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vertanimeni · 5 years ago

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the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (6/18)

Summary:

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

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

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

Pairing: Bellamy/Grounder OC

Word Count: 5,428

TW: Canon typical violence, violent flashback, healing/medicine.

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

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vi. irreconcilable.

“Everyone gather around!" Clarke summoned the camp to the platform where she and Bellamy stood. He prepared to explain the events leading up to the situation of having a grounder as a neighbor until Clarke spoke first. “With the help of two grounders, Lincoln and Kova, we attempted to make peace with one of their leaders.” Her words started low rumbles of whispers throughout the group. Clarke paused. Unsure of what to say next, she needed to come up with a reason for Kova’s stay without alarming them.

As if on cue, Bellamy spoke up. “Due to miscommunication, the meeting didn’t work out as we had hoped. I know this is difficult and, trust me, I understand why you’re all angry. We have a lot to talk about, especially after last night."

“But since Kova helped us, the grounders consider them as a traitor.” Clarke surprised herself with how flawlessly she came up with that excuse. “They were injured in the process and had no other place to go, so we brought them here.” The murmuring in the crowd increased and some people grew agitated. "Think of it this way." Clarke raised her hands up. "They could help us find a better water source and food, maybe even teach us about the land."

"How do we know this grounder won’t try to kill us while we’re asleep?” One shouted out, adding gas to the flaming panic within the group.

“Because they were injured. They can’t do much.”

“But if you all feel unsafe, we can have them hand over all their weapons and stash them away. By having them around, we can get valuable information in order to survive. And if the grounders come, we’ll have the upper hand with them. Are we good?”

The whispers cooled down after Bellamy’s reassurance. After all, he hated the grounders more so than anyone else in camp. If he had agreed to this, then there must have been a good reason. The muttering stopped and most of the camp were nodding their heads in agreement. There were a few who still despised the idea, but none objected.

“Great.” Clarke clapped her hands. “Now let's talk about the ship from last night.”

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Red bathed Mount Caocin. Kova found themselves in the middle of a mountain path, dried trees and leafless bushes lining the edges. They felt fabric rustle at the top of their head. They realized it was an all too familiar hooded cape tied securely across their shoulders. Panicking, they tried pulling at the end of the strings to no avail. They tried pulling the cape over their head but the string tightened underneath their jaw.

They gave up and took note of their surroundings. Other warriors ran up the path, paying no mind to Kova even when they stepped in their way. Yet deep in their gut, they knew these weren’t their warriors. Sloppy foot work, unbecoming of a warrior of Trikru, capes similar to Kova’s covered their entire faces and bodies, denying Kova even a glimpse of who they could be.

But the warriors had the Trikru insignia stitched into their capes. Who else could they belong to?

Thus, Kova followed their fellow warrios up to the edge of the path.

The Azgeda army stood at the foot of the mountain, holding their flag on a pole, a symbol of war, but none of them had any visible weapons. 'Why haven't they followed us up here yet?' Kova found themselves asking.

Strange clicking noises came from behind. They turned around to face their fellow warriors, only to find the wind blowing their capes to reveal the forbidden ancient weapons. Guns.

Shots rang out. Kova flinched and squeezed their eyes shut, bending over to protect themselves. But no pain arrived, and neither did the bone crunching bullets.

The Trikru warriors they had fought along with for years disappeared, and now there was only one person in front of them. The brother they love fell to his knees in front of them, collapsing into a puddle of rainwater and mud, his blood mixing with the elements below him.

Their arm hung in front of them, jaggedly, inhumanly, like a puppet on strings, with the pointer finger pressed against the trigger of the gun in their hand.

///

Eyes snapped open, only to flinch away with the afternoon sun streaking sunlight through the crack of the tent’s entrance. Kova recoiled, back pressing against a mattress, and rubbed their eyes with the back of their hands. Their heart pounded in their chest, body alight with adrenaline, yet they couldn’t recall the nightmare that had woken them up.

Maybe that was for the best.

Instead, they tried to remember how exactly they fell asleep in this unfamiliar, orange tent. From what they could recall, they didn’t necessarily “fall asleep,” rather they passed out from the pain shooting up their leg.

Ah. The recollection of last night brought a dull ache from their injury. The ache also returned a hazy memory of the invaders’ leader visiting in the middle of the night with Octavia to disinfect their wound. Slowly turning to lay on their side, they peered under the thin blanket to find bandages wrapped around their calf.

As well as bare skin. Someone had taken off their leather armor, boots, socks, pants, long sleeve shirt, and jacket, folding them neatly to the side, the mask on top. They had been left with their underclothes — a pair of biker shorts and an off-white tank top. “I’ll have to thank whoever did that later. It’s exhausting to take all of that off, even for me.”

They noticed there were important pieces missing from their collection. "Surprise surprise," Kova grumbled to themselves, sitting up on their elbows. "They took away my weapons. Did they have to take the holsters, though?"

They tossed the blanket off and hooked a foot against the side of the mattress to sit up. Grimacing at the new spark of pain, they swung their healthy leg over the bed, then carefully guided the other one to follow. They took a deep breath, preparing themselves to try to stand until—

"Kova?" The tent shifted as someone poked their head in. "You alright?"

They didn’t need to turn to know who it was. They kept their back towards the entrance. “Mn. You can come in if you’d like, Clarke.”

Last night, Clarke had only been focused on disinfecting their wound while Octavia and Raven undressed them. She hadn’t seen anything other than their leg, not even their face.

Which was why her breath hitched at the sight of their tattoos. She had heard of tattoos before, but the tradition was lost on the Ark. An intricate armband circled around just above their elbow. Above the band, there was a thin line of blank skin before a new tattoo began — the ink became trees of a forest, with mountains and valleys ascending up their biceps, and a sun peaked out between two peaks of a mountain.

It wasn’t just the tattoos that surprised her, either. Circular scars took up the skin of Kova’s shoulder blade, too numerous to count. Kova twisted from their seat in bed, their shirt shifting along with them, revealing even more circular scars, as well as five circular tattoos following down their cheek bone. At the base of their neck, they had another tattoo, the exact same one that Lincoln had on his chest.

Clarke only snapped out of her stare when she accidentally made eye contact. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.” She felt her ears and cheeks heat up. “We brought you here two nights ago — you were knocked out the whole day yesterday.”

“Mn. Makes sense. I feel like I slept for a whole day.” Their voice came out in a low, raspy murmur.

“I need to check up on the cut.” She said, raising a medical kit up.

“Go ahead.”

She went around the bed and knelt in front of them, opening up the med kit. Clarke drew the old bandage off the skin and inspected the wound. She felt eyes following every move she made. “It doesn’t look infected.” She looked up at Kova, whose gaze had solely been focused on her face.

“You look tired.” Kova answered her questioning look. “I’m guessing you’ve told your camp about me?”

The heavy sigh Clarke released made her shoulders slump. She started wrapping a fresh bandage over their calf. “Yeah. Some weren’t happy, but I doubt there’ll be any problems. We had to lie, just so you know. I told them that because you helped us, your people marked you as a traitor and you couldn’t return home.”

A bitter laugh filled the tent. “Not a lie.”

Confused, Clarke looked back up at them.

Unaware of the blue eyes fixed on them, Kova leaned back against their arms, their distant gaze boring into the fabric of the tent. “By now, my clan will have raided my tent, my home, everything. Once they know I’m not there, they’ll ask around if anyone has seen me in the past few days. I’ll be marked as a traitor by the time the sun rises tomorrow.”

Her throat felt tight. She swallowed thickly. “Why did you do it, then?”

“Hmm?”

“If you knew your people would outcast you,” Clarke began packing her med kit. “why did you help us?”

“I hope you’re not expecting my answer to be, ‘because it was the right thing to do.’” One glance towards the sky leader proved Kova’s suspicions right, judging by the way she looked away from them. They shook their head, a breathy laugh tumbling out of their mouth. “No, no, my reasoning is selfish. I already had issues with my clan long before you came down, but once you arrived, our relationship snapped. It was a matter of time, I suppose. I needed to get away from them.”

There were no pros to telling Clarke the full story. After all, she was the invaders’ leader first, Clarke second. If she knew Trikru would be after their head soon, she might try to trade Kova in for a peace treaty or something. At least this way, Clarke might feel guilt over Kova losing their clan and allow them to stay permanently, and Kova can help around camp or whatever. It’s a win-win.

“But,” Kova continued, “I would like to be clear about one thing. I may no longer be loyal to my clan, but that does not mean I will be loyal to you.”

“Then, where does your loyalty lie?”

“My brother. And in conjunction, Octavia.”

“Octavia?”

“Mn. She’s my brother’s interest.”

Silence took over the tent.

“…interest?”

“Long story. Ask Octavia if you want to know. You don’t have to worry, though.”

“About what?”

“About me. Seeing as Octavia is part of your clan, my loyalty is as good as yours, even if it isn’t directly. I will not harm anyone here as long as they do not try to harm me. I can help with whatever you want me to help with.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“You saved my life twice. Thank you.”

“…mn.” ‘I took responsibility.’

With that, Clarke made her way to exit the tent. Just as she placed her hand on the flap of the tent, Wells drew it open. They made eye contact but before he could say anything, she smiled ever so slightly and walked passed him. Ever since the incident with Charlotte, their relationship had gotten a lot better — Clarke apologized for how she treated him and blaming him for her father's death, and he forgave her immediately. But they still hadn't talked much. His eyes followed her until she left his sight, and he couldn’t stop the soft sigh that left his lips.

“You alright?” Came Kova’s voice from the inside of the tent.

Wells snapped out of his thoughts. He peeked into the tent and was greeted by Kova’s hunched back. “I should be asking you that.”

Ah. Truthfully, Kova though it was Clarke who sighed. They hadn’t expected this voice. “Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking.” They responded, elbows on top of their knees, the palm of their hand against their forehead. “What do you want?”

“I have water. You want?”

“…mn. Come in.”

Wells stepped around the bed and held the cup of water out. “I figured you might get thirsty.”

Kova skeptically glanced between him and the metal cup in his hand. They didn’t know if anyone might have tampered with the drink. Bringing the cup up to their mouth, they sniffed around it for a moment before taking a small sip. It tasted simply like water and had no type of fragrance. Once Kova felt like it was in the clear, they chugged the drink down.

“Thank you for saving Clarke.” Wells’ voice was gentle.

As they returned the cup with a thanks, they caught a glimpse of his bandaged right hand. The pointer and middle fingers were missing just below the second knuckle. ‘Hmm. Interesting. What kind of camp is this?’ Instead of asking, Kova sent Wells a kinder look, one people rarely saw. “No problem.”

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Wells left not too long after, giving Kova some privacy to change into their clothes. They could hear the bustling of the camp outside their safe little tent, of people talking and laughing with one another, of branches colliding into a pile together, of thick trunks creaking together to form a wall, of water boiling above a crackling fire.

If Kova closed their eyes and ignored the pain in their leg, ignored the tired ache of their muscles, and pretended like the invaders’ were speaking Trigedasleng—

Mn. It felt like they were back at TonDC’s training camp.

They would even bet that the moment they stepped out of the tent, all eyes would be on them, and the invaders would start talking, just as the Trikruvians did back at camp.

Well. At least they wouldn’t talk about Mount Caocin.

(Jump out of the frying pan, fall into the fire.)

They relished in the feeling for just a moment before taking a deep breath and opening their eyes. There was no point in feeling homesick — Trikru was never their home, it hadn’t been in three years.

(Was it ever?)

They secured their clothes, tied their dreads back and the mask on (better safe than sorry) and stood at the flaps of the tent. Neither Wells nor Clarke mentioned anything about allowing them to leave their tent. Hell, stepping outside would be a whole lot easier if they had been told they were a prisoner. But they were neither prisoner nor guest.

Kova dealt with this before. They handled the side looks of warriors and civilians alike. They had knives shoved in their back by the same warriors they considered friends and kept walking. They handled the glare of the Chief and the interrogation of the General.

They could handle a couple of kids watching them.

Taking a deep breath, they let their hand push through the curtain and ease it open. Rays of sunlight attacked their eyes. They shielded themselves from the light with the other hand and stepped across the threshold.

Only a few delinquents glanced at them, and from that group an even a lesser amount of them outright stared before they went back to work.

…huh. Alright. Kova had been expecting more backlash—

Something crashed into their right thigh. Startled, they looked down only to find a young girl stumbling back, eyes shut, rubbing her forehead. If Kova hadn’t been wearing the mask, the young girl would have seen the worried look they had.

