#that could conjure the images of other enemies and it was really confusing to try to beat them

[theratsareinspace]

Cigar Smoke and Metal-Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Check out the Masterlist for the complete fic!

Chapter 4

The days passed by uneventfully. You woke up, cooked his breakfast, did laundry, cooked his lunch, cleaned, cooked his dinner, swept, and went to bed. In that order. Every day. You learned that the Veiled woman had given you the clothes and extra furnishings in your room, and that her name was Donna Beneviento, the dollmaker lord of the village. Though she hated the factory, she pushed past her inhibitions to visit you as often as she could. She would bring fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as furniture she didn’t need that you used to spruce up your living space. You often enjoyed each other’s company in an abandoned room with a large skylight, which you dubbed the sun-room. After bringing in a small table, rug, and some chairs, it almost felt cozy. Heisenberg never came up there, making it a perfect spot for tea on Donna’s better days.

“Alcina is still angry that you were given to Heisenberg instead of her. She has brought it up at every meeting since your arrival.” Donna remarked as she lifted her veil to sip her tea.

“… Alcina? Is that the big vampire lady?”

“Yes. Many of the mortals who stumble across the village are sent to her, if not to Moreau for Cadou experiments.”

“Is Moreau the fish guy? Heisenberg won’t tell me anything about the other Lords. Or Miranda.”

“It is better that way. Our family is quite confusing.”

Angie, who had been still up until then, nodded vigorously. “That ugly freak is Moreau!”

“He seems… interesting. Do you think Heisenberg would let me go down to the reservoir for a visit?”

Angie laughed.

“No, I’m afraid not. Heisenberg hates all the other lords except myself. He… mildly tolerates me. I wish he were half as fond of me as he is of you.” Donna sighed.

You laughed. “I’m his maid. He isn’t fond of me.”

“He would have used you for one of his Soldats if he didn’t like you in some form.”

“… soldat?”

“His creations.”

“Oh.” You sipped your tea, not quite sure what to think.

An all-too-familiar clank alerted you to Heisenberg’s presence in the room. “Are you distracting my little maid from her duties, Donna?” He asked, leaning on his hammer.

“She’s a human! She can’t work all the time, Karl.” Angie said, running away from Donna’s side to annoy Heisenberg.

“Oh please. Let’s wrap this tea party up, I got a job for you, Buttercup.”

Even though you’d been living in the factory for weeks, he’d never called you by your actual name.

“Why do you carry around that big hammer all the time, huh? Do you use it to crush your enemies? Can I hold it?” Angie danced around him excitedly.

“Why haven’t you learned to shut your trap?” Heisenberg snapped at Angie, who blew a raspberry back at him and went back to Donna.

Once you had helped Donna pack her tea set away, you went to the kitchen to see what Heisenberg wanted you to do.

“Come with me.” He motioned for you to follow him down the hallway and into the elevator.

“… your first name is Karl?” You asked as he pressed a button.

“Yes it is, sweetie pie. Use it if you want. I don’t care.”

“Why don’t you like Angie and Donna? They’re very nice… if you get past the creepy doll stuff and all that.”

“I saved you from the nervige Dame so you could work for me. Not have tea parties.”

“All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy, you know.”

“Since when are you so talkative?” He snapped, making you flinch.

You looked down at your boots and kept quiet for the rest of the descent.

As soon as you arrived at the ground floor, Heisenberg pulled you out of the elevator and into another room. Inside were destroyed targets and scrap metal.

“Fix my targets and put all the metal into buckets. I have a surprise for you when you’re done.”

You internally groaned as you watched him get back into the elevator and go back to whatever he was doing.

“I am tired of cleaning up after this slob of a man. Who does he think he is, anyway? He gets a maid, so he thinks he doesn’t have to clean up at all anymore? Honestly!” You ranted aloud. “I don’t even have any music to work to. Just machinery. I just… I want to go home… or at least fix my phone so I can have some contact with the outside world… I’m going crazy. I’m talking to an empty room. This factory is driving me crazy.”

As you angrily dumped scrap metal into a bucket, soft music began to play from the loudspeakers you thought were obsolete. You didn’t recognize the tune, but it was uplifting. It made you feel better.

Was he… listening?

You continued to clean at a faster pace, and the music continued to play. Repairing the targets proved to be a challenge. As you tried to figure out how to piece them back together, the idea of Heisenberg listening to your empty ramblings crossed your mind. Has he heard everything? If he had, that wouldn’t prove too good for you. Especially in your first week, you’d said some not-so-nice things about him. And his stupid hammer.

You fit the target pieces together, and you noticed it was painted with Miranda’s image. Odd. Maybe he took them from some villager. They did have a weird obsession with her. Standing back to marvel at your work, you ran straight into Heisenberg.

“Oop, I didn’t hear you come in… sorry…” you turned around, looking sheepish.

He pulled you into the elevator. “Fixed your phone. It’ll play any music you want ‘long as you’re in the factory. And a wireless headset. So you won’t annoy me.” He passed you your fixed phone and a headset. “I disabled calls and messaging. Nothing works except music. Don’t try it.” He pressed a button to go back to the top floor.

You smiled, your first real smile in ages. “Thank you, Heisenberg… er, Karl. And… if you’ve been hearing my rants… I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I said don’t mention it. Go do some cleaning crap.” The elevator doors opened. “I’ll be back for dinner.” He said in an angry tone, sauntering away.

You sighed. Had your rants really affected him that much? You decided to do something nice to indirectly apologize. The other night, when you had made strawberry Jello, he seemed to have liked it more than anything else you made. You decided to make him a large portion, with real strawberries suspended in the Jello-y goodness and whipped cream. You put the finished desert in the fridge and began dinner prep.

When he came down for dinner, Heisenberg was surprised. You prepared a whole spread— mashed potatoes, mac n’ cheese, carrots and dip— basically every food you had made which he somewhat enjoyed.

“What’s this for?” He asked, setting his hammer down by the door.

“You saved me from death by vampire. I haven’t been grateful. So, this is my thank you. I might have gotten carried away with the cooking… but that means leftovers for you.”

He cracked a smile. “Thanks, sugarplum.” After the feast, he didn’t leave to go back to work like he usually did. “I don’t feel like working after all that… wanna watch a movie or summin?”

“You watch movies?”

“Of course I do. Unlike the rest of the freaks that live here, I am cultured.” You followed him to a room with a tv. Of course, he picked the movie: The Conjuring.

One thing you had never told him: you hated horror movies. With a passion. Cliche girl stereotype, yes, but psychological horror was no laughing matter. You took the tattered blanket on the couch, hoping to fall asleep before the scary parts started.

Karl looked over at you. “What’s the matter? Afraid of a little movie?”

“No.” You tried to defend your character. “I’m cold.” You knew now that you had to watch it. Every jumpscare made you jump, which made him laugh and tease you about being a ‘fraidy-cat’. You unintentionally scooted closer to him until your shoulders were touching; neither of you noticed until you grabbed his arm after a particularly harsh jumpscare. He looked down at you and raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t react. You didn’t notice; you were terrified. As the credits rolled, he turned to look at you. “You enjoy that, sugar?”

“Yeah. Mhm. Um…” you noticed you were still holding his arm. “Sorry. Um…”

Seeing how flustered you were made Heisenberg smirk. “Something the matter?”

“Nope. I gotta… go to bed now, long day, you know how it is… goodnight.” You charged out of the room as fast as your feet would take you.

Heisenberg chuckled to himself as he lit a cigar, thinking how adorable you looked when you were scared.

#Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #House Heisenberg #Karl Heisenburg #Resident Evil viii #Resident Evil Village #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #Mother Miranda #Alcina Dimitrescu #Heisenberg #Heisenburg

[taylorlynn-art]

⭐️ Underneath It All ⭐️

by Strawberry Moon Rose

🍓🌙🌹

This is a one-shot I conjured poking fun at how based on appearance, Sailor Moon characters can really confuse a person. Taking place in the anime world, but with the Starlights cross-dressing like in the manga instead of using a physical disguise.

Also, it got me thinking, what if the Sailor Starlights came to Earth at the end of SuperS? It had to have taken a while to establish their idol group before debuting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or any of the characters. They belong to Naoko Takeuchi.

🍸

Soft jazz music drifts lazily around the bar. The flashy neon light of orange and green illuminates the Amazon Trio as they sip from their drinks in hand. Ice cubes slosh and clink as Tigers-Eye slams his glass down on the table in frustration.

"Man, we got scolded again," he complains. "And we're doing our best too..."

"She doesn't have to yell at us like that," Hawks-Eye agrees. "If catching Pegasus were that easy, we would have found him by now!"

Fish-Eye tips his head back daintily, sipping from his cocktail glass. "There are just so many targets, how are we supposed to know which one he's hiding in? It's like finding a needle in a haystack."

Hawks-Eye brushes through the photographs scattered across the bar top. "Hmm... None of these women are really catching my eye." He plucks a snapshot of a girl with braids and waves it in Tigers-Eye's face, knowing he has a thing for younger chicks. "What about this one? You interested?" he inquires.

Tigers-Eye yawns. "Too plain."

"How 'bout this?" Hawks-Eye tries again. If Tigers-Eye doesn't do something, he'll have to do something, and he isn't in the mood for another failure and reprimanding from the old hag, Zirconia.

"Too old."

"And this one?"

Tigers-Eye makes a face and waves his hand dismissively. "Ugh, not another guy. See if Fish-Eye wants him," he says.

