well but you are in possession of the spoon, makes you the spoon boy.”

“I think it makes me a spoon master.”

Four exclaimed and it was silent for a second until they started laughing again.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE, I am- I am trying to stay serious!”

Eight said between laughter.

“But fine, from now on you’re the spoon master.”

Before Eight had joined them, Four probably never realized how much he had missed laughing. Of course, the others were funny too and they all spent some time laughing together, but he was always the youngest around them and the age gap showed. He used to have whole meme wars with six or they spent their time on reading dick jokes. But the last year he really missed it. He couldn’t socialize with others his age. He simply wasn’t allowed to. The person he got along with the best was Seven. But he didn’t get all of the jokes. Which was kind of sad, because it was some quality humour wasted.

But those times seemed to be over now. Finally.

Little did he know that Eight thought about it the same way. He had missed laughing. But unlike Four, he wasn’t unable to socialize with others his age. He simply refused to. He rather spent his time working or trying to figure out where his target was instead of laughing. But now that he did, he came to notice how much he had missed this. And he was already excited to really befriend this Four guy.

After it took them an hour to decide on a name, they settled for Jacob West and Eight prepared for his role. He kept his outfit but opened the first three buttons and added a plain silver necklace which rested on his bare chest.

“Mate, are you done? You’re running a bit out of time here.”

Four said but didn’t get any respond so he looked up from the phone.

“Eight, you’ll be late… to your date.”

He chuckled a little about the included rhyme and Eight turned around.

“Did you just rhyme about me ruining the mission?”

Four shrugged.

“I assume I did.”

He said, kind of amused. Eight scoffed a little

“You’re unbelievable.”

He stretched shortly and yawned a little.

“I’m already tired as fuck.”

He announced and walked out of the room with Four following.

“Wait, you still need your equipment.”

One said and Eight turned around to face him.

“Are you sure you want to listen to me flirting? Don’t you think it’s a bit weird?”

“It is very weird but it’s safer that way.”

One admitted and Eight just obeyed and let Five adjust everything before he made his way to his car.

“I’ll turn it on when I’m there, no offense but I need some music. Some loud music.”

He said before getting in the car. Four stood next to it.

“Don’t be late, Eight. You might get laid mate.”

A cocky smirk snug onto the blonde mans face.

“I hope I won’t.”

Eight laughed a little and Four just raised a brow at him.

“You don’t like sex?”

“Oh I love sex, but I gotta like a person to enjoy it. Like… Like like.”

“You mean love?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Love is bullshit, did that once, never doing it again.”

Now Eight crocked a brow before he scanned Four, clicking his tongue with a slight smirk on his face.

“What a pity.”

He said and Four looked at him confused.

“What?”

Eight shrugged and turned on the engine of his car, the smirk still on his face.

“Sarcasm?”

Four asked and Eight laughed a little.

“No, dead serious. See you later.”

He closed the door and waved before he drove off, leaving Four completely dumbfounded. But said person could just smile.

“Fucking pudding guy.”

#6 underground #6 underground fic #6 underground fanfiction #6 underground 4 #ben hardy x oc #ben hardy x male oc #ben hardy #four/billy #four x oc #four x eight #gay fanfiction #gay fiction #because we need more gay fanfiction #male oc x character #oc fanfiction #oc #fanboys #own character #unpredictable series

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thesportssoundoff · 5 years

Text

“Y’all need to start paying me for these kinda cards” UFC Fight Night In Russia Redux

Joey

April 15th, 2019

The UFC is heading BACK to Russia! If January and February were a test of the UFC's depth and March was a test of their ability to put together loaded cards in back to back to back-ish weeks then April is all about proverbial pain tolerance. How much bad are you willing to endure to get to the good stuff? In a way I feel bad putting this card in that light because who knows if it'll actually be bad? This is a card with seven debuting fighters, a cool seven fights either cancelled or reshuffled, fights across two weight classes often derided for their lack of quality and a show that literally feels like an WMMA 4 stall show where you're just trying to turn a profit quickly to stay out of debt. This card could be amazing in quality and be one of those weird hidden gems or it'll turn into one of those Australia shows where it's 5 hours long and everybody is miserable when it's over. There is no quality to guarantee. Still we've got fights, we've got names, I've gotta do this so let's get right after it.