Instead, the young girl looked back up to apologize only to make eye contact with a very tall stranger wearing an absolutely terrifying mask. She gasped, eyes widening in fear as she stepped back and tripped over her tiny feet. She squeezed her eyes tight as her world went sideways, thinking ‘oh no, Fox just washed my clothes yesterday!’ and prepared for the crash—

One warm hand delicately wrapped around her wrist while another pressed against her back, helping the young girl steady herself. The moment the stranger’s hands retreated, she hid her face behind her hands, both in embarrassment and fear. But then she heard a soft laugh, not of mockery, but of fondness, affection, warmth, and she couldn’t help but peek through her fingers, watching as the now crouched stranger tipped the mask over their head, away from her view.

“You alright?” The stranger tilted their head questioningly before reaching up and picking a few leaves caught up in the young girl’s curly locks. “Make sure to watch where you’re going. You bumped your head quite hard.” They smoothed the back of their finger across her forehead.

“I’m okay, it didn’t hurt me that much. Sorry.” She mumbled, looking down at her worn shoes.

“Apology accepted. I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?”

“I scared you.” They reached back and untied the mask, letting it drop into their hand, making sure to keep the face away from her. “If I had known there were children here, I wouldn’t have worn it.”

“I’m not a child!”

“Is that so? How old are you then?”

“I’m seven.”

“Oh, I see, you grown grown. My apologies for calling you a child.” Kova looked down at their mask before offering it to the girl. “It’s pretty scary, right?”

Hesitantly, the young girl nodded, a small smile forming. “I’ve- I’ve never seen a mask like that before.”

“Mn. It’s my brothers. Do you want to see it? It’s less scary when there’s no one behind it.”

“Sure—!”

“Emmie!”

The young girl (’Emmie?’) snatched her hands back, startled, and whipped around.

Now that their little bubble had been popped, Kova realized the entire camp had been watching their every move like a hawk, as if they would hurt the child. Their set their jaw a little tighter than usual.

A pair of legs appeared at the corner of their eye, Emmie unwillingly behind them. Kova raised their gaze. The pair of legs belonged to a man, a familiar one at that. Ah. He had been there at the bridge, as back up—

Their eyes landed on a bandage plastered against his cheek. They were hit with an influx of memories and realized a lot more happened yesterday. Kova stood from their crouched position, face suddenly very serious.

Emmie didn’t like it. But before she could say anything, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist and pull her away. She looked up and found the hand belonged to Fox. Just before Fox pulled her around the corner, Emmie yelled, “Pretty stranger, see you later!”

Kova didn’t have low self esteem, but while they didn’t see themselves as ugly, they wouldn’t have used the term ‘pretty,’ either. They were caught off guard for just a moment, but before Emmie was dragged around the corner, they managed to respond with, “Mn, see you.”

They turned their attention back to the man. Their eyes unconsciously landed on the bandage once more before darting away in guilt. “My apologies for yesterday. I—”

“Whatever.” The man cut them off, leaving them in shock. He continued, “Clarke wants a word with you. Go to the dropship. I heard you already know where it is, right Kova?”

Still in shock at being cut off and his foul tone, his implication went over their head. Their jaw tensed, forehead creasing. “I was trying to apologize.”

“Don’t care. Go to the dropship.”

Kova opened their mouth, but before they could get a word out, the man turned away, heading to the location in question. They had to take a deep breath, silently begging the Gods to provide them with all the patience possible. Just before they could take a single step, Bellamy spoke over his shoulder. “And from now on, keep the mask on and stay away from the kids.”

The mask, they can understand, but something malicious settled in their stomach at the last half of his sentence. Their hands clenched at their sides. “I would rather die than hurt a child.”

Bellamy stopped in his tracks. “Good thing you won’t have to do either, since you’ll be staying away from the children.”

He kept walking.

Instead of arguing, they followed his footsteps, tying the mask back on. They were more angry at the implication of what they would do to the children rather than the order itself. But then again, they would never let Lykrian, Artigas, or any of the other TonDC children near an invader.

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Once the two arrived, Kova couldn’t help but take note of the dropship’s design. After all, the last time they had been here, they were too busy with saving their brother to notice the harsh lighting, the seats along the walls, most taken out of place and leaving behind an imprint. Boxes were now stacked neatly in one of the corners, rather than haphazardly like they had been last time. Kova followed Bellamy to the back and found Clarke sitting at a table with six empty seats and a cup of what seemed to be tea.

While Kova stood by the entrance and bowed their head, waiting to be invited, Bellamy simply sauntered in and plopped himself in the chair across Clarke’s.

“Come in, sit.” Clarke patted the chair next to her.

“Mn.” Hesitantly, they pulled out the chair between her and Bellamy. She nodded, and they sat down, back rigid. “I was told you wanted to see me.”

“I wanted to go over what happened at the meeting before the grounders attacked.”

Before Clarke could say anything further, Kova interrupted. “I believe you have it the wrong way — Trikru did not attack first.”

“Jasper said they were ready to shoot Clarke down.” Bellamy said, crossing his arms, sending him his best glare. “We were protecting ourselves.”

“Did you not have your sights set on the Lieutenant?” Kova questioned without sparing a glance towards him, preferring to stare straight at the wall. “Just as your back up had their finger on the trigger, Trikru, too, notched their arrows in preparation. That does not mean they would have attacked without prompt. I told you on the bridge that guns weren’t allowed,” they directed their words to Clarke, “the causalities on Trikru’s side far outweigh what you have here.”

Standing from his chair, Bellamy scoffed and walked away from the table to pace around the tent. Kova wondered if he did that a lot. By the way Clarke sent him a worried glance every minute or two, it seemed so.

“Speaking of unprovoked,” Clarke continued. “Anya said something along the lines that we had attacked Trikru unprovoked too many times to be considered unintentional. Do you know what she was talking about?”

“…A few come to mind.”

“A few?” Bellamy let out a bitter laugh. “A few? What kind of bullshit — we’ve been here for less than two weeks, what could we have possibly done to them—?”

“Shall we start from the beginning?” Kova’s sharp tone interrupted him with a chill he hadn’t felt by anyone before. With every point, they counted off a finger. “Crossing the forbidden river, almost alerting the Mountain’s fog, risking the lives of many hunters and living animals, and then—”

“When was that?”

“When you first landed. I believe you had sent out a scavenger team. You were there too, now that I recall.”

It took the two invaders to realize what they talked about.

“What, Jasper? When he swung over the river?”

“Mn. Across the river is a no access zone. We’re not sure why, but that area around Mount Weather triggers an acid fog from the forest and passes a good kilometer or two past the river. The day Jasper crossed was when the hunters and gatherers were out.”

Bellamy seemed to have pieced whatever pieces he had together, and his face contorted in anger. "Then were you the one who speared him?!”

Immediately, Kova shook their head. “I heard of the incident, but it was not me.”

Noting Bellamy’s face, Clarke diverted the subject. “What else did we do?”

“After you landed, you destroyed large portions of the forest, burned down the Srathme Springs and the village with it—”

“Anya mentioned that. I already explained that was an accident. We had to send fireworks up to save our people still stuck on the Ark.” There were not many ways of excusing yourself from a mass murder, intentional or not, and this was not one of them. It sounded more of an excuse than a reason. “Our people in space — on the Ark — were running out of oxygen. 300 people volunteered to sacrifice themselves so the others can have more time. We had a radio to contact them so they didn’t have to lower the population, but it, uh…” She sent another look near Bellamy's direction, one he didn't notice. “It didn’t work.”

Truthfully, Kova hadn’t been paying attention to her excuse, but the way her tone faltered and how Bellamy tensed caught their attention. “Oh? And why do you keep looking at him for?”

Bellamy snapped his head towards the two. Clarke looked away guiltily. Kova kept their face as neutral as possible as if they hadn't exposed the invaders' leader. "What, did you mess with the radio or something?”

Clarke stiffened. Bellamy looked away. Neither responded.

“Hmm. Interesting. Well. Either way, your radio would have been useless.”

That caught the invaders' attention. “Why?” Clarke asked.

Kova looked down, picking the dirt from under their nail casually. “I'm not sure what the exact science is behind it, but radios don’t work around these parts, specifically Trikru, Azgeda, and Sangedakru, but I think parts of Podakru, Ouskejonkru, and Boudalankru that are closer to us also have the same issue. Something about the lingering radiation.

“Regardless, people died at the Srathme Springs. The remaining villagers were relocated.” Kova continued. “The Springs had also been heavily damaged, which means no mining or mineral collection. With one move, you managed to kill both Trikru’s people and its economy, especially in its sword making and arts. Congrats.”

Bellamy placed both hands on the back of his head, restraining a groan.

Clarke swallowed thickly. “Anya also said something else. Something about the library?”

Kova stilled completely. They turned their head towards Clarke, blinking a few times with wide eyes. “What?”

“What?”

“What happened to the library?” Their fingers tensed against the wood of the table.

“She didn’t say it completely burned down, but it had been heavily damaged from the fire. Why?”

Kova leaned over the table, dropping their head into their hands. “I didn’t hear about that. Fuck.”

“Watch your fucking language.” Bellamy snapped.

Clarke ignored him, inching closer towards the grounder. “Why, is it important?”

They couldn’t bare to look at dead people walking. They let out a heavy sigh. “How badly did you need the peace treaty?”

Well. If that wasn't ominous, Clarke didn't know what was. “Pretty badly, we didn’t know there were people alive here. If we did, we would have been more careful.”

“Too late for that.” Kova muttered.

“Will you just tell us what’s going on?” Bellamy snapped again, fists clenching.

“The damaging of a major library, like the one at Srathme’s village, is considered as one of, if not the most heinous way of declaring war.” Kova shook their head, scrubbing their face with their hands. “I should have known. No wonder the Lieutenant and the General had been planning for war since. I though they were just preparing for the worst case scenario.”

“War? Over a library? Why is it so important?” Clarke asked.

“When the Foresakening happened, naturally most books perished from both radiation and age. The previous commander, Rha, tried to destroy the little remaining knowledge we had left under the guise of ‘moving on from our past.’ We all knew he wanted to paint his version of history instead of what really happened, and the elders wouldn’t have it. After his downfall, all books were ordered to be preserved and copied, but minor libraries simply carry the copies of the preserved books. Major libraries hold both the copies and the original texts. They are also the epicenters of the copiers.” Kova pulled away from their hands, leaning back in their chair. “Meaning, you messed up real bad.”

“What should we do?” Clarke asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Kova threw their hands in the air in frustration. “You won’t get whatever treaty you want — hell, I’m shocked they didn’t shoot you on site back at the bridge.”

“Clarke!”

The group turned in their seats. One of the invaders had interrupted, calling for the leader from outside the dropship. “Myles keeps vomiting, can you check in on him?”

“Yes, I’ll be out in a minute!” She called back. She stood, but just before she left, she tapped Bellamy’s shoulder. “You two talk. I’ll be back in a second.”

While the two nodded, the moment Clarke left, they fell into silence. Bellamy had sat back down, but refused to even acknowledge their presence.

“Name.”

Bellamy faced them with a confused look. “What?”

“You never told me your name.”

“…Bellamy. Octavia’s brother.”

“…mn.”

“…”

They fell back in silence.

Bellamy grew frustrated. “Well?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“You know my name already. You said it before.”

They weren’t wrong, but wasn’t it polite to introduce yourself? Ooh, Bellamy almost cursed them out on the spot.

Suddenly, Kova started talking again. “Our current commander, Lexa. Her campaign was almost solely based on restoring the libraries. If she knows what happened, she won’t let you get off free.”

“We have guns, I’d like to see her try.” His tone full of arrogance, he couldn’t help but lean back comfortable in his chair.

“Do you think this is a joke?” Their words were almost as sharp as their glare. “Are you willing to kill more people than you already have?”

Bellamy stood up, knocking his chair back. Kova followed his actions, hands tensing by their sides.

“Hey.” His tone deepened in warning. He stepped closer to the grounder, although he couldn’t help but hesitate when they didn’t move back like he expected. “Watch your mouth.”

“You know, I don’t think I will.” That hesitation was all it took for Kova to take up the rest of the space between them, pressing the tip of their finger against his chest to push him back lightly. It was only when he forcibly took a small step back did Kova realize that they were a good few centimeters taller than him. Good. They could practically tower over him with the way they were acting. "At the bridge, you and your friends had the same job as those scouts did. Trikru’s scouts didn’t shoot first. But why are you and yours so adamant on villainizing my people?” They leaned in, anger flashing in their eyes. “They aren’t the ones who killed over — What did Clarke say before? 300 people?”