"What? Where? Lemme see!" Fish-Eye slides off his stool and squeezes between his cronies. Hearts form in his blue eyes when he catches a glimpse of the target. "Oh my gosh! You're kidding!" He snatches the photograph out of Hawks-Eye's hand so fast it's nothing but a blur.

"What're you getting so excited about? He's not nearly as handsome as I am," Tigers-Eye says, unable to conceal the tinge of jealousy in his voice.

"He's right," Hawks-Eye boasts. "We're much more good-looking."

"You two don't know who this is?" Fish-Eye asks incredulously.

Tigers-Eye and Hawks-Eye stare at their friend.

"It's Seiya Kou from the Three Lights!" Fisheye kisses the picture and twirls around. "I'm so lucky!"

"Never heard of him," Hawks-Eye comments in a voice as flat as cardboard.

"Me neither." Tigers-Eye tosses his orange hair. "He must not be that popular."

But Fish-Eye isn't listening to them. "Oh my, I wonder what kind of girls he likes? How should I approach him?

Tigers-Eye and Hawks-Eye swivel around in their seats and reach for their drinks. By now they know it's useless trying to talk to him when he goes gaga over a target.

"Cross-dressing again?" Hawks-Eye sounds bored.

"Why, of course!" Fisheye gazes dreamily at the glossy portrait. The celeb is clad in a red suit and yellow tie. A bright rose is stuffed in the breast pocket. Ebony bangs fall messily above spunky blue eyes, accompanied by a microphone and crooked smile.

Fish-Eye giggles. Seiya Kou... Even your name is beautiful! I'll seduce you for sure!

🎸

"Thank you! Goodnight everybody!" The lead singer gives a final wave into the sea of faces. The crowd erupts into applause as the Three Lights exit the stage. It's a warm Saturday night and they just wrapped up their second concert at the venue.

"Great job tonight, guys. They absolutely loved you." Their manager gives each member a pat on the back.

"Thank you, sir," Taiki replies politely. "We did our best."

Seiya accepts a towel from a stage worker and dabs the sweat off her forehead. She cranes her head up to the night sky, breathing heavily. Princess... Where are you now? Can you hear our message? They have only been on Earth for two months, but she and the others are already used to cross-dressing as a boy band.

"Seiya, we are heading back to change," Taiki calls over her shoulder.

"You coming or what?" Yaten taps her foot impatiently.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Seiya shakes her head and follows them down the corridor to their dressing rooms. The high from performing hasn't worn off yet, and she hums the whole way, a bounce in her step.

Once she reaches her assigned room, Seiya shuts the door and starts collecting her things. The open window allows a humid breeze to drift in, carrying the sweet fragrance of a beautiful spring night - cherry blossoms and rain. She can still hear the murmurs of the crowd in the distance.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in!" the Starlight calls absentmindedly, figuring it's Taiki or Yaten.

Creak... The door creeps open. When Seiya glances up, she catches her breath.

Standing against the door frame appears to be one of the most gorgeous women Seiya's ever seen before. The beauty's pale-blue hair is tied in a high ponytail that cascades in lustrous waves to her hips. She wears a flowing white dress and strappy sandals.

It's like she forgot how to speak. "Can I help you?" Seiya clears her throat and quickly fluffs her hair.

Fish-Eye smiles and brushes a stray curl out of his face. "Actually, you can," he says in a high, silky voice.

"Oh? How so?" Whenever a cute girl is in sight, she can't help it - she's always been a flirt.

Fish-Eye giggles and casually eases the door shut behind him. "I really enjoyed the concert, Seiya. You shine like a true star out there. I was wondering if I could get a souvenir of some sort to make the experience all the more memorable..."

"I'm flattered," Seiya replies smoothly. She closes the distance between them in a few swift steps, drinking in Fish-Eye's sparkly perfume. "What do you have in mind?"

"An autograph would be wonderful." Fish-Eye bats his mascara-coated lashes. "But anything from a superstar like you would make me the happiest fan in the world."

A grin spreads across Seiya's face. They gaze at each other for a few seconds, holding a teasing conversation with their eyes. Seiya reaches for a blank notebook resting on the nearby table and pulls a marker out of her pocket. Gliding close to the pretty stranger, she says, "And to whom shall I make this autograph out to?"

"To 'Sakana'," Fish-Eye says breezily.

"Sakana, huh?" Seiya smiles quizzically at him. "That's a cute name you have."

"You think so?"

Squeak, squeak, goes the marker as Seiya scribbles out the autograph. She signs her name with a flourish, tears the paper out of the notebook, and hands it to Fish-Eye. "There you are," she declares.

"Oh, thank you so much! An autograph from my favorite male idol! I'll treasure it forever!"

Still smiling, Seiya puts her hands in her pockets. "Anything else I can help you with...?"

Fish-Eye carefully folds the autograph into his purse. "Oh, perhaps there is..." he purrs.

"Yeah?"

"But it's a bit of a secret..." Fish-Eye fingers Seiya's collar, pulling playfully on her tie.

"I'm intrigued," she whispers.

Fish-Eye stands on his tiptoes and whispers enticingly into Seiya's ear, "I'd like to get to know you better..."

"Is that so?"

He outlines the buttons on Seiya's jacket. "These ties can be tricky, can't they? Let me assist you in taking it off..."

Seiya chuckles. "That sounds quite tempting, but you see, I have to go soon... The others are waiting for me," she answers honestly, regretfully.

"Oh, they can wait, can't they?" If Fish-Eye gets any closer, they'll be a grilled cheese sandwich.

"I'm sorry." Unwillingly, Seiya gently pushes him off her. "You're extremely attractive, Sakana, but... I can't. I wish I could, but I can't."

Fish-Eye draws back as if he'd been slapped across the face. He widens his eyes innocently. "Why not?"

'Because you'd find out I'm a woman and then our image would be ruined', Seiya wants to say, but responds, "I'm not who you think I am."

"What do you mean? I know who you are. You're just making an excuse, aren't you?"

"No, I-"

"Fine." Fish-Eye steps back. The corners of his mouth crumple into a scowl. "I see how it is. I guess it's goodbye to you then, isn't it?"

Before Seiya can respond, a blue curtain appears out of the air and drops over Fish-Eye with a whoosh. It raises to reveal his true self - bubbly blue outfit, scaly hands, and black Amazon marking on his forehead.

"Who are-?!" Seiya stumbles back.

"ONE!" A red board rises from under the floorboards, slamming into the Starlight's back.

"TWO!" Cold, metal clamps bind Seiya's wrists and ankles.

"THREE!"

Seiya screams as her dream mirror emerges, taking shape bit by bit. Harsh light blinds her, and wind whips her hair all over. It feels like someone is reaching into her chest and ripping out her insides. What's going on? What is this?!

Once it stops, she slumps forward in exhaustion, supported only by the painful cuffs pinning her to the plank.

"Now to take a look inside your beautiful dream mirror!" Fish-Eye saunters towards the trapped idol. He grabs hold of the glowing mirror on both sides. It's shining brighter than any one he's seen before! His eyes glimmer in hope. Could this be the home of Pegasus after all?

"Y-You lied to me! Who are you really?" Seiya shouts, raising her head. It's obvious by the flat chest and deep voice that this monster is male, and on top of that, the enemy! How could she fall into his trap? Anger and humiliation course through her veins. She thrashes harder, but cannot break free.

Fish-Eye chuckles, but doesn't reply. He stretches the mirror on both sides like putty and dives his head inside her dream mirror. Seiya shrieks in agony.

"Where is Pegasus?" he says aloud, looking all over. But instead of finding a winged horse with a golden horn, he sees flowing images of a beautiful, red-haired princess catered by three female guardians in black uniforms.

Fish-Eye throws his head out of the mirror in horror. "H-H-How dare you deceive me! That's my job!" he cries, his voice wavering. I fell for a woman in disguise? Impossible! This can't be right...

Skin crawling and cheeks burning, Fish-Eye stands back. How humiliating! "What a waste of a trip. Well, either way, I suppose you'll have to die now, Seiya. Come out, my Remless! Superstar Daistuaa!"

A creature climbs out of his shadow - a skinny girl with a guitar as a torso and a microphone as a tail. She snaps the cord like a whip and says in a mouse-like voice, "It's showtime!"

"I'm leaving this up to you, Daisutaa," Fish-Eye barks.

"Of course!”

A black hole rimmed with water appears in the air. Fish-Eye does a backwards somersault into it and vanishes.

The dream mirror returns to Seiya's body and the board and restraints disappear. She falls to her knees, feeling dizzy and weak.

"Hello, everybody!" Daisutaa sings. "I'm so happy to be here! I've got a super great show for you!"

Seiya glares up at the Remless. A phage? No, it's different... She reaches into her pocket for her transformation brooch.

"Uh-uh! Please turn off all cell phones and electronic devices during the show!" Daisutaa lunges at Seiya. They crash into the wooden table which breaks into jagged pieces beneath them. Seiya groans, her back throbbing, and tries to throw the Remless off her. Daisutaa's three-inch nails are like knives, poised at her throat.

"Get...off...me!" she grunts, turning her head to the side in a feeble attempt to avoid the monster slicing her jugular.

"You want an encore, you say?" Daisutaa crows. "Alrighty then!"

Bam! The dressing room door slams open, nearly flying off its hinges.

"Star Sensitive Inferno!"

"Star Gentle Uterus!"