Fights: 12

Debuts: Arman Tsarukyan, Ivan Shtyrkov, Alen Amedovski, Seung Woo Choi, Movsar Evloev, Alex da Silva, Rafael Fiziev

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 7 (Alexander Volkov OUT, Alexey Olynik IN vs Alistair Overeem/Alexey Olynik vs Walt Harris CANCELLED/Roman Dolidze OUT, Roman Kopylov IN vs Gadzhimurad Antigulov/Abdul Karim-Edilov OUT, Ivan Shtyrkov IN vs Devin Clark/Sultan Aliev vs Emil Meek CANCELLED/Teemu Packalen OUT, Alex Da Silva IN vs Alexander Yaklovev/Roman Kopylov OUT, Michał Oleksiejczuk IN vs Gadzhimurad Antigulov)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 5 (Alistair Overeem, Sergey Pavlovich, Roxanne Modafferi, Shamil Abdurakhimov and Marcin Tybura)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 3 (Marcelo Golm, Krzysztof Jotko, Alexander Yakovlev)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: 3 (Alexey Oleinik, Islam Makhachev, Shamil Abdurakhimov)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2017 (in the UFC): 15-13

Alexey Olynik- 4-1 Alistair Overeem- 3-2 Islam Makhachev- 3-0 Arman Tsarukyan- 0-0 Sergey Pavlovich- 0-1 Marcelo Golm- 1-2 Devin Clark- 2-2 Ivan Shtyrkov- 0-0 Antonina Shevchenko- 1-0 Roxane Modafferi- 1-2 Alen Amedovski- 0-0 Kryzstof Jotko- 0-3

Fights By Weight Class (yearly number here):

Lightweight- 3 (23) Heavyweight- 3 (11) Light Heavyweight- 2 (15) Women’s Flyweight- 1 (13) Featherweight- 1 (18) Middleweight- 1 (11) Welterweight- 1 (23)

Bantamweight- (19) Flyweight- (7) Women’s Strawweight- (9) Women’s Bantamweight- (2)

2019’s Records We Keepin Track Of:

Debuting Fighters (9-20): Arman Tsarukyan, Ivan Shtyrkov, Alen Amedovski, Seung Woo Choi, Movsar Evloev, Alex da Silva, Rafael Fiziev

Short Notice Fighters (7-9): Alex da Silva, Alexey Olynik, Michał Oleksiejczuk, Ivan Shtyrkov

Second Fight (25-5): Antonina Shevchenko, Sergey Pavlovich

Cage Corrosion (Fighters who have not fought within a year of the date of the fight) (8-14): Magomed Mustafaev, Alexander Yakovlev

Undefeated Fighters (12-15): Ivan Shtyrkov, Antonina Shevchenko, Alen Amedovski, Mosvar Evloev, Rafael Fiziev

Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization (5-5): Krzysztof Jotko

Weight Class Jumpers (Fighters competing outside of the weight class of their last fight even if they’re returning BACK to their “normal weight class”) (13-8): Alexander Yakovlev

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- Most random MMA card ever?