A hand wrapped around their wrist, and Kova found themselves being back into a table, the edge pressing against the back of their thighs. Their nostrils flared in anger, but before they could growl out a warning they suddenly found themselves far too close to his face, their breaths mingling with his. But that wasn't what shocked them.

No, what shocked them was his pale freckled face, one of malnutrition and stress than the lack of sun, his dark, hooded eyes, prominent bags and lines underneath that screamed exhaustion.

It was Kova's own face looking back at them.

One of grief, of remorse and regret.

Unconsciously, they backed up, nudging the table askew.

“I already know what I’ve done. I have to live with it now, and I don’t need someone like you to remind me.” As much as Bellamy tried to seem threatening, he felt on the edge of falling apart.

Kova rarely stuttered, and while this wasn't a stutter, the hesitation behind their words made them uncomfortable. “You…feel guilt?”

His hand subtly relaxed around their wrist, loose fingers curling around their pulse point. Bellamy opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the sounds of footsteps entered the main area of the dropship. Bellamy stepped back and sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, and turned away.

The curtain's cutting off the main area to the small corner shifted. Kova attempted to lean casually against the table, crossing their arms. The area where his hand had been felt hot to the touch.

Clarke appeared. “Everything okay? I was worried you two would bite each others heads off.” She joked before returning to her place next to the table. While she continued to talk about the meeting, Kova was still reeling over what just happened. They absentmindedly rubbed their wrist a few times before snapping out of their stupor and joining the conversation.

When Kova glanced at Bellamy, he turned away.

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

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redhoodsjacket · 6 years ago

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Heat of Winter - Jon Snow

Hello! so this is my second entry to @justauthoring ‘s 14k challenge, this time with Jon Snow.

Good new, this has got me back on my writing roll. I have a little something new with a certain Bucky... ;) Stay tuned for details

Pairing: Jon Snow x reader

Prompt: Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge

Word count: 2093

Warnings: one (1) bad word, that’s it. Kissing if you don’t like that

A/N: That’s the last GoT on that blog I promise

The last years have been hard.

In between Lord Stark being executed, Theon taking Winterfell, the Boltons then claiming it as their own and Sansa's less than ideal homecoming, you had lost all hope to see better days ahead.

Seeing Sansa at Ramsay's mercy was particularly rough. You had powerless against so much violence done to someone you knew was the rightful ruler of the castle, and it tore you apart. You had managed to become her handmaiden the day you decided to at least try and do something, at the risk of being fleeted yourself. She had been surprised to see you were even alive after all that time, but she had welcomed a friend.

You had noticed how much she had changed since the last time the North had her. Then came the candle incident, which you had insisted you'd be the one to go and light it up. Sansa had refused, saying she couldn't risk losing her only friend there. Ensued a total disaster, which had immediately chained up with the escape.

You had been ready to take the hounds' teeth to protect Sansa, but rescue came before it could happen. That's how you ended up riding alongside Sansa, Brienne and Podrick toward Castle Black to find Jon.

"I can't believe I would have ever said that, but..." Sansa began, as you were riding a few paces behind Brienne, a few ahead of Pod. "I can't wait to see Jon again"

"I do remember a time where it wouldn't have even been an option" You said softly, a sad smile on your lips. "It seems ages away"

"Yeah" She sighed, tightening up her elbows to her body. Then, she masked her grim expression with a small grin. "What about you?"

"What about me?" You raised an eyebrow.

"How do you feel about seeing Jon again?" She asked mischievously, showing a slight spark of welcomed childishness.

You didn't know what to answer her. You were feeling relieved, happy and a bit excited to see him again. But there was also the nervousness, as you had drastically changed--as well as him, most probably--and were far away from the naive children you were when you parted ways.

"I don't know" You admitted, side eyeing her. Your gloved fingers flexed on the reins to both warm up and manage the nervousness that suddenly crashed over you. "I mean, it's been years. I'm not the me he knew, and he probably won't be the Jon I knew"

"Mmmh" She acknowledged your reflexion. "Is it true that you kissed in the barn the night before he left for the watch?"

You felt your cheeks burn hot enough to warm your entire body as you casted your glance straight ahead. It was indeed true, but you didn't think anyone had seen you. It was the most intimate moment you had shared with Jon, which you had held on to when things got the hardest, and you managed to get though them because you had clinched to the idea of him. But at the same time, you refused to set your heart up to some expectations. What if you didn't like the Jon you saw, or he didn't like the you he saw? You had to protect yourself, because no one else could.

"I think..." You trailed off, avoiding eye contact. "I think I'll see how things go. And then I'll know if I do. Or don't"

"That's wise" She nodded.

You only hummed as an answer and a comfortable silence set over you. Only the crunch of the snow under the hooves and the frequent snorts of the horses could be heard, but you welcomed the peace for the time being.

Soon enough, the wall could be seen. Then, the structure of Castle Black. Your heart did somersault in your chest, and one look at Sansa told you the same thing was happening to her.

The nightmare was finally over. You were both safe.

The gates opened and Brienne went in first, followed by Sansa, then you and Pod. You dismounted and helped the men take care of the horses along with Pod while Brienne remained close to Sansa. When you finally turned around, Sansa was in a tight embrace with whom was without a doubt Jon. Even if you couldn't see his face, the black curls sold him out instantly. That, and the fact that Sansa wouldn't hug anybody else like that but family.

The picture warmed your heart. It was such an unlikely sight, but it was right. Bastard or not, it didn't matter anymore. There was only family, and Jon was her only family left.

But then, it was like the world had stopped. Before you could realize, their moment was over, and his eyes landed on you. You couldn't help but take in his entire appearance, from the new scars on his face to the obvious muscles he had built over time. His hair, once boyishly free was pulled back in a bun, and the naivety he possessed was definitely gone. New feelings came crashing over you. It wasn't puppy love like you once shared, that was certain. No, this time, whatever you felt as he was staring you down, it wasn't innocent. Neither was his glance, to be honest. It was raw and wild, and you were into it.

You both took a few steps closer at the same time, then had a silent hesitation as for who would cross the remaining distance. He finally took the matter in his own hands and carefully approached you.

"(Y/N)..." His husky voice calling your name sent shivers down your spine. "You're alive"

"I am" It was the only thing you could say without messing up. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it made explode. "And you are too"

"Aye" He replied after a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "Thank you. For helping Sansa"

"I had to do something" You replied after clearing your throat. "The North remembers"

He nodded, never taking his eyes away from yours. You felt entranced in his glance, and you never wanted to get out. Suddenly, he brought you in a careful embrace. You didn't resist, you only rested your forehead on his shoulder and exhaled in relief. You were estranged to feeling safe, but this felt like it.

"I'm glad to see you again" You muttered, but you know he had heard. You gently pulled away and took his hand instead, giving it a small squeeze. "I suppose we'll both have a lot to catch up to"

He gave a dry chuckle and shook his head. "You have no idea" He said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'll..." You swallowed hard as you let his hand slip away from yours. You had felt warmth while close to him, but now reality caught up to you and you noticed you were freezing cold. "I'll go check on Sansa"

"I'll see you at dinner?" He asked, a bit of hope in his voice.

"Yes" You gave him a smile. "See you there"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Dinner was an awkward affair. You almost didn't talk; you kept your eyes casted down on your meals and only replied if talked to. In fact, there was nothing you wished to say in front of Jon's friends. You didn't feel at ease to go down memory lane in front of everyone, especially with the way you and Jon left off last time.

It was only when you were sitting around the fire after nightfall, and after Sansa left to go to sleep that the atmosphere changed in between you and Jon. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself and stared at the fire.

"So" You began. "Dying uh? Your story is definitely way more messed up than mine"

He chuckled at that. "I don't think it's a competition at this point" He glanced at you. "None of us had it easy, as it seems"

"I'll drink to that" You lifted your cup and drank the bitter ale. "You know, I had no idea what to expect of Lord Commander Snow"

You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he scoffed playfully. "You didn't?"

"What if you had become one of these stuck-up lords, thinking you're so above everyone else?" You suggested dramatically, and he laughed. It didn't sound like you remembered; it was a lot more hollow, but you took it. It was good to see the corner of his eyes crinkle in laughter again.

"You really thought I could have been that?" He asked, and you had no idea if he was asking it genuinely or not.

"Of course not" You replied softly. "I know you could never"

His smile turned fond, and he stared at you long enough to make you meet his eyes. "Are you disappointed? With what you found?"

"Quite the opposite, actually" You admitted. "Although, actually, there is just one thing..."

His expression became confused when you reached behind his head and undid the tie that held his hair. Black curls came cascading down his face, and you giggled.

"I was very disappointed not to see that handsome mane" You clarified with a grin.

"You've always liked it, didn't you?" The smile suddenly returned.

"I did" You agreed before glancing longingly back to the flames. "You were always the most handsome boy in Winterfell"

"You must be thinking of Robb here" He was quick to deflect.

"I'm not" You shook your head, turning your attention back to him. "You know I'm not. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Aye, you tripped on your dress and spilled your bucket of water" He teased.

"Yeah!" You nodded. "That was because I couldn't tear my eyes off of you"

"I took the longest time to understand you went out of your way to see me" He sighed. "And then I had to leave"

"You were so sure you were never coming back to me than we never made plans for what came after" You then said with a hint of nostalgia. "But here we are"

"Technically, I did not come back to you" He pointed out, and your heart momentarily stopped. Did he not like you anymore? "You came to me"

His joke settled in and you gasped, lightly hitting his shoulder. "You can't say this like that!" You exclaimed through a laugh.

"Sorry" He apologized with a shit eating grin.

"Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge" You scoffed playfully.

He looked around, then gave you an innocent look. "There's no bridge around here"

"So now you're playing smartass?" You retorted. "When did you get that sense of humour?"

"They sell it North of the Wall" He said with a straight face, making you break into a giggle. A short silence then settled, letting the fire be the only noise in the night.

"So" He spoke up again, quieter this time. "If there's no bridge, I guess there is only one option left"

Your breath caught in your throat at the suggestion of his words, surprised once again by the boldness of his words. The Jon you had known would never have dared. But oddly, as much as it was his shyness that had charmed you years ago, it was now his rawness that attracted you.

"Are we really doing this?" You asked in a mutter.

"I'm tired of losing" He said. "I can win. I wanna win, just this time"

You felt your heart pound against your ribcage in anticipation. It was what you had been waiting for since he left. "Then let's win, just this time"

You closed the distance and joined your lips to his. It started out slow, but escalated to urgent and needy soon enough. It was rougher than last time, but you noticed he was a better kisser. You then pulled back, dazed and dishevelled, and rested your forehead against his to take your breath back.

"This feels just like home"

"Aye" He agreed. "Just like in that barn"

"I wish we could have kissed more that day" You admitted. "It was good"

"Then we have some catching up to do, don't you think?" The corner of his lips lifted in a half smile, before his lips came crashing back on your own.

Maybe all of your lives took a dramatic turn in the last years, but at that moment, all the hardships were forgotten and replaced by warmth and safety. You were finally reunited with Jon.

#justauthorings14kspecial #jon snow #jon snow x reader #game of thrones #jon snow imagine #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got

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devil-may-write · 5 years ago

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Day off [Fic, DMC, One-shot.]

I've had the word "writer" on my blog description for a while now so I figured that I'd start sharing some of the things I've written for once :> I originally posted this on ao3 and ff.net as the second chapter of a series comprised of fan-servicey oneshots that I intended to be 90% lighthearted. Looking back, I realized that this and the first chapter were haphazardly written, so I decided to retouch them and went for this one first as I felt that it was the one that shamed my Creative Writing teacher the most :--( The title's also kinda meh as I never really intended for each chapter to have a title hnnggg

I took a reaaaally (*cough* years *cough*) long hiatus from creative writing for personal reasons so there's obviously quite a lot of rust for me to shake off :--( Granted, I do think that this was a marked improvement from its original version and I know that the only way to get my groove back is to keep writing, so write I shall. Oh and I edited this meticulously but I still have a habit of missing small errors so I'm sorry if you still find any ;_; I'm just a headass ;_;

If anything, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it :--)

-----------

The Orphanage was as quiet as a mouse today. Kyrie had taken the kids out to the zoo, caving into their demands after weeks and weeks of begging. Meanwhile, Nero and Nico took another job, leaving without so much as a whisper. With mentions of illegal devil arms being sold out on the streets, it seemed that the up-and-coming devil hunter wouldn’t be back for some time.