The Remless snaps her head up, frozen like a deer in the headlights as the two combined attacks hit her head on. "What? Aghhh! STAGE OUT!" she wails, crumbling to glass. The shadow on the floor fades, and a billow of smoke dissipates in an upright spiral circle. The Dead Moon magic is gone.

"Seiya!" Maker cries, hurrying over to her.

"What happened? We heard you screaming." Healer kneels beside Seiya. "What was that thing? A phage?"

"So they have invaded here too?" Maker murmurs gravely.

Seiya coughs and shakes her head. Grunting, she pulls herself into a sitting position. "No, it was something else..."

Healer helps Seiya to her feet. "Well, either way, it's gone now. Let's hope we never see anything like it again."

"Yeah. Just forget it happened," Seiya mutters, flushing as she recalls Sakana.

She knew she wanted to.

✨

"Back so soon, Fish-Eye?" Tigers-Eye swings around in his chair at the bar.

Ignoring him, Fish-Eye plops down in his usual spot and pours himself a drink. In one sip, he downs the entire thing and reaches to refill the glass.

"Whoa, easy!" Hawks-Eye jokes. "Did it go that bad?"

Tigers-Eye's green eyes dance. "That Seiya dude rejected you, didn't he?" he says gaily.

"Can it, you two," Fish-Eye grumbles, studying his red nail polish. "You don't know the half of it."

"So what happened?" Hawks-Eye asks.

A bloom of red appears in Fish-Eye's cheeks. "Let's just say that underneath it all, Seiya Kou wasn't who I thought he was."

Tigers-Eye smirks. "I could have told you all those boy bands are bogus."

"Shut up, Tigers-Eye. Just shut up."

#sailor moon fanfiction #Seiya Kou #sailor stars #fanfic #story #comedy #one shot #anime #sailor moon fandom #pretty guardian sailor moon #usagi tsukino #star fighter #fish eye #Amazon trio #sailor moon fan #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #strawberry moon rose #AO3

[nieladasdenani]

Thank you, @tv-taught-me-how-to-flail for the prompt:

I could go for some warrior nun angst if you’re up for it (preferably one with a happy ending though) something like it’s the finale battle and Ava tricks the nuns and locks them in a cell cuz she doesn’t want any members of her new found family to get die in the battle, and she says her last goodbyes 😢 Would love of there was some avatrice thrown in there too 😉 

So, I’m going to try. I’m not sure if I can write angst, though. I’m also not sure Ava would deliberately plan to lock them and leave them to self-sacrifice. It would be an impulse by fear on the moment. I hope it meets your expectations. You can read it on AO3 if you rather.

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

This is wrong. Nothing is going as Ava thought it would be going. She has been training so hard since the Vatican, she shouldn’t be feeling so defeated already, she shouldn’t be defeated, period. Of course, she wasn’t expecting it to be easy, but this feels like losing. This feels like failing. Like she failed. All she can think about is that she failed and her family is going to die because of it.

She can see Mary, badass Mary, running out of ammo. Sweet Camila panting, scared. Scary Lilith roaring and lashing out. Perfect Beatrice dividing her attention between her own fights and covering Ava’s back. Because she’s frozen in place, Ava is. She promised she was going to be the last Warrior Nun, and she’s going to keep this promise. She’s keeping this promise without letting any of her sisters died. So, she straightens up, looks around. They’ve been cornered inside a sort of closed plaza, surrounded by four walls and the only entrance has been blocked with debris. Adriel is on the other side, Ava sent him flying with a potent burst of the Halo when she saw he had Lilith by the neck.

He told Ava all about how he was going to kill her sisters one by one in front of her. “Starting with the hellhound”, he had said. He’s been whispering about it in her dreams, too. For weeks. Weeks of her waking with screams and panic attacks. Weeks of them talking about those dreams and planing accordingly. And yet, it’s all wrong. But she’s going to fix this. She will not let him kill them. She’s on borrowed time, anyway.

The horde of possessed is almost completely contained, now. But Ava thinks it’s enough to have her sisters occupied while she goes and finishes this. She levitates and uses enough of the Halo to slow the advance of the enemies. She knows she can’t stop them for long, just a moment to tell her final goodbye. They’re all looking at her now, confused, a mixture of frowns that range from bewildered to outraged.

“Ava?” It’s Beatrice, of course. “What’s going on?”

“I... I love you guys. I never thought, even in my wildest dreams, that I would live such an adventure or have a family. And you gave me this.”

“What the fuck are you talking about” Mary’s never been good at feeling out of the loop.

“I promised I was going to be the last Warrior Nun. And I’m going to finish this.”

“Ava, no”

"I’m not gonna let him kill you!”

“Why are you like this? Get your skinny ass down here, so we can contain the possessed and go send your daddy back to hell” Ava scrunches her face at Mary.

“Ew! He’s not my daddy!”

“Are you sure? Because you’re kind of making want to kill you right now”

“Would you both stop? Ava, please. You are not going to go by yourself. That was not the plan.” Beatrice is starting to look pissed.

“That's actually the exact opposite of the plan” Camila says, huffing a little.

“The most important part of the plan is where neither of you die!”

“The most important part of the plan is: trust your team”, ok now she’s officially angry then. But Ava softens.

“I trust my team. But I love my family more.”

“You said you promised to be the last. That doesn’t have to mean you die.”

“Hey, maybe I can beat him by myself.”

“You can, but there’s no need to risk it when you can have back-up. You do not need to do this alone, Ava.”

“He promised he would make me watch him kill you. I won’t allow it, Beatrice!”

“And I promised you that you’d never be alone again!”

Ava can feel her hold on the possessed weakening. So she has to end this. She can feel tears starting to run down her cheeks. She looks at them, one by one.

“I love you.” And she phases through the wall leaving behind a symphony of yells and curses. She takes a moment to compose herself, before going in search for Adriel. 

She finds him lying in the ground. If she took a moment she’d see he looks like he can’t even stand up. But she’s blinded by fear. And he can sense this.

“Well, did you finally decide to be a worthy Warrior, then, child?”

“Shut up. I decided I’m going to send you back to hell!” And he has the audacity of laughing.

“Please. We both know how this is going to end. I’m going to rip my Halo from your back, and I’m going to claim my rightful place as master of the world, while you lie there dying slowly and alone.”

“Big talk for a dude who’s not even standing.”

“I could kill you without the use of my limbs!”

“Like the Black Knight?” And he looks so confused, it would be funny. “Monty Python? Oh, wait. You could not know about it... Wait! Was it a real event?”

“Silence! You’ve overstayed your welcome, Warrior Nun. It’s my time now!” In a flash he’s in her space. Her reflex is to swipe her sword at him, which is a testament of the long training sessions with Lilith, and Beatrice and Mary and Camila. They spar for a while. But she’s starting to get worried that her sisters are going to burst out at any moment. And that’s the only opening Adriel needs.

He sweeps her off her feet, and she lays hard on the ground, face first, so he has the chance to press a knee on her back. She’s expecting him to reach a hand, like he did on his tomb, but he’s fumbling for something. And then she feels the cut and heat of divinium on her skin. She barely can avoid screaming.

“It’s over child. Thank you for following my instructions so well. You thought you were helping them? You thought this would spare them? Did you think at all?” She is screaming now, and crying, because it hurts, and she’s alone.

There’s a thunk and thump, and then a very distinctive snort followed by a:

“She never thinks.” And Ava may be delirious because that sounds like Lilith.

“Ava!” And that sounds like Beatrice. And the hand helping her turn and cupping her cheek feels like Beatrice, too. “Ava?” But she doesn’t want to open her eyes, because it will be devastating to realize she’s dying alone on the ground.

“The wound is a little deep, and she’s bleeding a lot. But I can patch it temporarily while we finish here and get to safety.” Her brain is conjuring images of Camila at her back.

Then she’s been lifted of the ground, and now she frowns because, sure, she has a very vivid imagination, product of twelve years of emotional abuse while paralyzed in a bed, but never this vivid. And never as violent as actually feeling someone smack her hard on the back of the head. 

“Ow!”

“You stupid, stupid girl. If you think this is all the repercussion you’re going to get for being the dumbest Warrior Nun ever, you’re even more stupid than I’ve just stated.”

“Mary, I don’t believe it’s the time for this.” Even in her dreams Beatrice comes to her defense.

“And I don’t believe hitting her in the head will help make her less stupid.” Ok, so now Ava opens her eyes, because that was definitely Lilith adding insults to the growing pile.

“What?...”

“Oh hey, stupid! Are you done being a drama queen?”

“Mary...” Beatrice sounds tired when she sighs the gunslinger’s name. Then she’s cupping Ava’s face: “Ava? Can you look at me, please?” Of course she does, she always wants to look at Beatrice. “I think she needs a second to recover.”

“Whats’... How...?”

“Did you really think we were going to let you run off like a self-sacrificing martyr?” And wow, ok, Camila has a bite.

“You also forgot I can open portals.” Oh, that’s right. Lilith can open portals, she’s also been training and exploring her new powers. It’s actually one of the ways they’ve bonded a lot.

“But, we were overrun by the possessed”

“Yes, Ava. The plan shifted. But we still had it under control. And if you have stopped to listen to us for a second you would have realized that we were containing the threat of the possessed to then be able to face Adriel together properly.”

“Oh.” Yes, Beatrice is definitely angry at her.

“Yes, oh. Now quit the drama and finish the dude.” There’s what Ava could only describe as an evil laugh coming from Adriel who’s still on the ground, panting.