2- Part of what makes heavyweight MMA so much fun (to me) is how renaissance-y it can be with its fighters. Alistair Overeem was smelted by Stipe Miocic, barely survived Fabricio Werdum, had his brain scrambled by Francis Ngannou, got Curtis Blaydes elbow'd into bolivian and then probably salvaged his long term future in the UFC with a win over hyped prospect and debuting talent Sergey Pavovlich. I think he has a pretty good chance to beat Alexander Volkov and then Volkov gets yanked for a medical issue, opening the door for MMA grandad Alexey Olynik to step up into the main event in Russia. It's hard to think of an easier matchup for Overeem than this one and if he wins, that's two in a row which qualifies as both a winning streak and "I'm gonna fight in the top 5 again pretty soon." On the other hand, Olynik has had one of the more surprising under the radar runs in the entire division. He's just been quietly fighting all the dudes at the bottom half of this division (outside of Junior Albini, Olynik has not beaten a guy who remains in the UFC) before getting Mark Hunt in the ultimate striker vs grappler bout. He rocks Mark Hunt after getting leg kicked for three minutes straight and subs him to solidify himself as a big time player in a division where a fellow old man is ruling the roost. It's about as romantic as heavyweight MMA gets, my dudes.

3- Speaking of romantic, Shamil Abdurakhimov fights on this show. Just sayin'.

4- So if you took even a cursory gander at the numbers I slaved over a hot stove to produce, you'll see that fighters in their second fight are a cool 25-5. Keep that in mind with Sergey Pavlovich who I think has super high upside at a division in serious need of it. The UFC thought Overeem was more cooked than he was and Pavlovich got checked pretty hard BUT this is a soft rebound vs Golm and it's in Russia where Pavlovich is from. I'm betting on a much better showing.

5- Why is Islam Makachev in the co-main? I know there's some talk that Makachev vs Trinaldo was supposed to be the co-main event here but even so, that's not a co-main event. It almost feels like this is to try and get some kind of a Khabib rub which is great and all but couldn't we find a better opponent than a solid prospect in his debut?

6- Congrats to Antonina Shevchenko and Roxanne Modafferi for being the first ever women's UFC fight in Russia.

7- Gimme a second to chit chat about Magomed Mustafaev. Magomed was seen as yet another really talented 155er popping up in the UFC and the next in a long line of good Russian lightweights who were popping up in the UFC. He was the last of the Makachev, Taisumov, Khabilov, Khabib types to roll through the door although I thought outside of Khabib, he was more impressive than either of the other two. Then came the Kevin Lee fight where Magomed fought really emotionally, got tired out by Kevin Lee and then got subbed after a pretty rough grappling fight. He apparently hurt his arm, hurt it again and has been out for over two years now. He's getting ultra violent Rafael Fiziev in what should be one of the best fights of the night.

8- 205 lbs tends to feel very much like a wasteland but I'm excited about the Devin Clark vs Ivan Shtyrkov. As we've seen consistently at 205 lbs, being really strong to the point where opponents are scared to get in your wheelhouse can absolutely be a benefit. I love the dude but Ilir Latifi's entire run at the weight class can be summed up as him just being SO strong that people have no clue what to do with him unless they take him out. Ivan Shtyrkov is.....well he's big. Big enough that it feels like he vs USADA is going to be a consistently rumored fight on the cards. In truth though this isn't a can crusher walking into the UFC with no major experience; Ivan has fought dudes like Fabio Maldonado, Phil De Fries, Big Foot Silva, Thiago Silva and Christian MPumbu. We can debate the quality of remains of said fighters after UFC and Bellator runs BUT that's still better comp than the dudes getting signed off of racking up wins over guys who are 5-10, 6-9 and 5-1. I also still haven't quite gotten off the Devin Clark bandwagon and thought he looked pretty damn solid in a wild loss to Aleksandr Rakic where he had Rakic in trouble but lost the firefight.

9- Krzysztof Jotko is 0-3 in his last three fights and if you want to take pride in how fast the MW division has grown, Jotko was like a pseudo top 10 guy for a good minute prior to 2017.

10- Keita Nakamura vs Sultan Aliev could challenge for the worst fight of 2019.

11- Whose feelings did Marcin Tybura hurt to go from consistent main card spots to "dude on the prelims of a filler Russia card"?

12- Any of you dudes way smarter than I know anything about Movsar Evloev?

#MMA #UFC #Fight Night #Russia #Olynik #Overeem #Shamil Abdurakhimov

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