For Vergil, it was a rare moment of solace. With all his housemates out for the day, the older Son of Sparda took the opportunity to read and meditate on his poetry in peace. While he didn't necessarily despise companionship, he was unable to lie to himself and say that all the wild antics his companions kept getting themselves into didn't disturb him. As someone who was used to being alone, he enjoyed the solitude; it gave him time to be alone with his thoughts for he certainly couldn’t do so when the children kept asking him to "do the thing" with Yamato again.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. As he was busy soaking up William Blake in the living room with the refreshing sounds of silence in the backdrop, he was starting to think that perhaps this was going to be one of those rare, peaceful, uneventful days.

Until he heard someone ring the doorbell.

Vergil was many things, but impolite wasn't (mostly) one of them. With great reluctance, he slammed his poetry book shut and moved to see who his unexpected visitor was.

The local couriers had already finished delivering the latest batch of newspapers around Fortuna, and neither Kyrie nor his son were expecting any packages to be delivered today. He had encountered what the humans called "girl scouts" at one point, but they fled in fear when he demanded to know which master they served, furthering his suspicion that they were simply demons donning the guise of little girls in order to get closer to their prey. Perhaps they had returned to exact their revenge. If that was the case, then it was fitting that the children weren't present today. He could go all out without worrying about major collateral damage.

However, what greeted him when he opened the door was worse than any demon.

"Heya, 'Verg!”

It was Dante. His brother; his arch-nemesis. The smell of pizza, alcohol, and broken dreams oozed from his unwashed coat and shaggy hair, while his face wore the same shit-eating grin that haunted Vergil in his deepest, darkest nightmares. After what happened in Redgrave city, they were mostly on better terms with each other, but his little brother’s wild shenanigans and extroverted demeanor still annoyed Vergil to no end. He was like a 12-year-old child living in a 40-something man's body.

His reaction was immediate and decisive: he slammed the door shut in his face.

Vergil was about to turn around and return to his poetry when the doorbell rang again. And again, and again, and again. The utter buffoon was mashing the doorbell. To his annoyance, his younger twin brother was nothing but persistent. He didn't know why he was here, or what he wanted from him, but he decided that he'd rather get it over with as soon as possible so that he could return to his peace and quiet. The sooner he was gone, the better.

“What?!” Vergil threw the door open, almost causing his brother to get knocked off his feet.

"Really, Vergil? Really?" The devil hunter regained his balance. "Is that any way to greet your brother?"

"No, but it is how I greet pests who interrupt my peace and quiet." Vergil seethed. "Why have you come here, little brother?"

"I wanted to hang out with my big bro.” Grinning, he held up a plastic bag. “I even brought snacks."

Vergil observed that the bag his little brother carried was full of goodies: junk food, and bottles of what he assumed to be alcohol, all of which were most likely stolen from a nearby convenience store considering Dante's current financial status. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if law enforcement would arrive to raid the orphanage later.

"Then I am afraid that your journey was in vain, brother," he said. "For I am currently not in the mood to entertain any guests on this wonderful, peaceful morning, especially not ones as disruptive as you."

Vergil closed the door again, this time a little slower. Halfway through, Dante suddenly stopped it with his foot.

"Come on, Vergil." He pleaded. "I came all this way just to hang with ya!"

"Then our souls are once again at odds, Dante!"

The older sibling pulled on the door with as much strength as he could muster, but his little brother had the same idea. They were locked in a battle of wills, with one side refusing to give way to the other.

Just like always.

"I don't have any new jobs today and Nero told me that the kids weren't around!" Dante responded. "When was the last time we sat down and talked or laughed over our jokes, or just drank some orange juice?"

Vergil made a mental note to hit his son the next they met. The fool, his own flesh and blood, had inadvertently betrayed him.

"And can you please just open the door?” the younger sibling yelled. “My goddamn foot hurts!"

Vergil fully intended on making him suffer, but relented and complied with his request.

"The last time we sat down and talked was when we were children," he said with a stern, as-a-matter-of-fact tone. "And if my memory is correct, it ended with both of us having a fistfight outside of the house."

"Oh yeah." Dante gave his big brother a friendly tap on the chest. "That was definitely your fault, though. I was supposed to get that last slice of cake."

Vergil glared in response.

"Okay, okay, fine.” The younger sibling threw his arms up in exasperation. “The point I'm trying to make is that you were gone for a long ass time and since we're not trying to off each other anymore like we used to, I figured that it'd be the perfect time to start acting more like normal siblings, you know?"

"And how certain are you that I won't sever your head when your attention is elsewhere, little brother?"

Awkward silence suddenly fell on both parties like a bomb had been dropped between them. The wind howled, as if waiting impatiently for Vergil to drop the punchline to his joke, but none came.

“T-t-that was a joke, right?” The devil hunter stammered.

"Yes.” Vergil nodded. “That was my attempt at humor."

"You should really work on your jokes."

"Perhaps I should."

"So are ya”-Dante clicked his tongue-“gonna let me in or not?"

Vergil sighed. Deep down, he knew that should he refuse, Dante would pester him until he gave in. Perhaps he was a 12-year-old child stuck in an old man's body. Either way, his hopes of having an entire day all to himself would be ruined, and he supposed that there were worse things that could happen today that didn't involve his dear little brother.

"Very well.” Vergil stepped aside, allowing his brother passage. “Make yourself at home."

Dante gladly accepted the offer. Unbeknownst to his big bro, however, he had ulterior motives today.

While he wasn’t lying when he said that he wanted to spend time with Vergil, there was one question that was always on the devil hunter’s mind: who was Nero’s mother? It was a topic he always brought up whenever he could, but it was also one that Vergil loved avoiding. Every time their past conversations would lead to that, the older twin shot it down faster than a bullet, mostly by changing the topic. Call him an insipid gossip, but his big brother’s peculiar reactions only threw more gasoline into the unquenchable blaze that was his curiosity. He wasn’t even close to getting him to confide his secret, but today was going to be different; Dante felt it in his old, aching bones. He had the entire day to find a hole in his bro’s armor. Plus, this time he brought a secret weapon: alcohol.

Walking into the living room, he wasted no time in picking a spot on the couch to plop down on, with Vergil following suit. The older twin made another mental note to ask Kyrie to give the couch a proper scrubbing when she arrives home later; it would be unfortunate if any of the little ones would sit on the spot his brother infected with his filth.

The younger twin promptly opened a fresh bag of junk food from his loot bag. As he devoured his prize with loud, disruptive crunches, his older brother could already tell that he was going to regret this decision.

“Want some?” He held out the bag to his brother.

Vergil was perplexed by the illustration of a large, triangular object that was displayed on the front side. He had heard of this 'junk food', but was never able to try any on account of Kyrie's insistence on keeping them away from the orphans.

Dante noticed his big bro’s quizzical expression.

"You haven't seen a bag of Doritos before?" he asked.

“My son often keeps these junk foods away from the children at Kyrie’s behest." Vergil answered. “I have seen him eat in secret, but I did not have any interest in asking for any.”

"Go on." His little brother urged, shaking the bag for good measure. "It won't hurt to give it a try."

Vergil hesitated at first, but slowly placed his hand in the bag and fished out a single Dorito, nibbling on the piece as a way of testing the waters. The moment it made contact with his tongue, Vergil felt as if a wave of colors washed over his mouth, painting his grey and colorless palettes with a captivating myriad of bright colors. It was the first time he had tasted such a thing and already his taste buds were in ecstasy from finally being given the honor to behold this hallowed object.

"Good, right?" Dante asked

"Indeed." Vergil chewed. "I am in awe at how exquisite this 'Doritos' tastes. May I have some more?"

The devil hunter tossed his big brother an unopened bag of Doritos, which he caught effortlessly and wasted no time in tearing open like a starving wolf descending upon an unsuspecting deer in the wilderness.

“See, isn’t this just perfect?” He moved closer to his brother, reaching out to casually place his arm on his shoulder. “The sons of Sparda, finally not trying to kill each other, just chillin’ like two normal dudes.”

“No.” Vergil slapped his arm way. “You are an eyesore. To add to that, you smell like the corpse of an animal who has been left in a garbage bin for too long.”

”I don’t smell that bad, do I?” Dante sniffed at his own coat. “Nah, you’re exaggerating. I took a shower before leaving.”

“In the sewers, perhaps.” Vergil scoffed.

Ignoring his brother’s scalding remarks, Dante scanned his nephew's living room. It was a little messy, but that was expected when you were living with a gaggle of children. To her credit, Kyrie was clearly doing her best to make the place look as spotless as possible despite the circumstances.

His attention fell on a framed picture of Nero, Kyrie, and his brother, taken in what he surmised to be the wreckage of one of the old Hell Gates during his run-in with Sanctus and his insane doomsday cult. From the looks of it, it seemed that the new governing body that replaced the Order of the Sword had converted it into a tourist site, almost as if they conveniently forgot that it was responsible for the deaths of thousands and cost the city millions in damages after it unleashed a horde demons on them.

"I see that the photo has caught your attention.” Vergil said between bites "That was taken last week when Kyrie insisted that they bring me along for shopping."

"How’d it go?"

"Horrible." Vergil answered bluntly. "I wanted to use the Yamato to procure a piece of jewelry that Kyrie could not afford, but Nero punched me with such strength that I was knocked out."

Dante bit back a laugh.

“He does have a mean right hook, I’ll give ya that,” he said. “Say, did they really turn what’s left of the Hell Gates into tourist sites?”

“It appears so.” Vergil answered. “They have become quite the popular destination here in Fortuna. Nero tells me that what happened in Redgrave caused demon-related phenomena to become quite popular, especially on what young people call ‘social media’.”

“Facebook, huh?” Dante walked over to the photo, examining it further. “I never really liked using it. Kyrie tried to make me an account once, but the first thing I clicked on was a link to a virus or whatever and it crashed Nero’s PC.”

“Then we share the same sentiment.” Vergil nodded. “All this new-fangled technology and the babble that comes with them confuses me to end. To this day, I still have no idea what a ‘hashtag’ is or how exactly one uses it when they wish to type in a message.

“I remember a time when this hashtag was just a sign used to connote numbers. Now, it is in tags or trending pages. Bah. I will never understand this new generation. They enjoy making simple matters complicated.”

“Simpler times, bro. Simpler times.” His younger brother concurred. “They even have this website where they limit the amount of words you can put on a post. How dumb is that?”

“About as dumb as you are, little brother.”

Stealing a glance at the booze he had smuggled in, Dante decided that now was the perfect time to attack. The ice had been broken. Operation: Nero’s Mom was just given the greenlight to proceed.

“We’re getting old, Vergil.” Dante returned to his seat. “The world’s moving on without us.”

“Perhaps.” Vergil licked off the bits of cheese that were stuck on his fingertips. “If anything, I simply wish to understand what a hashtag is. I cannot rest until I find out how it turns a text blue when it is used.”

”But you know what doesn’t get old?”

His older brother stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to give the answer to his own question.

“Booze,” Dante said.

“Specifically, whiskey.” He held up one of the bottles that he pulled out of the plastic. “I brought more than enough.”

Vergil sighed. He knew exactly what his little brother was suggesting.

“No,” he said without a hint of hesitation. “No drinking.”

“But I can’t help but feel that something’s missing.” He insisted. “My heart says that this moment of brotherly bonding is enough, but my soul yearns for more!”

“Your soul is in dire need of an exorcist, it seems.”

The regret that was creeping up on Vergil was now at a full-blown sprint. He knew not what shenanigans his little brother had in mind but knew enough to predict that, as always, it wouldn’t end well for either of them.

“Little brother, it is far too early for alcohol.” Vergil rubbed his temples. “Unlike you I do not require alcoholic beverages to enjoy my moments of leisure.

“Too early? It’s eleven o’clock!” Dante replied. “C’mon, pull that stick out of your ass, big bro. You gotta live a little!”

“I would rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than live like you.”

“You know what they say: alcohol is what turns a boring ol’ conversation into a party.” He stood and began to pace around the living room in a dramatic fashion. “How can our souls attune with one another if we don’t take a little drop of alcohol to loosen up?”

“Whoever said that is a fool and you are an even bigger buffoon for quoting such drivel.” Vergil placed the bag of Doritos on the empty spot beside him. “You are free to consume as much alcohol as you wish so long as you clean up, but leave me out of it.

“I’m sure you are well aware of Nero’s temper. Attracting his ire would be unwise.”

“Come on, ‘Verg.” Dante moved closer to his brother, jokingly putting on his best puppy-dog-eyes expression to poke him further. “Just one glass?”