“You think you children can defeat me? Areala, who was an actual Warrior could only hide me away on a tomb.”

“You said that like she sent you on a cruise, dumbass.” It’s Mary.

“I said that as someone who can escape again, fool.”

“We know we can kill you.” Beatrice.

“And we know we can’t contain you here.” Camila.

“We also know who’s eager to get their hands on you.” Lilith, who then turns to Ava: “Ready?” And yeah. She’s ready to send this demon back to hell. Literally.

“Yeah. Ready” Ava picks her sword with a pained grimace. And before she can take the couple of steps that separate her from Adriel, she feels a strong, delicate hand on her shoulder, so she turns to Beatrice.

“Remember, spend as much Halo energy as possible without depleting it completely. We want it’s signal to be muted, but not enough to put you at risk.” She nods, and proceeds to lift her sword over her head to strike.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t kill me!”

“Like they said, we know. But we can hurt you before we gift you away.”

She summons as much as the Halo power as she dares before striking him down. His pained screams fill the open space around them, but she keeps the sword in him until she starts to feel weak. Then she stops, and stumbles back into strong arms that hold her up. That’s when Lilith comes forward and looks at him like he’s a bug she just crushed under her boot and is disgusted to have to clean it up. She lifts her claws, and he flinches, it’s so satisfying to see. But she doesn’t strike as he expects, she opens a huge portal and after a couple of seconds of nothing, they hear a deafening roar, the thunderous approach until the imposing form of the Tarask appears through the portal.

Adriel chokes out a whimpering “No” catching the full attention of the monster, who promptly drags him through the closing portal. Lilith sags into the calm that follows, but Mary is there, ready to assist her.

“All right. You freaks good to go?”

“Mary, I don’t appreciate you calling them that” Breatice is truly a saint.

“Oh, but they love it. Right, Satan?”

“Fuck off.”

“Lilith, language!” But Camila sounds suspiciously like holding back a smile. They bicker the whole way to the van. Beatrice half carrying Ava, and Mary supporting Lilith, leaving Camila to load their weapons inside and start the vehicle.

Mary deposites Lilith in the passenger seat. while she herself takes the cargo section for herself stating that “I’m too old for this shit. Need to stretch my legs.” Leaving Ava and Beatrice in the back seat.

Ava is exhausted and she’s ready to let the darkness take her for a while. But Beatrice is caressing her face and speaking... Oh, right, she should listen.

“Ava? Are you listening?”

“Yeah”

“I know you’re tired, but I need to do quick check, all right?”

“Yeah”

“Good. Tell me what hurts.”

“Everything”

“Right. Tell me what hurts the most, then”

“Uh, my back? My head, too. My face... because I’m so cute.”

There’s a collection of groans from the front and the back, but Beatrice is smiling down at her, and that’s really all that matter.

“We’ll be back home in about two hours, so you can have some rest. But I want you to be properly tended to in the infermary when we arrive. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” But the ma’am morphs into a yawn and it looses all the cool, filtry effect she was going for.

“Please, don’t ever do that again.” Beatrice whispers and suddenly the air is heavy inside the van.

“I’m sorry. I just... He had Lilith, right how he said he would. I...”

“You allowed him get inside your head.” Lilith interrupts. “Which was what he wanted. He knew that was his best shot at getting the Halo.”

“That’s why you talked to us about them and we worked on it, remember?” Oh, good. At least Camila is back at being sweet.

“So, we need to work on your panic attacks and traumas, kid. Get ready for that.” And Ava actually whines at Mary’s words, because that doesn’t sound like fun.

“Not right away, though. First we heal and rest.” God, she loves Beatrice.

“And kid?” She didn’t realize she closed her eyes, until Mary calls out to her. So she opens them and twist her neck a little to look at her pearing from the back. “We love you, too. You know that right? You’re our family, too.”

Aw man, she’s all emotional again. She just wanted to be a badass like the rest of them. She feels Beatrice nod, and turns to see Lilith doing the same from the front seat. Camila is smiling at her through the rearview mirror: “It’s true, Ava.” Camila has such a pretty smile. But Beatrice has the prettiest smile. Beatrice has the prettiest everything.

“Rest now.” Beatrice says as she bends to place a tender kiss to Ava’s forehead. But then whispers in her ear: “I think you have the prettiest everything, too.” And she has the sexiest smirk painted on her lips, so Ava can’t seem to be able to respond. Just a flicker of a thought right before exhaustion claims her:

Wait, did I say that out loud?

#Promtp #Warrior Nun #fictlet #Avatrice #found family is the best trope #tv-taught-me-how-to-flail #Ava Silva #Sister Beatrice #Shotgun Mary #Sister Lilith #Sister Camila

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 26]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I hated this.

She stared at me. My own staring had long turned to a steady glower; eyes squeezed almost shut as I tried to pick apart every stitch for some inkling of an answer. Maybe the real problem is that I didn’t have a coherent question.

The fire in my father’s mantle crackled to fill in my silence and illuminating my balled-up place on the carpet. I should be asleep right now, that was the plan anyway, but it was thwarted earlier in the day when my last bedroom was deemed a “risk”.

Still, I hated it all the more. The doll was in the same useless state where I placed it – a slightly slouched perch on the velvet loveseat. It intensely reminded me of when my tutors would make me find symbolism in a storybook where there obviously wasn’t, making me conjure some flowery explanation for why the author used this phrase or that description.

With my knees up to my chin, I fiddled with the hem of my night gown and wondered and wondered and wondered because a head full of pointless thoughts felt better than nothing at all.

There was commotion – arguing, then the door opened and I was met with the burning sight of Urbosa. In her hand was a page, crumpled by her fist, and I understood before she spoke.

“You can’t be serious!” she glowered. Urbosa was a woman who schooled her expressions masterfully yet now she was untamed.

My face reddened, embarrassment probably. “I can explain.”

“Explain what exactly? This man has threatened my life, my countrywomens’ lives, and now yours… and you want to give him a platform to speak on?”

She was outraged, flailing Ganondorf’s letter as she spoke. I pressed my lips together and let her rant on about what I had mentioned to Impa before. My toes pressed deep into the carpet.

“Your anger is something I can understand,” I finally said, frowning when she caught my gaze. “But I’m not a child and this is not an entirely irrational reaction.”

Urbosa watched me for a tense moment and stepped away to pace the room in an attempt to air out her feelings. When she did, I saw Impa accompanied her with a careful presence. I steeled myself for whatever it was she wanted to say.

My father’s quarters weren’t where I expected to be tonight, but at least he was in a safer (and more inconspicuous) part of the castle. If anything, the familiar setting was a slight comfort even if it wasn’t my own room. It was an airy space and not much had changed since the war started. I rose from my spot, trying to gracefully slip the doll into my gown’s deep pockets and perched myself where the toy once sat.

“Okay,” the Gerudo leader breathed again, sitting on the cushions with Impa across from me. “Okay, then explain it to me.”

I breathed in deeply. “No doubt you’ve read what he’s wrote, but I’ve read it more than you have. Let’s talk about it.”

The half impatient nod my way with born out of pure frustration. I could completely understand it, but it didn’t make the feeling of pressure any lighter.

“In his words, he wants to declare a form of parley,” I spoke, slowly choosing my words. “Meaning a temporary truce in war to sit down and discuss negotiation – or the start of them.”

I swallowed as I mentally scanned through the letter word-for-word in my head:

I doubt that my reputation holds well in your circles and it would be foolish to give a nobody’s word any weight.

“Traditionally, it would be held by one party sending an ambassador of sorts to the opposition. We would discuss terms at a distance, however he is willing to travel to Hyrule Castle himself.”

Urbosa scoffed, “That’s even worse.”

“It means he’s going in place of someone expendable. It was the whole point of ‘parley’ as a concept and he is willing to give us leverage to make this happen.”

I could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she chose not to. Impa spoke up instead.

“I realize that I haven’t told you this before,” she said. “But you should consider your image.”

My brow furrowed, “My image?”

“To history, Zelda, there has never been an enemy like this within the castle walls unless force was taken. No other ruler has offered an invitation like this before. Don’t you find that troubling?”

I felt my frown deepen. The fabric of my gown twisted around my fingers. I took another deep breath of the burning applewood in the hearth before saying, “The conflict we’re currently in has surpassed the amount of casualties in any other war I have lived through in half the time. Pray tell, do you find that troubling?”

They didn’t reply; they didn’t have to.

“I am afraid,” I spelled out. “I am afraid to see the country being torn with violence and bloodshed. To consider that I am assumed its leader is another type of fear I haven’t grasped yet, much less what historians will jot me down as. Better yet, let’s discuss how someone I know very dearly is out there; contingent to the choices I make.”

Roughly, I swallowed. My gaze went to the ceiling where engravings of old legends escaped the firelight.

“Let us discuss what I know will be his vehement disapproval of my consideration. My goal here is to mitigate as much as I can and if that means buying time at the cost of my reputation, then so be it,” I conceded. Impa stared at her hands and I could only feel shame, weak. I wonder if that’s what she had in mind. “Horrible rulers have preceded me and I don’t expect to be the last.”

There was a long moment of quiet that made it awful to resist squirming in my seat. I didn’t like our options either, but pride was my father’s forte. I wasn’t about to inherit it now that an opportunity like this is tangible, even if it came about through unconventional means. I’ll let them move me into the royal quarters and I’ll let them squander more of my personal time with increased security – I won’t let them pass this up without a single consideration.

Urbosa and Impa stood, I expected them to leave immediately but instead Urbosa said my name and took my hand in hers. Worry was in her eyes.

“You know I would never give you up,” I said softly. “I really hope you weren’t expecting me to abandon you so quickly.”

The sofa dipped slightly as she took a seat. “Tamen non obliviscar tui et filiae.”

At my slight confusion she merely smiled and said, “It means: Never forget your daughters. We say that when we underestimate our children after they’re grown. I am scared, Zelda.”

Our hand hold slipped into an embrace. She continued, “I worry constantly for you. As much as I want to, I don’t have all the answers. None of us do and maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. I forgot that and, more importantly, I forgot you.”

  The next days brought sleepless nights. I wasn’t sure if I preferred them because in the darkness was the chilling vision of what Link had become. That dream wouldn’t fade as the days wore on, instead sharpening in the parts that struck me the most. In the mirror of my room, when Anju would prod at the dark circles under my eyes, I would see his eyes staring at me.

“It wasn’t real,” I muttered, almost angrily.

Anju grunted behind me with bobbypins caught between her teeth. “What wasn’t?”

“I had a dream,” I said. “And it wasn’t real, but I feel like it was and it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, ya look tired enough,” she replied with a nonchalant drawl, watching me in the mirror a moment before shrugging. “Everyone has nightmares, Zelda. Even Her Royal Grace Majesty Herself.”

The smile I tried to suppress fought hard. “It was about Link.”

“You’re worried! Welcome to the club. You already know the things Aryll writes to me, halfway between gloating and going stir crazy,” she laughed. “His next present to her has to be twice as shiny as the last.”

Her hands paused in their tugging. “If it’s bothering you, you should talk about it.”

I sighed, relenting quickly because she’d prod further if I hadn’t. I left out the odd parts about the strange man and the dancing and focused more on when I saw Link.

“It was probably me projecting…” I groaned. “But he seemed driven mad, Anju! And I caused that. The only reason why he isn’t with his family or living more peacefully is because of me.”

She considered it, seeming to weigh my words as she viewed me from the front. Her nose crinkled, “Zelda, you know that boy. I know that boy. When we were kids, he would always be the lead troublemaker leading the charges. Shocking, believe me I know, but you must be raving mad if you think he wouldn’t force himself into this mess regardless of your decisions.”

“With or without me?”

She hummed in thought, “Reckless is a word I would use  – no, wait – organized recklessness. But he has always needed help picking up the pieces. It used to be Aryll with scrapes and bruises.” Then, there was a glint in her eye that made me laugh, “I wonder who it’ll be now?”

  “There is no guarantee that the negotiations will come to anything,” Fierlin grimaced, reading through Ganondorf’s letter. “Though I won’t disagree that a truce, no matter how temporary, is a plus.”

He stroked his beard with a raised brow and met my eyes. “Do you… know how to send news to your right hand?”

We were in my father’s study with a long list of staff sitting on my desk, each with a detailed list of any possible connections to the opposition. I pushed it away.

“I have consulted every consultant at my fingertips at the moment; written out the pros and cons,” I said. My head rested on my fist in a dull way to help my sore neck.

“Well,” the man leaned back in his chair as old worn men tended to, “I know the tenacity and unwillingness to quit. I’ve gotten well acquainted with that side of him when he was my captain. Don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty, Link will follow any order you give him… but he will fight and kick every step of the way.”

“That’s only because Admiral Whitehurst is with him right now.”

He raised a hand to negate me. “Not necessarily. Link’s a fine remediator. He doesn’t show obvious favor to anyone under him and is constantly listening. He’ll tune out whatever sees fit. Any resistance you saw came from him alone.”

I glanced down at one of my desk drawers that contained some of Link’s letters and closed my eyes.

“I want him to travel back to the castle if we go through with it.” When, really, but it was hard to believe what was happening myself.

The look he gave me wasn’t remotely hopeful.

“I wouldn’t count on it. It’s not likely he would abandon his men because who is to say this truce lasts more than a day? We don’t know the temperament of this ‘Ganondorf’ and he is largely unpredictable in much else.”

“Will Link resent the idea that much?”

“I predict he will…” Fierlin stopped himself, then sighed. “He will have some complications with it.”

  That night, crumpled papers littered desk. They were filled with words that didn’t string together properly and thoughts that weren’t quite complete. The first letter was a formal inquiry of Ganondorf’s arrival. On the closed envelope, I pressed my father’s insignia with more pressure than necessary.

I kept it in a closed drawer because the second letter was both an order and request for counsel.

In this, my thoughts were far more frayed and there were countless drafts that kept the wick of my candle burning. It was a constant debate on whether I should even forgo pairing the first with it. I recalled his reluctance to retreat and the disappointment that came after. The ink pen felt heavier in my hand.

This was when I realized that this was what Impa was fearful of.

My hand dragged down my cheek and I forced myself to sit up straighter.

She has told me more than once, no matter how indirect, that whatever Link and I had would eventually conflict with my duties. Especially with the dynamic at play now, he was my Commander General and I was his Queen. I have asked the opinion of all my resources both past and present, why should my consideration of his opinion be so weighty?

It had grown to the point where I could barely put pen to paper.

An obstruction of my duties, that is a phrase Impa would say.

The words I ended up writing were addressing him formally. Though I was sure word had been sent about what had happened, I reiterated the events from what Lord Ibauna shouted about to the letter within my room. After that, in the most political way I could muster, I told him I was considering it with the counsel in mind. This time, I wouldn’t slip an additional note because I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t me trying to influence him.

I bound the two letters and sent them the same night. Once I get the General’s counsel, I will make the final decision and either order him to send a messenger… or not.

  This is grossly miscalculated.

Urbosa was speaking, but it was difficult to truly listen to her. She was walking beside me. I want to say that her gentle suggestions to coax me off the ledge were helping, but it only pushed me to push my nails deeper into my palm. The sharp pain helped me more to keep my mouth shut.

“He was only trying to assert another option.”

Immature

I glanced to her and said through gritted teeth, “What he was trying to do was insult my integrity.”

My steps were heavier than they usually were when going to attend meetings with the admirals. On any other day, I would approach it with a cool head. It was a war room, I wanted to be as even keeled and level-headed as I could.

Rash

Now, I couldn’t stop seeing red.

Just barely, I turned my head towards her. “He acts as if he has had lifetimes of experience already,” I hissed, pausing briefly while passing a couple of maids with bowed heads. “Link is barely any older than I. Ridiculous.”

Urbosa and I bounded a set of stairs and before I entered the war room, I requested an ink pen and parchment as well as the awaiting messenger. It hadn’t been two days before I got a reply from Link. A set of officers stood when I entered the room.

I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Admiral Whitehurst return almost immediately after the letter arrived. His face was still red from his traveling and I politely acknowledged him.

“Your general isn’t happy,” he said. “He made the carriage ride through the night, gods willing my back is still intact.”

“Oh, no,” I uttered out, splaying the several pages Link had written me onto the table. “He surely is not.”

The admiral blinked considerably. I had never acted this way in front of them, but at this point I didn’t have the luxury to care. The only reason I took a seat was to keep them all from standing awkwardly.

“Groveling at the enemy’s feet, he says,” I glanced at the pages with a casted hand. “How, exactly, is he coming to these absurd conclusions?”

I feared that he would have tried to influence Link more in my disfavor, but I did trust what Fierlin had told me and the handwriting on the correspondence was unmistakably Link. Why he had sent John Whitehurst was a mystery to me altogether, perhaps in an effort to sway me even more?

Well, good, I thought. Maybe the one he is receiving will beat some sense into him.

Whitehurst grunted as he sat back in his chair and took a moment to adjust.

“General Forester is doing what he was appointed to do, fight to win. If we pause, especially in the terms he has relayed to me, I believe that he believes you have given up.”

I reeled back, “When has lessening the toll this war has taken meant ‘giving up’? Did he say those exact words?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Um, yes, perhaps, Your Grace.”

I breathed in deeply. Slowly, I counted from ten.

Tyrant was a bad look on anybody – more so me.

“Okay,” I said finally, calmer. “I think we can now say we have received all the insight we need to make a decision.”

A guard who was outside the door brought in a pot of ink, a pen and parchment. I thanked him quietly.

“I wanted to convene one more time before I decide to send this order,” I said, taking the pen between my fingers. The correspondence on the table, which Urbosa was now leafing through with Whitehurst, was missing the final page. It was burning in my dress pocket.

Reconsider, Zelda.

I caught Urbosa’s gaze while the officers and the sparse admirals had a last discussion about weighing the final options, or their lack of. She watched me with a solemn demeaner. Then, she nodded.

I will not be there to help you.

I don’t need his help.

“Is it decided, gentlemen?”

Delicately, I folded the paper twice just in time for the messenger to walk through.

My only words to him was an order to send my acquisition across enemy lines.

#yay #how to be a queen #htbaq #ashleyswrittenwords #zelink #legend of zelda #zelda #link #loz #zelink fanfiction #loz fanfiction

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

Anyway, finally the game is stable, and I’ve finally gotten my core followers, time to flesh out what will be hopefully be my Dragonborn for the foreseeable future.

Ayerin the Perplexing.