Of course, Dante had been in enough drinking sessions to know that the “just one glass” mantra was a load of crap. “Just one glass” always turned into “Okay, another one but for real this is the last one.” and the cycle repeats ad infinitum. If his gamble paid off today, Vergil would fall into that same vicious cycle, which meant that he’d be more than likely to spill the details about his old flame now that he was a little loosened up or just outright drunk as a skunk. The devil hunter always had shit for luck when it came to gambling, but he legitimately felt that lady luck was on his side today. He was going to bet high and win big.

On the other hand, Vergil recoiled in horror. Terrified, annoyed, disgusted, and angry were just half of the words he’d use to describe his catharsis. Seeing the face his brother was trying to put on was akin to staring into the nebulous maw of the void itself. He wanted to throw-up on the spot, but that would mean amplifying his brother’s already pungent smell of decay, so he opted to hold it in as best as he could despite his feelings of utter disgust at the sight.

His brother’s persistence bothered him greatly; the fool would never stop bothering him about it until he conceded. His presence was already an annoyance as it is, but just as he did not wish to amplify the smell of death by covering him in vomit, he also did not wish to be annoyed even further by his constant bugging. Besides, as he much as he hated to admit, he did miss the feeling of having a drink. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means, but he still enjoyed a little alcohol from time to time, and part of him wasn’t opposed to tasting even just a single drop. In a strange, twisted way, Dante was correct: it had been some time since he had a drink.

Perhaps it would be best to humor him for now

“Fine-” Vergil let out a long, deep sigh- “I’ll have a glass, I suppose.”

“Alright!” Dante’s expression brightened. “Does Nero have a bottle opener here somewhere or are we going to use Yamato?”

“Left cupboard.” Vergil replied. “The glasses for drinking are on the right.”

Dante disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two glasses of whiskey. Vergil was surprised that he didn’t hear the contents of the cupboard crash into the floor. Taking into account of how much of a buffoon his little brother was, he half-expected him to leave a trail of destruction in the kitchen the likes of which no one has ever seen before.

“Here ya go, big bro.” Plopping back down on the couch, he handed him the other glass. “Fresh from the bottle.”

“How much did you pay for this?” Vergil examined the brown liquid. “I am surprised that someone with such gargantuan debts was able to afford premium alcohol.”

“Hey, the grocery I bought it in was selling it for half-off.” Dante shrugged. “Wanna go ahead and draw first blood?”

“If you insist.”

The older twin started with a small sip. It had been some time since his last taste of alcohol, but the feeling was just as he had remembered: warm, somewhat calming, like something was slowly lifting away the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders. Unlike his taste test earlier with the junk food, this was him reconnecting with an old friend, repainting the sections of his palette that were otherwise left neglected through years of disuse.

“Well, well, little brother." He smirked. “Despite your constant buffoonery, it seems that you aren’t completely devoid of intellect.”

“Quality stuff, I know.” Dante took a swig from his share. “It’s expensive as hell, but it’s worth it. Hits you like nothing else on the market.”

“I must concur.” His brother replied. “As much as it pains me to say so, you have fine tastes, brother.

“The last time I tasted alcohol this exquisite was somewhere in the east prior to my visit here in Fortuna all those years ago.”

“This sounds fun.” Dante raised his eyebrows. “Wanna tell me all about it?”

“If I must.” Vergil took another sip from his whiskey. “I would prefer not to, but I presume that I have no say this matter regardless.

"So, it all began when..."

Vergil recounted his tale, with Dante listening intently. As the two brothers were getting lost in their banter about the older twin’s untold experiences, they found themselves drinking more than they intended to, pouring glass after glass after glass. It was a stark contradiction to Vergil’s initial proclamation, who was already on his third refill. Eventually, they started branching out to different topics, which ranged from the mundane to outlandish. This went on longer than they expected, with time wordlessly evaporating in the backdrop.

Dante was beginning to notice that Vergil was a little loose now, to say the least; he was acting less haughty and more candid. He swore that his older sibling was even turning red as a tomato, but he couldn’t tell. After all, he wasn’t one to talk: he was already the feeling the hit of the booze himself. The devil hunter fancied himself to be a pretty decent drinker, but this stuff was no joke. He bought this solely to get the elephant in the room drunk enough to spill his guts out. Vergil didn’t drink as feverously, but he was still going at it more than he probably cared to notice. On certain occasions, he would become lost in thought and start droning on about things outside of the current topic. Hell, he was even starting to smile a little more than usual, which was a weird thing to see from someone whose default facial expression was a frown.

Before they even realized it, the sun was already beginning to set on Fortuna, and their faces were already flushing red from how much they had been drinking up to this point.

“In the end, we lost both the cake and the money.” Finishing his latest tale, Vergil poured himself another round. “It caused quite the ruckus.”

Dante burst out into fits of uncontrollable laughter. His brother wasn't an airhead by any means, but his attempts to reintegrate into modern society always resulted in utter hilarity.

”Don’t sweat it, big bro.” He wiped away a small tear in his eye. “Being a dad’s tough.”

“It is.”

"How is that workin’ out for ya these days?”-The devil hunter gulped down the last of his current round-“Being a dad, I mean.”

Vergil was silent for a moment. He stared off into the distance, combing his brain for a response that seemed distant to him. The older half-demon never really considered himself a ”father”, by any means; Nero would call him dad or pops and he would occasionally refer to him as son but from his perspective, their relationship was more akin to close housemates than family members. It was still an awkward topic for the both of them, to say the least.

Seeing this kind of reaction from his brother was a rarity, but it was a good sign, nonetheless. Lady luck was truly on Tony Redgrave’s side today.

"It is still a very foreign feeling to me." Vergil finally answered. "As always, Nero tries to act like we are a normal family. However, even now I still find it very perplexing that he is my son. He is loud and brash and has no sense of subtlety.

"I wonder why?" He shot his little brother a dirty glare.

"Don't look at me.” Dante shrugged. "The kid was already like that when I first met him. Angry, hot-blooded, always looking for a fight. He punches really hard, too."

"Yes." Vergil nodded. "But at the same time, there is something about that boy that I cannot explain. It's as if there's a part of my soul that resides inside him. I am unable to see it, but I feel it."

“You two couldn’t be any more different, but the kid’s definitely yours, big bro.” He gave his brother a wink. “He even has your eyes.”

Vergil was silent for a moment, as if lost in contemplation. He suddenly found himself feeling wistful. It was odd for him to be this sentimental about a past he barely cared about at the time and as sure as he was that this was simply him being debilitated by the alcohol, he still wasn’t able to stifle these almost alien emotions he was starting to uncover.

He finally said, “Brother, may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“How did you find my son?”

Dante refilled his glass of whiskey before beginning his tale.

"To be honest? By complete accident," he said. "When Lady tossed me a job about some serious stuff that was goin’ on down here that involved Devil Arms, I sent Trish to infiltrate the Order and get some dirt on 'em before moving in to do business. On the way, I saw this white-haired kid take care of a bunch of demons before going to some ceremony. It was good stuff.

"I barge into the said ceremony and killed the old dude who was running the show. There was obvious panic, a lot of screaming, but I didn't expect him to jump out of the crowd and start attacking me. We had a bit of a tussle, and he beat my face in with that arm of his which, by the way, hit really hard, but I got away. He started chasing me, though. Nero was an angry son of a bitch, so I had to knock some sense it to him more than once but like you said: spirit. I saw a lot of you in him."

Vergil smiled. Perhaps Nero has taken after him more than he initially thought, especially with how much he manhandled his uncle.

"I never even knew I had a son before I departed Fortuna," he said. "In truth, I never expected that one would confront me the way Nero did atop the Qliphoth. Perhaps I wasn't as resistant towards the desires of the flesh as I thought I would be back then."

There it was again. That sullen expression, as if his very soul was plucked from his body by an unseen force. He looked lost in thought, dreaming of someone or something in a distant memory that he could no longer attain.

"Yeah, well even you were young once, big brother.” He patted him on the back. “Don't let it get to ya."

This was it. The path was now open, and Dante wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip his grasp; he was going to ride this sudden burst of good luck all the way to the jackpot.

"Since I answered yours, do you mind if I pop a question of my own?" he asked.

“If you must.”

The devil hunter scooted over towards his brother. Vergil tried to move away, but found himself pressed against the couch’s armrest. His little brother was so close that he feared his coat would melt the moment it touched his on account of all the filth that had most likely accumulated on it from weeks of being unwashed.

“So, who was the lucky lady?” Dante whispered.

Vergil choked on his whiskey. At that moment, he realized his fatal error: he had been droning on so much that he inadvertently opened pandora’s box once more.

“What’s wrong, Vergil?” Dante placed his empty glass on the floor. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Er, I cannot seem to recall.” Vergil crossed his arms. “It did happen a long time ago, after all.”

“Come on, I know you’ve got something for me.” Returning to the photograph, Dante held it up towards his brother. "Who did you hook up with to get this kid?

He stalled by pretending to recall his memories in silence, but he knew that he was starting to run out of time. He needed to think of something right now.

In most cases, Vergil would find a smooth way out of this situation. He would take control over the conversation and shift it towards something else, gradually burying the original topic in a pile of mundane ones until it was laid to rest for the time being. Dante would exhume it in preparation for their next meeting, but the outcome was always the same either way. However, this case was different when one considers the copious amounts of alcohol coursing through his veins that clouded his train of thought. Hijacking the discussion was exactly what he planned on doing right now, but what he had in mind was far from eloquent.

“Before I give my response, allow me to retort with mine." Vergil answered. “What about you, little brother?”

“Excuse me?” Dante blinked.

Vergil’s expression unnerved him. His grin was unsettling, like it was full of malice and scandalous intent.

“Where is your child?” His older brother sneered.

“A kid?” Dante put the photo down and shrugged. “Never had one, never even thought of having one. My job doesn’t really give me time to settle down and raise a little rascal, does it?”

"So, you are surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women." Vergil continued. "Lady, Nico, and perhaps others you have crossed paths with inside and outside your line of work, and you still have not conceived a worthy heir to our father’s bloodline?”

“I get that." Dante sighed. "But I’m too busy, okay? I’m supposed to be the one protecting the human world or whatever, so a kid’s definitely out of the question.

”I mean hey, we have yours and he already has Kyrie, so the line is saved. There’s no need for another kid.”

“I see, I see.” Vergil nodded. “A fine answer, dear brother, but I believe that you are simply hiding a much, much more different truth that you do not wish to admit.”

"And what would that be?"

“Perhaps the truth is that”-Vergil walked over to his little brother, stopping at an arm’s length away from him.-“You are yet to pop your cherry, so to speak."

With that, lady luck had packed her bags and left for the nearest ferry out of Fortuna. The heat rushed to Dante’s face as he found himself on the receiving end of a topic that he was not keen on discussing, especially with his big brother. He tried to dig up a cool comeback, which was his supposed specialty, but found nothing except the cold, hard realization that his composure was completely broken.

Normally, a shallow, off-handed question like that wouldn’t bother the devil hunter in the slightest, but the booze in his system made it hard for him to think rationally, and he wasn’t just going to let the fact that his brother called him a virgin slide. They were both too drunk to even think about how petty starting an argument over this issue was for men of their age.

“O-o-of course I’ve had sex.” He stammered. “I just don’t have a kid, that’s all!”

Vergil, however, was having none of it and was already consumed by laughter. You didn't this see him this jovial much and, admittedly, in other circumstances, Dante would have felt a small trickle of joy to see his brother this happy. It was rare, like seeing an albino animal in the wild, or a Riot with a stubby tail: there was a sense of wonder that was attached to it; a once in a lifetime find that you'd treasure for the rest of your life.

But right now, all he wanted to do was bash his goddamn face in.

"Oh, dear brother." Vergil was wiping away tears. "Don't tell me that you're incapable of charming a woman?"

“I’ve been on dates before!”

“Then how about satisfying one?” Vergil sneered.

The sight of his little brother becoming flustered pleased him greatly. Dante's face was an even redder shade now as he struggled to mask his embarrassment. Oh the poor fool. Vergil was loving every second of this.

"I see how it is." He gave his brother a hard shove. "You had a one-night stand and got a kid out of it, so now you think you can act all high and mighty, don't ya?”

“Mother always said that I was the more handsome brother.” Unfazed, Vergil retorted. "It appears she was correct."

“We literally have the same face." Dante shot back. "We're twins, dipshit!"

"But I am the more charming sibling." Vergil responded. "With your face and that odor, it is not surprising that women are not attracted to you whatsoever."

"You're delusional." Dante seethed. "Living in the underworld for decades does that to ya."

"And you are in denial, little brother."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Admit it, Dante." Vergil flaunted. "I have inherited our father's charm more than you have, and I am much better at pleasing my partner in bed."

"Are you implying that I'm bad at sex?!"