She’s a Altmer Mage, or at least that’s what she claims to be, Goth-Coded, and I’m gona write her on the Autistic spectrum cause I’m on the spectrum so that’s basically half the work done, and the second she learns she’s a dragonborn she’ll start experimenting on her dragon blood, discovering a way to taint it, strengthen it and her soul so that she’d be able to do the impossible, bear both Molag Bal’s and Hircine’s curses at the same time. The way to do so, however, is still long and distant, and necessitates of a third curse, to balance the two, and allow her to survive both Vampiric and Werewolf transformations, by rendering her mortal if long lived mortal shell, immortal and undead first, before even ascending as a vampire.

She’s a Seeker of the Arcane Arts and a Mage. Her dad is a follower of the old Altmer pantheon, specifically Syrabane, the God of Magic, an Aldmer ancestor who ascended to divinity through his own efforts, and has transmitted to his daughter the same devotion to the so called Apprentice God, whose favor is obtained by the constant and tireless research of magical knowledge. He used to be a lecturer for the Arcane University, but after the war the faculty decided they didn’t exactly need his services anymore. They moved to Bravil, where he became a lowly illusion tutor in the local chapter of the mages guild, his career effectively put to a halt.

Her papa, on the other hand, doesn’t care much for gods. He’s a soldier, a legate for the Imperial Legion, stationed in Cyrodil, or at least he was. He lost a arm during the great war, as he attempted to stop the atrocities the Aldmeri Dominion, their own people, were committing in the Cyrodilian Countryside, missing the siege of the imperial city as a result. He’s bitter and angry, but he’s glad he and his loved ones are still alive as a result, even if they are being ostracized for being different, as if they didn’t just fight a war against people who were ostracizing others for being different from them.

Ayerin grows interested in magic as a result of her dad’s influence. Under the supervision of her dad, she tried to gain access to the Arcane University, but was found too curios, too interested in... forbidden lore and knowledge, even expressing some perplexity over the banning of necromancy, a now time honored tradition of the mage’s guild.

That’s when she gets her moniker. The Perplexing. Or maybe, more fittingly, the Perplexed. Always searching for knowledge she ought not to search, for powers that better be left alone, in all 5 schools of magic, baffling and perplexing her peers as much as their “irrational” reactions baffle and perplex her.

The local politics also confuse her, perplexed over why should wizard start squabbling over petty court politics. She never really understood politics in general really, she took from her Papa that way, everything had always been very straightforward for them, always a black and white issue, no matter how much people tried to paint it otherwise, and she didn’t understand why other people couldn’t see it that way.

It was only logical after all.

Her dreams are weird, black voids with white smoke, filled with still images of people, monsters, beings, objects, a weird voice, probably belonging to a old man, giving her advice, some times good, some times just weird, talking about events before her life, as if he was there, as if he knew who was there, mentioning the gods, and talking about the divines and the daedric princes as if they were old chums... or bitter enemies some times.

It’s weird, but strangely illuminating if she managed to decipher his rants, a constant companion of her nights, and she assumes it must be a Daedra working for Vaermina, or maybe one of her demiprinces, especially given how... weirdly fond he seemed to be of the nightmare mistress when he talked about her, but still, she wasn’t that worried about this, it wasn’t like a major daedric prince had decided to set up camp in her dreams after all, she could handle some minor heckling mixed in with some genuine good advice or history lessons about the history of Cyrodil, surprisingly well done and serious in tone, as if they were 2 completely different persons.

At 25 years of age, abandoning her attempts to join the Mages Guild, she decides to move north, to Skyrim. She has heard of a long forgotten cult, attempting to create a true lich for themselves, and also that the college of Winterhold seemed more open to the prospect of its members researching forbidden lores and crafts, no matter how blasphemous they might seem, and she’s all for that, finally, a place where her genius will be recognized!

So, with her blessing of her Dad and her Papa, sad to see her go but glad she’ll be able to leave the nest and follow her dreams, with enough magical research to allow her to cast at least 2 spells for every school of magic, if still really novice ones, she crosses the border into Skyrim...

And gets captured in an Imperial Ambush.

It’s almost mechanical what happens next, going with the flow as if it has happened countless of times already. She’s almost executed, but a Dragon saves her (Usually, it’s the knight that saves the princess from a dragon, not the other way around).

She flees the fort with the awkward soldier who tried to be nice to her, and failed miserably at doing so. She might have hold against him mistaking her for a Thalmor spy (And she spits on the ground at the thought, startling her new companions as they watch her give her daily prayers to Syrabane), but she always considered herself as a excellent judge of character, and of the two men that offered to help her flee, one was simply running for his life, the other had almost given his life to save a young child from the drgaon’s breath, as most other imperial soldiers were doing at the moment.

Which meant only one of them was noble enough or dumb enough to position himself between her assailants and her sparks, and that was the dumbass thought sending her corpse to a country she had never set foot in would have comforted her in her final moments.

At least he was easy on the eyes.

They leave the fort, she finds some junk, a rusty old ceremonial sword among them, and contemplates just how competent those Stormcloaks actually are if their armor and weaponry consists in some strings of leather and scraps of metal barely held together with spit and hope, she even manages to find some spiffy new robes for her, still no boots tho, forced to wander the place just with some wrappings at her feet. It hurts like hell, but she’d rather wear that than... ugh... light armor, uncomfortable and itchy as it always made her feel.

They flee the fort and he offers her to give her shelter to the near Riverwood, Hadvar’s, that’s the hot dumbass’ name, home town. It’s pretty close, and along the way they find the so called guardian stones, old pendants hidden in the hole within them. She was born under the sign of the mage, so she activates the according stone, but Hadvar mentions that unlike her birthsign, the stones do not bind her to just one sign, much to her befuddlement. She doesn’t press him, noticing his barely veiled... judgement at her choice of stone, and notices a door down the slope the Stones are perched on, embed in the mountain as she leaves, wondering what it must have been.

What follows is a whirlwind, she meets Alvor, Hadvar’s uncle, and finds herself almost stealing all the food he had offered her, starving as she found herself, eating chicken eggs raw and stockpiling potatoes for the incoming trip. She’s supposed to got to Whiterun, warn the local Jarl of the dragon attacks...

Gennarino tells her to go to Falkreath instead. It’s as close as Whiterun, and she needs to find someone there.

Gennarino is her oldest and most devoted friend. A traditional Direnni name according to her Papa when she mentioned him, it also happened to be the name of the assistant of a great Aldmer sorceress, during the war against the Sloads, obsessed with gold, who ended her days living in a remote island, at the foot of a slumbering volcano, her name lost to time.

Gennarino also happened to be a Raven. Her Raven. Who oh so happened to be invisible to anyone but her.

Or, well, almost anyone but her. She was pretty sure other animals could see him just fine, as could some of the kids she used to play with, before she was considered too “weird” to be played with, as well as one (1) drunk Argonian in the Imperial City, green and sad and screaming against the heavens in the rain, complaining about friends dying or disappearing after becoming gods and leaving him behind with all the golds and riches that he’ll never be able to share with them, while also complaining about the loud crow giving him a headache.

Still, invisible Raven, followed her all her life, his advice has always been followed by her, how would she not, he’d always been right, even more so than her, and she might be stubborn and curious but she also know the old stories, the old fairy tales about strange little creatures following strange advice to be followed to the letter, a clear, easy way for the player and the author to justify her sudden detour in the middle of such a important situation.

Anyway, she leaves for Falkreath before long, apologizing to Hadvar and the others, who take it better than she expected, before trying to buy some more spell tomes from the local trader, delighting herself in the sudden new variety in the new land (”Uh, death hound, never heard of that conjuration summon, and what is this? “Lamb of Mara”? Is this a religious spell?”). On the way, she visits the door she spotted, finding alarge, sprawling room, filled with altars to anything but her god.

She pledges herself to be a follower of her own mind, something Syrabane would probable appreciate, before inspecting the other altars. The Hermanus Mora one (Already whispering sweet knowledge to her starved mind, as she resists to its pull... for now) has a variety of books as offerings, among them a spell she had never seen before.

She prays for her god there, and leaves for Falkreath. She finds no trabel along the way, only corpses and a traveling bard, with whom she concludes her journey to Falkreath.

There, she finds Lucien, an Imperial, so easily flustered, so eager to follow her to their death, a fellow seeker of knowledge, as they say. He asks her to become his bodyguard, she who can’t even defend herself, and she accepts, both for the money he’s offering, and for the prospect of her research to gain something from their sudden collaboration...

Also because despite everything she really needed a meat shield. And something tells her that if her crow has told her to go for that one, inexperienced and incompetent as he might seem, there seemed to be a reason for that.

She’s not eager to test this concept, and decides to leave for Whiterun this time, as Lucien also suggests, to warn the Jarl of his impending doom...

Except then Gennarino grabs at her Map, a gift from her dads, that she managed not to lose in the ambush, and tells her to go to Riften instead, where another valuable assets lies. Its very insisting, more so than when he told her to go to Falkreath, so she leaves, resigned, Lucien puzzled at her sudden change of destination midway, and there, finally, meeting Inigo.

Now, they are here, a Mage who has just started her journey into the mysteries of the unknown, a Half Naked Khajiit that mistook her for someone else, a inexperienced “Milk drinker” donning imperial armor in a rebel stronghold filled to the brim with bloodthirsty Stormcloaks (Why, she just witnessed their lot violently suppress a small Imperial assault, barely 4-5 soldier, that’s where she got one of the armors before the city guard stopped her from looting the other corpses by tossing them in the river), her talking, maybe there maybe not crow, cawing at her that now, yes, she can go to Whiterun, finally...

And who knows what their future holds for them?

#Skyrim #Skyrim SE #skyrim mod #inigo the brave #lucien flavius #dragonborn

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Chapter 15

A/N - Sorry this is a bit late. Thank you for reading and thank you for all of your comments, likes and reblogs. Its amazing. Chapter 16 up later today. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 15 of 18

"She what!" Ivar roared.

"Yes, Ivar"

"The Princess?"

"Yes, Ivar."

"Aethelswith?"

"Yes, Ivar!" Hvitserk exclaimed. "Is there another?"

"She undressed and lay with me?" his voice waned in disbelief.

"GODS Ivar, yes." Hvitserk rolled his eyes, holding up a hand. "This is what I have been telling you."

"I cannot remember," Ivar uttered quietly. Lifting his head off his pillow, he paused as if to say something further but dropped back down. His eyes darted wildly around the ceiling of the tent. "Why can I not remember?" he growled, frustrated. "You are telling me that she lay in this bed. That I am in now. With her body against mine. Aethelswith."

Leaning forward, Hvitserk rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with his hands. "To warm you, yes. I am not repeating this again."

Attempting to sit up, Ivar winced as the screaming pain in his knotted legs shot up his back. Having never been able to wiggle his toes, his feet lay still, stinging as if they rested above an open flame. He brought a hand up to his forehead, confused and partly skeptical.

"I cannot believe it," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tight. With a huff, he opened them and slammed his arms down into the furs on either side of him. "As hard as I try, I cannot force my mind to conjure the memory. I cannot recall what she felt like. I want to know what she felt like." He shook his head again. "Why?"

"Who would not want to know what a woman like that feels like," Hvitserk scoffed, glancing over at Ivar.

"No, that is not my meaning. I am asking why she did it."

"Brother, you were in a dire state, barely alive. She was visibly troubled. We all were. You were hardly breathing and your lips had turned purple, your entire body white. White! Your feet are wretched." He grimaced shaking his head. "I would not rush to look at those if I were you."

"My entire body?" he questioned in a low voice.

"Yes," Hvitserk nodded.

"I was bare?"

"Yes, she insisted we cut off your clothes?"

"She took off my clothes?" his eyes widened.

"No. She said your wet clothes needed to be removed in order to warm you. Obviously, she was correct. Loni and I did the dirty work."

"She saw me?"

Hvitserk did not reply.

"And then she got in bed with me bare?" he tilted his head up to look at Hvitserk. "Why? Why would she do that?"

"Please, Ivar, you must know why she did it," he shrugged. "Why not just ask her?

"I will not ask her," he spat. "I have to share this tent with her knowing she saw me like that." His head dropped back, and he ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips. Shaking his head, he growled, as if trying to dislodge the images in his mind. "I was exposed, weak, my pathetic legs on display," his eyebrows spiked high on his forehead. "Everything on display."

"Look Ivar, you are fortunate to even be alive. For some reason, the Gods kept you here, gave you another chance at this life. The princess and your thrall worked all night to warm you." Looking down at the grass, Hvitserk shook his head. "Ivar, you are my brother. Despite everything I love you, but no one was more distressed at the thought of you dying than her. Truthfully, I do not think she cares about your legs."

"Get out!" Ivar shouted. "Get out!"

Rising from his seat, Hvitserk hesitated and then turned toward the tent door.

"Wait!"

Rolling his eyes, Hvitserk sat back down looking at Ivar expectantly.

"Tell me again. What did she do?"

—

Glancing up from her roasted pheasant, Aethelswith tipped her head to one side, narrowing her eyes, glaring at Ivar. Too focused on maintaining his own scowl, he did not notice her stare.

"Truly?" she snapped.

"Truly what?" he snapped back.

Eyeing one another, Ivar irritably sighed and continued eating, taking a deep drink from his cup.

The recent weeks had been exhausting. The warm, charged atmosphere between them fractured by Ivar's mood and agonizing pain. His body was slow to return to its previous condition and a restored layer of awkwardness, again laid between them. Rage and frustration, even resentment, replace Aethelswith as his dear companion.

Confined for nearly two weeks to bed, and another two only able to crawl, any nearby item became an object for throwing. Hvitserk took a jug to the shoulder while attempting to update Ivar on the running of the camp and the recovery of his chariot. And... Ivar scarcely looked at Aethelswith, let alone spoke to her.

Uncertain how to behave, she gave him as much space as she was able, although, difficult while sharing a tent. Not engaging him but staying close, she could not begin to understand the pain he experienced while his body fought to heal. His poor circulation as much of a culprit as the icy water. The healer was able to save all but three toes, two from his left foot, and one from his right were cut, removed and cauterized. Ivar did not share Aethelswith's sentiments of success as she felt this was remarkable given their previous, damaged state.

As uncomfortable as it was to be near him and his violent outbursts, she felt it better than him stewing alone. Isolation was one agony she could understand. Her patience, however, had its limits.

Her eyes were still narrowed at him, her head shaking in disbelief.

"What!" Ivar demanded

"Can you not feel that?"

"Feel what?" he asked, clearly beyond frustrated.

"Feel your drink spilling," her eyebrows lifted.

"What?" he scrunched up his forehead. "What are you on about?"

"You spill your drink down your chin nearly every time you bring it to your lips."

He shook his head trying to make sense of her comment, chewing his food slowly.

"It is as if you are incapable of gauging the volume of mead in your cup," she continued.

His head shot back, and his mouth gaped. "Are you being insolent?"

"I am being helpful by directing it to your attention." She held his gaze, her face cold, edging on his irritation.

"Why would I care for your help?" he sneered.

"Perhaps when you are through building your legacy and you, what you call, have a woman," she grumbled sarcastically, "you might care how she feels about such things."

Ivar's eyes widened in surprise, never seeing her so ruffled.

"Why would I care what she feels?" he retorted.

"When you meet the woman who captures your heart, Ivar the Boneless, you will unquestionably care how she feels."

Seriousness settled across his face and he swallowed loud enough for her to hear. Looking at his plate of food, he lifted his cup to drink, only to hesitate mid-air, and place it back down.

Silence.

"My Lord," she rushed in a whisper, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. "This tent is closing in on me today. I think I am going mad." Closing her eyes, she rested her elbows on the table covering her face with her hands. "I am sorry." She shook her head. "I am sorry."

Sitting frozen, Ivar said nothing, just stared at her wearied form. Closing his eyes, regret swept through him. What was he doing? How could he keep her in this tent month after month, season after season like some exquisite dove locked away in a wicker cage?

Running his hand down his face, he opened his eyes and studied her, biting his lower lip.

"The men are restless," he straightened, clearing his throat. "I will throw a feast to invigorate them. Restore and lift spirits," he paused waiting for her reaction. Uncovering her face, she straightened on her seat, listening. "You will come. You will dine with me." He cleared his throat again. "As my guest."

"Is that safe?"

"Aethelswith!" he exclaimed making her eyes widened from the rare use of her name. "You will be with me. Of course, it is safe."

A puzzled expression settled on his face and he wondered if it was fear of being alone in the heathen camp, out from under his cloak and surrounded by brute men, that had her work so hard save him? Was it familiarity that had her no longer view him as a threat? Or was it something more? Was his mind tricking him into believing, she too, could close her eyes and picture every detail of his face? Hear, in her mind, the tenor of his voice and the sound of his steady breathing when he slept at night on the other side of the tent. Like he could with her...

"Do you not think me capable of protecting you?" he asked in a quiet voice. His expression teetering between hope and rejection.

She shook her head lightly. "I was unprepared for your question, that is all. You are one of the most capable men I will ever know."

Looking down at the table, Ivar allowed her words to wash over him and settle deep into his mind. Exhaling slowly, thoughts of her ivory skin flashed in his thoughts. The sensation of her breath and sweet scent and tousled hair sweeping across his chest forced him to adjust on his stool and inhale again. Glancing back up, a shiver washed across his shoulders raising goosebumps down the length of his back. His flesh was responding to her words and the images in his mind. He squeezed his cup, struggling with both the weight of her response and the notion that, despite his black memory of that day, his body remembered her.

Like clouds rolling in the sky, she watched his emotions flit across his handsome face. Was she really, willingly, going to feast with the enemies of her brother? The raiding Northmen of the camp? Her mind tipped each thought over as she worked to maintain a neutral face, ignoring the excitement bubbling inside.

"Very well." She looked up to see Ivar's pleased face. "When?"

"In two nights time. Give them time to prepare. My chariot should be fully restored by then and the new horse trained. That is something to celebrate."

"Along with your life," she looked at him with a pinched smile.

Nodding, he took a mouthful of meat, unable to stop his smile as he chewed.

Sighing, Aethelswith could feel her emotions lift along with the heaviness in the tent. An evening to look forward to, she thought. An evening with Ivar. Grabbing a lock of her partially tied back hair, she looked down, swirling it around her finger.

"Perhaps, I will ask Brana to braid my hair."

"No," he replied sharply, immediately softening his face. "Wear your hair down. It is pretty that way." Clearing his throat, pink began to creep across the center of his cheeks. "You would not want to be mistaken for a Viking." The corners of his lips lifted again.

She nodded, shifting her gaze away from his bright face and to her trunk sitting against the canvas wall. What formal dresses had been packed all those months ago, she wondered? The images of beads and fabrics of various colours and texture skipped through her mind. Ah, yes, she thought; a smile tickled the corners of her own mouth and she looked back to her captor with only one question in mind. Does he like the colour red?