Dante felt a nerve pop. He wasn't just going to stand here and take this shit from him. The younger brother wanted nothing more than to wipe that his smug expression off his face and make him choke on his words.

"It's not an implication." Vergil locked eyes with his sibling. "It's a fact."

They were both acting like children, but were too drunk on expensive whiskey to care. There, in the living room of the orphanage, a stand-off was taking place. Mirroring what happened atop the Temen-Ni-Gru all those years ago, the sons of Sparda stared each other down, neither willing to give the other ground. The tension was palpable. The silence was deafning, in a way: there was a calm before the storm where one could hear the drop of a pin even if it happened across the street.

Dante conjured his Devil Sword out of thin air. Its blade pulsed in a sickening red glow, signifying that it was ready and able to carry out its wielder's wishes. Seeing nothing but red and the blue hue of his brother's coat, he was determined to make him choke on his words.

The younger son of Sparda raised his weapon and pointed it at his older brother.

"You take that back." He threatened.

Vergil was unfazed and turned to retrieve his own weapon. Yamato was leaning snugly beside the couch, but now it was in its master's hands, unsheathed and poised to cut through whatever Vergil wished to destroy. He didn't intend on using it for the entire day even just for travel, but a change of plans was in order. Holding on to his staunch pride as the eldest sibling, he was determined to teach this insolent little pup a lesson.

"Empty threats mean nothing to me, Dante." Vergil retorted, assuming a battle stance of his own. "But you already knew that."

With the powder now lit, it was only a matter of time before it exploded.

-----------

The Devil May Cry van was steadily rolling down the streets of Fortuna with its proprietors at the helm. Nico took the next right, passing by the pizza place that served as their landmark; they were already a few blocks away from home.

On the front seat, Nero had just finished counting the cash they hauled in from their latest gig. Another day, another devil arms deal busted. This kind of job usually entailed a big fight with someone who knew how to use their new toy (to some degree), but in this case they were lucky that the thugs didn't know how to use their stuff and ended up killing themselves before the fight even started.

"Easiest paycheck ever." He slammed the briefcase shut.

"You bet your ass it was." Nico blew a puff of smoke out the window. "Those dumbasses didn't even know what the hell kinda heat they were packin'!"

"Yeah well, that just means more cash for us." The young devil hunter leaned backwards. "If all the jobs we took went down this smoothly, we'd never have to worry about getting hungry ever again."

He was glad that things sorted themselves out when the dumb bastards started to slice themselves in half by accident. He needed the money, but he hated this kind of job; it always made him feel more tired than he should be after everything wrapped up. Getting to go home with the sun still up was rare for them nowadays, but he welcomed it all the same. Kyrie and the kids weren't going to be home soon, which meant that he had the house all to himself. His dad was the only one left holding down the fort, but he'd sooner eat his own shoe than consider that Vergi of all people would be the one to cause any trouble.

"...in other news, a local grocery store has become the victim of a robbery that took place earlier this morning. Witnesses and CCTV footage have all confirmed that the criminal, who appeared to be a shadowy humanoid wearing a long coat, ran straight into the establishment and started stealing various junk food and several bottles of alcohol in plain sight, leading many to speculate that demons wer-"

At the mention of demons, Nero shot out of his seat and turned off the radio.

"I was listen' to that, shit-for-brains!" The mechanic snapped, tossing the burnt-out cigar to her partner out of spite. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Look, can we just not hear anymore talk about demons today?" He sighed. "I wanna block all that shit out from my head and just relax for once, okay?

"Whatevuh." Nico rolled her eyes. "Can I at least switch to the music station?"

"Sure, go ahead." Nero flicked away the burnt-out cigar that landed on his jacket. "It'd be nice to hear something that ain't your annoying accent for once."

"Hey, fuck you, asshole." Nico cursed. "Your jus' jealous cause your voice sounds dumb an' borin' in comparison."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

With music starting to flood the van's atmosphere, Nero drifted off and began to imagine all the things he could do without the children or Kyrie around. Maybe he'd go to the rec room first to boot up a videogame, or he could relax on the couch with a cold can of beer to help ease his nerves a bit. He usually wasn't allowed to drink any liquor, but there wasn't anyone there to stop him now. Oh, maybe he could do both. Both would probably be the best. Drinking some good beer wh-

A sudden brake snapped him out of his dream world, causing his skull to collide with windshield.

"Nico?!" He rubbed the spot on his head that had hit the glass.

"Don't lose your tits, hotshot." The artisan tossed another cigar out the window. "Get off your butt and look a' this."

Nero was back on his feet and peering outside through the windshield. He immediately saw what caused Nico's distress: the front door to the orphanage was open. Not just open, but it hanged from its hinges, like someone had forcibly done so during a struggle. Not only that, some of the windows were broken, and pieces of furniture were scattered along the street.

Frustration started to bubble inside him. He was looking forward to having peace and quiet and leisure greeting him, not the face of whatever ugly son of a bitch had decided to sniff around their home.

"What happened here?" Nico wondered out loud.

"Definitely wasn't a girl scout, that's for damn sure." He removed Blue Rose from her holster. "And here I thought that I'd get the day off."

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Nico pointed at the carnage "Your dad probably killed whatever knocked on your door, dumbass!"

"Maybe." Nero got up from his seat. "We won't know until we find out and I'm not gonna leave things on a gut feeling when we're living with a bunch of children who'd follow a stranger if he had candy."

Turning to his partner, he grinned.

"Hey, driver? Keep the meter running, will ya?" the half-demon teased.

"Just get the fuck outta here and do what you need to do." Nico flashed him a middle finger.

Dismounting the van, Nero revved Red Queen to life. With Blue Rose in hand, he slowly approached the orphanage, taking care to assess the situation properly and avoid any surprises that may have been left for him if there were any.

"This is your fault, you idiot!"

"You were the one who provoked me!"

No, I didn't! You did!"

"Foolish little brother! How dare you place all the blame on me?"

He heard bickering from inside. It was his dad's, for sure, but he swore that he also heard Dante.

The young devil hunter threw caution to the wind and made a beeline for the doorway. Upon entering, he felt an artery pop upon witnessing the horrors that had transpired inside his own home while he was gone.

A Category-5 hurricane had ravaged the orphanage. Leaks had sprung everywhere; holes dotted the walls and ceilings like they were blocks of cheese. As with the scene outside, pieces of broken furniture were thrown around everywhere, and the wall that seperated a portion of the living room from the corridor was no more. The ceiling above the dining room had collapsed completely, causing everything in the guest room to scatter all over the ground floor, including the bed. It was one hell of a ruckus.

"Dad?! Dante?!" He called. "You guys okay?!"

"In the living room, son!" Vergil answered.

We're upstairs!" Dante shouted. "Don't believe him, he's tired!"

Vergil and Dante began to bicker again, but Nero was too focused on the matter at hand to make out what they were saying. He dashed towards the living room with urgency, worried about the safety of his dad ad uncle, and...

He stopped dead in his tracks. This time, he felt all his arteries explode at once as pure, unadulterated rage began to course through his system.

The living room was a right and proper mess, but the highlights of this destruction were his dearly beloved father and ever-reliable uncle. Dante was sprawled on the floor, impaled with Yamato and looking like he had been fighting an entire army of demons by himself the whole day. Vergil, also looking like absolute shit, was high up on the wall, held in place by the Devil Sword Dante that was embedded in his chest. They looked utterly exhausted from their fight. Nero could spied a bottle of whiskey, as well as several broken ones that were scattered around the scene. They got drunk and had a fight while everyone had their backs turned.

The two brothers immediately ceased their bickering and turned in sync to see Nero, their precious little boy, with an expression of pure hatred that would make even Mundus himself turn around and run back to his mother.

"Oh shit." Dante uttered.

"Welcome home, son!" Vergil faked a smile. "How was work?"

Nero was in hysterics. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. This was much, much worse than he imagined it to be. The orphanage was beyond trashed. They were already in the red with the finances as it is, but now all the money they had left was going straight to fixing the mess that these two had left behind.

"Hey dad, hey Dante." He pointed at the still-intact bottle of liquor. "Watcha got there?"

"Er, a smoothie?" His uncle let out a weak laugh.

"Wrong answer, motherfucker."

Nero's voice was calm, but his maniacal grin said otherwise.

With a bright flash of purple, the young half-demon shed his humanity and assumed his Devil form, opening his ethereal wings to their full wingspan.

"Alright, assholes." The arms that grew out of his wings cracked their knuckles in anticipation. "Which one of you is payin' for all this shit?"

Dante raised his right hand.

"Okay, okay. So, here's how this is gonna work." Nero approached his loving family, making sure that each step was slow and deliberate. "I'll be using my left hand on ya and only my left so that after I'm done, you'll be conscious enough to pay me from your fucking hospital bed. We clear on that, old man?"

"Please don't kill me, Nero." Dante begged. "It was your dad's fault."

"Show me mercy, son. I beg you." Vergil chimed in. "It was your uncle who started this."

"Oh, it doesn't matter which one of you did this or that." Nero cackled "'Cause as far as I'm concerned, you're both gonna need more than just a Gold Orb when I'm through beating both your asses!"

With that, the arms on Nero's wings reached out and grabbed both brothers by their collars.

-----------

Nico was enjoying her 'cigs when she saw Dante fly out the window and land hard on the pavement.

"Nero, please!" he pleaded, trying in vain to crawl his way out of the carnage.

One of the arms from Nero's wings reached out to grab him by the ankle, slamming him around the street like a toy before pulling him back in through the same window he flew out of.

"Who told you I was done?! Get your fuckin' ass back here, old man!"

The mechanic took one last whiff of her cigar. Tossing it out in the street, she rolled up her window and turned on the radio again.

"What a bunch o' weirdos." she mused as the music began to fill her ears, drowning out the anguished wails of Nero's father figures.

#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #vergil #dante #dmc nero #fanfic #dmc fanfiction #oneshot #writing #creative writing #one shot #fan fiction

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memorylang · 5 years ago

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Teaching Chinese in Mongolia | #7 | September 2019

As I visit the capital to co-present at the English Language Teachers’ Association of Mongolia’s international conference, I take a different turn with today’s blog. Here’s one of my favorite community development projects with Peace Corps Mongolia: teaching Chinese.

Through today’s stories, I recount episodes teaching and practicing Chinese. I also reflect on learning Mongolian. I love in Peace Corps when I use concurrently my “Big Three” multilingual skills in English, Chinese and Mongolian. I hope throughout life I continue these.

Chiefly, of course, I serve in Mongolia to teach English. In fact, I teach it nearly 30 hours a week. I co-teach English, co-lesson plan, develop resources, chat with students, answer questions and advise student clubs. My students sometimes practice their reading skills on this blog, hehe!

But, as I’ve written so often of my city, I’m very fortunate, very blessed. Chinese remains a constant tie for me to my mother and her family, so being able to practice and share it gives great life. With these graces, I serve.

An Exciting Multilingual Moment

One day, one of my school administrators stopped by our department office to translate a note from Mongolian to English. Usually, I might help with my fellow English instructors, but they were elsewhere. One of the instructors, who has her desk near me in our office and teaches Russian, mentioned I know Mongolian, I think. So, our colleague approached me. She teaches Japanese, by the way. Our department is so friendly.

Looking at the handwritten slip signed by our school director, two things felt apparent. One, I can finally read Mongolian cursive! But, two, the note still had unfamiliar words. My confusion must have sounded evident, because soon our department's Chinese instructor walked over. She knows my Chinese is better than my Mongolian. After all, we teach together weekly. So, in Chinese, she discussed with me the unfamiliar Mongolian words.

With that, I finished typing the note in English then sent it to our colleague. What an experience! I returned to my apartment musing what a strange and exciting opportunity to help I had.

Chinese Adventures—Since Week 1

I’ve been having these Chinese moments since the beginning. On our school’s first day, after I taught that English class I recounted in my past story, I returned to our department office for passing period. My first supervisor, having returned from her meeting, shared important news. Our university’s Chinese language program merged with our newly merged Humanities Department! I felt stunned!

An afternoon after the merge, our department rearranged desks so we would work in the same room. And, day-by-day, my fellow instructors introduced me to our colleagues. I could teach with them! Now, I’ve worked among colleagues who instruct all the above languages. Some even teach pedagogy, psychology and international relations. Our students study to become language instructors and global communicators, even businesspeople. All who study English are my students.

Practicing Chinese in Mongolian

Visiting Chinese classes, I love how I forge the missing link in my language abilities. At the university, my Chinese students are third-year majors studying intermediate Chinese and third-year business majors and international relations freshmen studying basic. Hearing my colleagues explain to students the meanings of familiar Chinese vocabulary and grammar using unfamiliar Mongolian, I find myself rapidly repairing my rifts between.

Likewise, I truly enjoy helping my students practice Chinese. Amusingly, as when I studied in China, people seem so amazed by my notetaking. They show my notebooks to others and even photograph them. I hope they help! I’m most helpful teaching pronunciation, which I struggled with as well, before my summers in China. Now, I recognize native pronunciation. Since my Mongolian is so patchy, I wind up speaking straight Chinese sometimes! And though I accidentally teach like a native, I do find myself emulating Chinese instructors from my past.

I also feel astounded how, no matter how many places and times I’ve studied Chinese, I keep feeling I know nothing before I recall I know plenty. For, Chinese speaking styles offer differ. I must read and hear new vocabulary before applying again my familiar expressions. Haha, my winter and spring in 臺灣 Táiwān this year even caused me trouble recalling the common 北京 Běijīng accent again! What a wide world.

Dream Come-True

Yet my tales don’t stop there. After finishing that first week of classes, English and Chinese, I took a break after Mass on Sunday to visit the foreign language room of our city library across the street from church. Maybe I was journaling. The librarian came up to me and asked about the clubs our fellow Peace Corps Volunteers were doing. And during our chat in Mongolian, there entered four high school students, who asked whether we had a Chinese speaking club. I mentioned I know Chinese. Even the librarian said she wanted to learn!

Fast-forward to now, and I’ve been teaching community Chinese lessons at the library to local Mongolians every Sunday after Mass and fellowship. Working adults come, too, to our lessons. But of course, I could host none of these without the support of many gracious and talented community members. By my second week teaching Chinese, I’ve had a team of club leaders helping translate my Chinese characters to Mongolian equivalents. By week three, they’re even teaching our lesson themselves! I’m awed my greatest Peace Corps pipe dream came true.

Consolation

I almost cried on my way home, the Sunday I first taught our Chinese speaking club. In the blackness, as my boots avoided the usual glass while crunching along the dirt, I reflected on the day. It was, too, my first day I experienced Catholic Mongolian language tutoring; then, after Chinese Club, I hiked to a Buddhist temple and even helped, that night, my shopkeeper learn English. Somewhere within me, I love these multilingual, multi-religious adventures. Maybe they’re consolation. Life’s next steps may be magical.

Next: Conference Presentation and Teachers’ Day Performance!

This weekend, I’ve returned to Mongolia’s capital for my first time in a month and a half. Here, I’m presenting with my fellow instructors how to teach creative writing. I trust this blog makes my love of such self-evident...

Lovely for me, the weekend coincides with the memorial to Mongolia’s bishop. I have the opportunity to attend Mass with my city’s parish alongside Catholics from around the nation.

But, as for conference, I’ll get to meet Peace Corps Volunteers from the cohort before me, which always excites me. I’ll even reunite with friends from Номгон! My favorite people are at the university where I’m presenting. I’m ecstatic to meet.

Guess what? I’ve been rehearsing a performance, too, for Teachers’ Day. Anticipate my debut next week, in October!

First Autumn, Looking Inward Months 3 through 5 | August, September, October

Swear-In for Peace Corps Mongolia | #42 | August 2020

University Instructor: Identity and Settling In | #5 | August 2019

Loving First Week, University Instructor! | #6 | September 2019

Teaching Chinese in Mongolia | #7 | September 2019

Piercing Nights Amid Autumn’s Sights | #8 | September 2019

A Broken Language and Water’s Phases | #9 | October 2019

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simonsokay · 8 years ago

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everything stays

pairing: snowbaz words: 2400 summary: baz and penelope try to surprise simon at christmas and on his birthday, but simon is the one who ends up surprising them. a story about the slow process of recovery and some thoughts on the nature of hope. (inspired by this song from adventure time.) genre: mostly fluff, a touch of hurt/comfort and a little angst that (spoiler) turns out ok notes: this is the first fic i’ve posted on this blog and it’s pretty important to me, seeing as i am firmly in the Simon Snow Salisbury Deserved Better camp when it comes to the ending of carry on, so here is my revisionist self adding post-canon simon angst (plus resolution to said angst) and snowbaz fluffiness.

Simon

“Come off it, Baz. This is kind of ridiculous.”

“Says the boy who ate nine scones this morning in an attempt at ‘preparedness’ for the day.”

“As if nine scones is excess.”

Baz sighs, and I feel him wrap his pinky finger around mine. “For you, I suppose it isn’t.”

I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling. I am, too. “You really shouldn’t take your hand off the wheel. It’s reckless driving.”

He scoffs, and just to spite me, takes my entire hand in his. “You think this is reckless driving?”

I’m silent for a moment, remembering Baz at the most reckless I’ve ever seen him—exactly a year ago, in this same car, on the way back from London and a failed vampire interrogation. Tears falling silently from his eyes. Then nothing but flames. I shake my head aggressively, as if that will clear the memories out from my mind. “I guess not.”

“Careful,” Baz warns. “You’ll shake off your blindfold.”

“Baz.”

“Snow.”

“I take it back; this is really ridiculous.”

“The blindfold was Bunce’s idea,” he says, sounding amused with himself (and possibly me as well). “I take full credit for the rest, however. And anyways.” He squeezes my hand. “I wouldn’t trust you not to go and ruin your own surprise.”

I snort. “And what’s with surprises in the first place? It’s not even Christmas eve.”

I know Baz has a wicked grin plastered onto his face without even peeking. “No. But it’s our anniversary.”

The ride passes mostly in happy silence after that, Baz’s hand intertwined in mine. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now, just sitting in the dark silence. Normally this might make me uneasy, put me on edge. (The darkness, not the silence. Silence is alright.) It doesn’t, though, especially with Baz right here—solid in my hand. Real. Not a ghost slipping through my fingers, disappearing around corners. He’s right here, right now. And so am I.

The car slows to a smooth halt, and Baz’s hand finally slips out of mine. “We’re here.”

“Can I—”

“No, keep it on.”

I can hear Baz open the car door and step out onto crunchy gravel. For a brief moment, I’m in the darkness alone. Then more crunch, crunch, crunch, and a wave of cool air washes over me as Baz swings open the passenger side door. Winter pinches at my cheeks, my nose. There’s something in the air here, a sort of crackling, a humming. It’s like a tiny, barely perceptible vibration in my fingertips, my bones, my teeth. I feel a couple of snowflakes land on my face and promptly begin to melt. “Are you coming, Snow?” I reach my arm out the open door and start feeling around until I’m clutching the sleeve of Baz’s wool coat. Once I’ve found him, I quickly climb out of the car.

“Where are we?” I say softly, and the snowfall muffles the sound enough that it’s barely any louder than a whisper. My hand travels down Baz’s sleeve until I’m holding his hand again. I’m surprised to find that he hasn’t put gloves on. I shove my other hand into the pocket of my pea coat, clenching and unclenching my fist so it doesn’t freeze up in the cold.

“You’ll see.”

Baz starts leading me away from the car, and I follow him, making sure my steps don’t seem uncertain. The cool air fills my lungs, making me feel lighter, somehow. I can smell pine and grass and the ever-so-faint smell of smoke. Baz leads me forward a few more paces, and the gravel we walk upon turns into a cobbled footpath. I feel something brush against me and jolt, startling Baz, only to realize that it’s just greenery. The smells around me become more complex, floral, and I can hear what I’m pretty sure are birds fluttering around. The hum in the air is still there, and it’s oddly comforting. It makes me feel somehow more whole, more solid—like I’m not going to just blow away with the next breeze. Finally, we reach what I can sense is some sort of clearing, and Baz carefully helps to seat me on a stone bench, brushing the snow off of the surface before he does so. “Alright, Simon,” he says. his hand brushing up against my cheek unexpectedly. (I don’t flinch.) Running his cold up the sides of my face, he slides off the blindfold.

At first the sunlight stuns me, then I realize.

We’re at the Pitch mansion. It doesn’t take me more than a second to recognize the soaring gables and towers looming over the horizon (Victorian, Baz called it), and we’re in a part of the grounds I’ve never been before. It’s a courtyard garden that seems to connect to one of the outbuildings, which in turn is connected to a breezeway that disappears behind some trees. After gaping all around me in surprise, I turn to Baz, who has a soft smile on his lips. He holds my blindfold in his hands. “Why are we here?” I ask him, grasping at his arm as he places a hand on my knee.

Baz’s smile grows a tiny bit wider. “Because everyone else is,” he says, “my whole family. Daphne and Mordelia are waiting inside to say hello; I told them we were coming.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Simon.” Baz takes my hand in both of his. “They’ve all moved back here. The magic returned. This is the first dead spot to completely… Regrow.”

I’m silent for a moment before saying what I’ve been holding back since the second I realized it. “I can feel it.”

“What?”

I feel the prickling of tears beginning to form behind my eyes. “I can feel it. The magic.” And it’s true. It’s truer than true.

Baz’s jaw actually drops and suddenly he’s squeezing my hand quite tightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, gripping onto him like he’s a life preserver in this ocean of magickal energy that’s suddenly all around me after being gone for a year, suddenly overwhelming. “It feels… Different. But it’s there.”

Immediately he throws his arms around me, holding me close to his chest, whispering in my ear. “Do you know what this means?”

I shake my head. None of us could know what this means. How could we?

“It means that maybe you could heal, all the way. That maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing—you could be stable—”

I pull back a little, looking directly into his eyes. “We don’t know that. We can’t just…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Baz says, resting his forehead against mine. “This means hope.” I’m truly crying now, gasping for air as hot tears trickle across my cold skin. Baz reaches up a hand to hold my cheek, smudging away a tear with his thumb. “Love, don’t you want this?”

I sob, clutching at him, needing him close, even though he’s as cold as the snow. “More than anything.”

Moments pass, heartbeats. Baz holds me, rocking us gently back and forth. After I’ve relaxed, come loose in his arms, he rests his chin on top of my head. “We should probably get going up to the house,” he murmurs, gently brushing his fingers through my hair. “Daphne and Mordelia are waiting.”

I nod silently, still holding tight, and we get up together. “Just promise you won’t tell anyone?” I say, letting go of him with reluctance. (He’s still holding my hand.) “Especially Penny.”

Baz furrows his brow. “Why not Penny?”

“Because Professor Bunce would go mad.”

“Which one?”

“Both!”

Baz laughs, squeezing my hand. “Okay. I won’t.” He leans in slowly and his lips meet mine. It’s a soft kiss—no hunger, just patience. Still, his hands are trembling.

As we part, I brave a smile. Baz smiles back, tilting his forehead against mine, holding me against him by the hips. I can feel his presence in my bones, and the two of us are wrapped in magic. I look into his eyes, still smiling. “Let’s not keep Daphne waiting.”

Six months later.

Baz

Twenty. It’s hard to believe that Simon’s actually twenty years old today. It’s hard to believe he’s made it this far—that either of us have. Back at Watford, I could have never dared to imagine a twentieth year for the two of us to live, and one year ago today—Simon’s nineteenth—his survival still seemed uncertain. At least he had Penelope to keep an eye on him then. Now he has me, too.

Not to say he didn’t have me last year. It’s just easier for me to watch out for him now that we live in the same room again. (Every bedroom I’ve slept in has felt empty without Simon). It’s obviously possible to be together without living together, but sleeping (or laying awake) next to Simon at night is just one of those things that’s been the same for so long, I don’t ever want it to change. The difference between Watford and now is that we sleep a little closer together.

Of course, there’s another important adjustment involved in living with Simon, an adjustment named Penelope Bunce.

“Baz!” She calls from the kitchen, and I can hear her footfalls on the tile. I sigh and turn towards the doorway, closing the textbook on my desk with a thud. “Baz,” she repeats as she throws the door open without bothering to knock. “Simon’s on his way back.”

“Crowley!” I curse under my breath, springing from my desk chair. “How long’s he been there, ten minutes?”

“Listen, the grocery list I gave him was lengthy and convoluted enough to keep him busy for an hour!” Penelope says, tugging at her knee sock. “But he just texted to tell me that he couldn’t find any fresh tarragon and so he’s headed to the checkout.”

“Merlin and Morgana… Do you have the cake?”

“Yes, and candles, but—”

I brush past her and towards the kitchen. My eyes snap to the cake on the counter—a thing made without magic, picked up from the closest bakery. I advocated for cheesecake, but Penelope’s wishes won out and the cake before us is a multi-layered fest of chocolate ganache and maraschino cherries. “It makes the most sense to get something we can all enjoy,” she had argued. “Simon likes cherries, I like chocolate, and you get a chance to snob about how it’s not true black forest cake in the traditional sense.” We’d both been able to agree that candles were a necessity. I never was around for his birthday during our Watford years, seeing as Simon was born in June, so I had no clue what sort of birthday parties he usually had. It wasn’t until last summer that he told me he’d never had one. Hence the twenty candles that now stand watch around the perimeter of the cake, and the paper party hat that Penelope is shoving into my hands. I immediately discard it on the counter, then feel guilty. I’m distracted from my own moral dilemma as I notice the candles are still unlit. Without thinking, I make a fire on my fingertips and draw it in a circle above the candles, lighting each and every one. I feel Penelope’s disapproving stare and I turn towards her, annoyed. “Simon’s going to be here any second—”

“Yes, but Baz—”

We both freeze mid-sentence as we hear the jangling of keys at the door. I lunge for the party hat as Penelope flies for the light switch, and a split second later, she’s dragging me by the shoulder behind the couch. I have to fight my reflexes with every ounce of my being to avoid whirling around and punching her in the jaw. Attacking his best friend and our roommate would be quite the way to ruin Simon’s birthday, and causing bodily harm to Penelope isn’t exactly something I’d like to do.

Penelope and I stay crouched behind the couch for an agonizing moment as Simon discards one of his grocery bags on the ground by the doorway and fumbles around for the light switch, slowed by confusion—I can tell he’s wondering where his we are. After what feels like an hour but is actually closer to a minute, the lights come on and…

“Surprise!” Penelope shouts, springing from her hiding place. I echo her as I stand with slightly more contained enthusiasm. Simon drops the grocery bag still in his hand, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed from walking.

“Hey—Merlin, what’s this?” he asks, a smile beginning to spread across his glowing face. I can’t help but smile back at him. Penelope gestures towards the kitchen table as I wave my wand in Simon’s direction with an as you were and his wings and tail pop back into visibility.

“Sit, birthday boy,” Penelope says. “I’ve still got to fetch the presents.” As soon as she bustles out of the kitchen, Simon smiles up at me from his seat, this smile a little softer, more private. “Baz,” he says.

“Happy birthday, love.” I lean down to brush a kiss against his lips. Just as Simon begins to press up into me, Penelope makes her return, laden down with parcels that we stayed up late last night to finish wrapping after Simon fell asleep.

“Baz, help me with these!” She demands from beneath her burden. I oblige, taking two boxes from her hands and relocating them to the kitchen counter.

“You two didn’t have to do all this,” Simon says matter-of-factly, but he’s still smiling—his soft smile. His sunshine smile.

“Of course we did,” I reply, rolling my eyes as I take a seat at the table, the legs of my chair dragging across the tile floor. I smile back.

Penelope takes a seat next to Simon and nudges his shoulder affectionately. “Aren’t you going to blow out your candles?”

“Right,” Simon says, and closes his eyes as if to concentrate. I place my hand on the tabletop, and without looking, he takes it in his. He takes a deep breath, screwing his eyes even tighter shut, his face pure focus. “Make a wish,” he whispers, his words carried on the faintest trace of a breath. The candles go out.

#if you reblog my writing i'll love you forever and ever!!!#pls tell me what you think of this i worked really hard on it #baring my soul here for you guys #simon snow #penelope bunce #baz pitch #snowbaz #rainbow rowell #fan fiction #fic #fan fic #mine #carry on #writing #angst #fluff #everything stays #simonsokay

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banshee-cheekbones · 8 years ago

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like it says on the tin, this is a complete list of what I’ve written between the beginning of January and the end of March. I decided to start doing this because a lot of my recent works have only been posted on ao3, and I wanted some record of them on my blog, so expect one of these each quarter!

some statistics:

total number of fics: 47

total number of fandoms: 14

total word count: 81,798

most common pairing: Betty/Veronica (Riverdale) - 5 fics

and now, for the fics!

All For The Game

illuminated in the light. Allison/Renee. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. There's something to be said about how beautiful Renee looks in the passenger seat of Allison's convertible on a bright spring day.

American Horror Story

Feed the Gods. Alex Lowe/The Countess. 250 words. Rated T. ao3. Alex thought she knew what hunger felt like.

Brooklyn 99

leather & lace. Amy/Rosa. 250 words. Rated T. ao3.

Rosa has never understood the appeal of lacy underwear.

sharing is caring. Amy/Rosa. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. Amy comes in with two cups of coffee, a bag of pastries tucked into the pocket of the leather jacket she's wearing.

Rosa's leather jacket. Her formal leather jacket.

From Dusk Till Dawn

living on the edge. Kisa/Sonja. Rated T. 250 words. ao3. The American border is still three hours away, and in a little less than four, the sun is going to rise, which means Kisa and Sonja need to be back on the road sooner rather than later.

But what's a road trip without a little danger?

Eyewitness

Inconvenient Timing. Helen/Kamilah. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. In which Tony tries to be a good deputy and ends up interrupting Helen and Kamilah at a rather inopportune time.

Gotham

Harder. Barbara/Tabitha. 250 words. Rated M. ao3. "Quit being a tease. Do something, or I'm not letting you tie me up again."

the kings are dead (long live the queens). Barbara/Tabitha. 960 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr. Oswald Cobblepot is sleeping with the fishes, and pieces of Edward Nygma are scattered across four of the six garbage dumps that surround Gotham.

For Barbara and Tabitha, it's time to celebrate.

Hannibal

count my scars. Beverly/Reba. 250 words. Rated T. ao3. Before they make love for the first time, Reba touches her.

darker than the bottom of the ocean. Bedelia/Freddie. Rated T. ao3. "Ms. Lounds? Do you know where you are?"(Freddie awakens in pure, damp darkness, with no memory of how she got there.)

How to Destroy Your Gods. Bedelia/Freddie. 4001 words. Rated T. ao3. If you live long enough, you begin to see the same eyes appear in different people.

Bedelia has become accustomed to it.

But that doesn't meant she expects to open her door on a brisk spring morning and find herself staring into piercing blue eyes that she has been running away from for five hundred years.

Sentinel. Alana/Margot. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. Margot has never been a heavy sleeper.

the hunter becomes the hunted. Bedelia/Freddie. 250 words. Rated T. ao3. "Ms. Lounds," she says, the broken tape recorder crunching underneath her feet as she moves again, propelling Freddie back towards a red couch set against the wall, "not only was that illegal, but it was very rude."

HTGAWM

exchanging body heat (in the passenger seat). Annaliese/Eve. 533 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr. Annalise has always had a way of making Eve violate even her most precious of principles.

Preacher

just keep pushin’. Emily/Tulip, 250 words. Rated G. ao3. "I can't believe none of the tow truck drivers in this piece of shit town work on Sundays."

right where we belong. Emily/Tulip. 2956 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr. Tulip O'Hare possesses a long, long list of talents and skills (some more illicit than others), but if there’s one thing she’s perfect at, it’s slotting into Emily’s life like she was meant to be there from day one.

Riverdale

Fruition. Betty/Veronica & Cheryl/Josie. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. "God, I wish they would just kiss already."

Privilege. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated M. ao3. All of Veronica's past privileges are nothing compared to the privilege of having Betty Cooper in her life.

six, seven, eight. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. "Kevin, it's not even noon, and she's already given me six separate presents."

the rhythm of the night. Betty/Veronica. 3944 words. Rated E. ao3.

together & apart. Betty/Veronica. 250 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. "Only 29 days until we're together again."

Star Wars

meaner than my demons. Phasma/Rey. 250 words. ao3. "You're going to take me to Kylo Ren."

Supernatural

Battle Scars. Anna/Jo. 500 words. Rated G. ao3. "Heaven has been at war for millennia," Anna says. "We've all sustained battle scars, at one point or another."

Contingencies. Charlie/Dorothy. 2027 words. Rated T. ao3. Charlie has no less than two dozen contingency plans for the zombie apocalypse. She's been preparing for this shit for years.

So go figure that she would sleep through the start of it and find herself backed into a corner, caught completely unaware and with only a tire iron as a weapon.

Thankfully, that's where the mysterious stranger with the old gun comes in.

tragic as a slaughterhouse. Castiel/Dean. 10,355 words. Rated E. ao3. Dean has been running from Castiel for six months.

Teen Wolf

Allison/Cora/Kira

Pray for The Sun. 986 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr. "I know this might be hard for you to understand, but there are worse things in the world than being a vampire."

Allison/Kali

stripped down to the bone. 250 words. Rated T. ao3. Kali doesn't need to see Allison's face to know that the future matriarch of the Argent clan is enjoying herself.

want to break you down (brick by brick). 1228 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr. Kali is sick of sneaking around, of sliding through Allison's window in the dead of night, of having to conduct their relationship in near silence.

She wants to hear Allison scream for her.

Allison/Kira

give you my love. 250 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr. "Allison," Kira pants, fingers scrabbling against the rickety supply closet shelf, "we have to stop. You have to teach in five minutes."

Allison/Lydia

Downtime. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. "Lydia, you have to get better shoes."

six hundred miles. 735 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr. When someone knocks on Allison's door one early Saturday morning, she expects to see Scott and Stiles standing on the other side of the door, or maybe a delivery person bearing gifts from Lydia.

Instead, she's met with Lydia herself.

Allison/Lydia/Scott

waiting for the night. 2332 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. Allison has been trying unsuccessfully for months to find new friends, to make some kind of meaningful connection in a city where she knows absolutely no one.

As it turns out, all she needs to do is stop trying, and the connections come to her.

Allison/Stiles

what’s yours is mine (what’s mine is yours). 2803 words. Rated E. ao3 & tumblr. When Allison arrives home after a long day of work, Stiles intends on asking how her day was and devouring some of the chocolate chip cookies she's brought home.

Allison, on the other hand, has other ideas.

Cora/Erica/Lydia

Porcupine. 832 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. Erica has woken up to a number of strange things in her life. But an arm full of splinters?

Well, that's a first.

Cora/Lydia

Neutrality. 1451 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. Lydia is solely blaming Cora Hale and her notorious impatience on the fact that it's taking every ounce of her willpower to stop her teeth from chattering like a freaky wind-up toy.

When You Walked In. 733 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. Cora expects the first meeting of the school year to be just as boring and pointless as the countless others she's been forced to sit through since she became a teacher.

But that's before what (or, rather, who) she did on her summer break walks through the staff room door.

Derek/Stiles (and Isaac/Scott)

Begin Transmission. WIP. 15/26 chapters. 35,832 words. Rated E. ao3. After the events with the alpha pack and the darach, Stiles is thrust into his new role as the emissary for Scott's pack. It's a demanding position, one that requires years and years of study.

Gen

Claustrophobia. Allison-centric. 349 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr. Allison wakes up in pure, all-encompassing darkness.

Jennifer/Kali

could have, should have. 250 words. Rated T. ao3. In another life, perhaps they could have loved each other properly.

Kali/Violet

taste of a poison paradise. 250 words. Rated M. ao3 & tumblr. "It burns," Kali hisses, breath whistling harshly through her teeth as she tries to pull away from the intricately knotted, wolfsbane infused ropes binding her wrists to the headboard.

Lydia/Malia

any day, every day (is a perfect day). 1405 words. Rated T. ao3 & tumblr. Even though they’ve been living together for two months now, Malia can’t remember the last time, aside from sleeping, that she spent more than four consecutive hours with Lydia.

Therefore, when the opportunity to spend an entire day together arises, Malia jumps for it.

Malia/Kira

chasing the rabbit. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. Even after Foxfire is manually overridden and shut down, Malia doesn't stop screaming.

make my heart sing. 1083 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. When Malia comes home to the smell of Kira bleeding, she inadvertently discovers that Kira was planning on proposing to her on the weekend.

Since the secret's out, she figures there's no point in waiting longer.

Melissa/Talia

First Impressions. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. "Melissa," Talia says from the armchair in the corner of Melissa's bedroom, wry smile playing at her lips, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that you've met my children before. Many times, in fact."

The Walking Dead

Background Noise. Carol/Lori. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. Carol is exhausted, but she can't help but take a few moments to savor being beside Lori.

no need for a fuss. Daryl/Jesus. 253 words. Rated G. ao3 & tumblr. Every time Daryl looks in the mirror now, there’s a few more gray hairs looking back at him.

so pull me closer. Amy/Beth. 250 words. Rated G. ao3. Amy has just settled into her sleeping bag when her tent starts rustling.

#mine #mine: masterlist #twfemslashwritersnet #twfemslashcreatorsnet #this makes me want to write even more #it's a form of accountability #long post

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