.

 @ill-skillsgard @youbloodymadgenius @allvikingsfanfic @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @jacksonroth @dreamwritesimagines @ceridwenofwales @whenimaunicorn @medievalfangirl @naaladareia @yanii-the-hippie @flowers-in-your-hayr @equalstrashflavoredtrash @geekandbooknerd @readsalot73 @tephi101 @jaydelesley4

#ivar the boneless #ivar's heathen army #Ivar and Aethelswith #ivar ragarson #ivar #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #vikings #ivar fanfic #romantic ivar #frennemies #princess aethelswith #ivar x princess #Ivar x aethelswith #slow burn #eventual smut #ivar smut #kidnapping #ivar love

[theballadoffinchesandsaints]

*SPOILERS for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes*

Okay, “Crash” by EDEN is so wholeheartedly Snow’s internal crisis of seeing Katniss and thinking of Lucy Gray. First, links to the song, Second, analysis time.

Spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/track/0uxC9yUi8uPtNPo6HRshRM?si=KKAPVc7iTUSDcOEeBbr3tw

Lyrics link (though all the lyrics are cited in order in the analysis below): https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/eden/crash.html

Strap in folks, this is going to be a long one.

“It’s been a few years since you’ve been gone/There’s been a few tears, but that was years and years ago” It’s been so long since Lucy Gray left that Snow has been able to mostly bury the memories and emotions, but it was still a heartbreak

“Yeah, I grew up to be exactly what you wanted/Yeah, I’ve been living out the dream that you dreamt up” This line is bitter in the context of Lucy Gray and Snow. In Snow’s mind, Lucy Gray betrayed him first and turned him into the callous dictator he is. In some ways, this was their real dream, though. Snow now has enough power to influence the games and save tributes if he chooses to, he just doesn’t use that power the way Lucy Gray would want him to

“It’s been a few years, but more to come/It’s been a few yeats since I’ve felt sure of what I want/And I woke up today and found that you were waiting here for me and I thought/Woah, old friend it’s bittersweet/How could you do this to me/How could you do this to me?/Yeah” This is when Snow first sees Katniss at the reaping with her big first impression and later as he sees all the other similarities between Katniss and Lucy Gray: the district partner as a close ally, the singing, the rule-breaking. It brings up the part of him that almost ran off into the woods with Lucy Gray decades ago. While most of the feelings that this bring Snow are negative, it’s still a little bittersweet. He can’t deny the couple of happy memories he has of him and Lucy Gray. It’s even relatively safe to assume that they are some of his happiest, if not the happiest, moments in life that were only tainted after the fact. Snow feels betrayed by the world. He has worked so hard to get away from the mockingjay that haunts his past and here comes a reincarnation of Lucy Gray with a pin of the birds as a district token.

“Cause you are not who you think you are/There’s no grain on these brown eyes/But they can be green if they really want” First off, the female singer that starts here is the image of Lucy Gray he conjures in his mind. These lines are similar to Lucy Gray’s Rousseauvian ideals: all people are truly good at heart, and the world may try to make you worse, but you can turn yourself back into a good person if you try. Lucy Gray tried repeatedly to get Snow to understand this while they were together in direct contradiction to Snow’s Hobbesian ideals of a strong and strict government to control the inherently faulty people that make up the world. It is an internal argument now, but Hobbes has won years ago in Snow’s mind. However, Katniss’s similarities to Lucy Gray remind Snow of the other perspective he never quite understood and still cannot truly compete with his Hobbesian tendencies.

“And I can bend your words/But they say exactly what hurts the most/But silence is better than fake laughs/Or faking were always up” This is in reference to the moment in the woods when Lucy Gray realizes Snow is responsible for Sejanus’s death. She tried to find a different explanation for Snow’s “responsible for three deaths” line, to see the good in him, but she can’t. So she pretends she’s still planning to run away with Snow until she finds a good moment to get away.

“loose grip/The world bends around you/And living through cracked screens/We fold down to what we want/Out of love/We talk through lines/We’re made of smoke/And just in time/We drift away/Diffusing light/Confusing times/Growing up/Or cascading down?” these lines are sung by both the guy (Snow) and the girl (Lucy Gray in Snow’s mind). At first they reference the confusion of their final encounter. With the mockingjays singing and Snow firing bullets haphazardly, the chaos could be compared to the world bending, screens cracking, smoke, and all the other metaphors in these lines. Not to mention the internal confusion of making a radical change as to the course of your life in an instant while the person you love tries to kill you. Both are forced to make these changes without much consideration. So they ask themselves, “is this me finally making the mature, correct decision for my life? or am I giving up my one chance at happiness?”

“Cascading down/I’m hurting now” Back to only Snow now. This is just a brief confirmation that he is not over Lucy Gray. It’s quickly replaced by anger in the next lines, but it happens

“But change comes slow/If you hate what’s in your head/The fuck would you speak your mind” All of Snow’s anger at Sejanus comes back at now. Snow always blamed his own misfortunes on a trickledown effect from Sejanus’s revolutionary tendencies. If Sejanus hadn’t gotten involved with rebels, Snow would never have shot Mayfair and felt the need to run away with Lucy Gray. If Sejanus has just stayed in his place, Snow wouldn’t have had anything to turn him into and Lucy Gray wouldn’t have had a reason to run away from him in the woods. There’s also anger towards Lucy Gray here about her idea of intrinsic human goodness that seems absolutely absurd to Snow.

“In search of lost time/Just 21 so I’m young and I’m stupid/Only 16, yeah I think you should’ve known” For a moment, Snow longs for the life that, according to him, he could have had with Lucy Gray if Sejanus hadn’t interfered. 21 isn’t much of an explicit reference to anything in TBOSAS, this is three years after the book’s events. It can be reasonably assumed that, at this point, Snow is really starting to get the hang of poisoning his enemies and allies to gain power, something he might now consider stupid with both the physical and mental ramifications of being a mass murderer. It’s not exactly that Snow wishes those people were still alive, but that he is upset his enemies found out about it and could release the information. As for 16, that is the exact age Lucy Gray is in TBOSAS. In this line, Snow tells his mental manifestation of Lucy Gray that she should have always known he’d be like he is today. He may regret some things, but he must clamp down on the world with an iron fist to avoid anarchy...and to fill his need for power.

“I think you’ve fucked me up/I think, I think you’ve fucked me up/And I’ve got nothing to say to you/It’s been a few years and I moved on/Couldn’t nake it disappear, oh I tried so hard to be strong” Snow is fed up with himself for the flashbacks and romantic thoughts he’s having. He is livid that anyone could affect him this way 60 years after they’d last seen each other. He buried the memories for decades, but a pair of tributes from district 12 have brought them all back up. In that way, Lucy Gray has “fucked [him] up.”

“But I grew up today and faced that I’m not just lonely/Don’t feel much better, but I guess that it’s a start” At the end of Mockingjay, Snow faces the fact that he is going to be brought down by victor from district 12 that reminds him so much of the girl he loved. He recognizes that the problem now goes beyond one of flashbacks and regrets. He knows he’s going to die, so he can just enjoy the show of one last hunger games.

tl;dr The male vocalist in this song is Snow who is forced to face memories of mainly Lucy Gray, but also Sejanus, during the 74th and 75th Hunger Games and the rebel war. The female vocalist is a manifestation of Lucy Gray triggered by Katniss that reminds him of both their happy memories together and their horrific falling out.

#mine #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas spoilers #tbosas meta #coriolanus snow #president snow #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #peeta #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #katniss #finnick odair #finnick #Spotify

[prplzorua]

Sleep it Off

I've got a helluva head cold, so instead of y'know sleeping, I decided, why not write a sick fic with Remy? With the premise my fogged mind decided to give me. "Like what if he tries to hide it at first but then it gets worse and the entire mindscape starts to get slow and feel sluggish until the others find him?" Sooo ye, this the product if that lol. Sned halp I'm dying. ---------

It started off with a headache. A small thing that was easily ignored. It's not like it was the first time he had a headache, he could deal. Nothing was going to stop him from doing his job, no ma'am! Not today bitch.

Not tomorrow either.

...

Or the next day.

...

Or the next- look man, he had shit to do, places to see and people to be and all that...

Remy frowned, that phrase didn't sound right... places to see and people to be-wasn't it the other way around?

Remy raised a manicured hand and rubbed his tired eyes, but continued to stare forward into the Sand screens, sighing as he had to rewind them back for the few seconds that he had missed when is eyes were closed. He been at it for days, constantly searching. Searching for something, a disturbance, what that disturbance was he didn't know and that unnerved him.

He kept sensing it from beyond the gate, at best it could be a stray Nightmare at worst a particularly gruesome intrusive thought.

Turns out...

It was both.

-------

Fighting off the Nightmare was child's play compared to the fight the Intrusive thought was giving him, and that's wild to say, considering that the Nightmare had been the 12 foot version of Mothman and Godzilla's love baby.

Thankfully a perfectly timed Sand Spear to its heart downed the creature effectively, but that of course was after he got tossed around like a freaking ragdoll-

Hissing Remy dodged the shadowed claw aiming for his throat. That was the annoying this about Intrusive thoughts. Once they snuck their claws into you, once their shadowy bodies clinged and coiled around you, once they whispered in your ears...you were practically done for. Unless of course, you had strong will power, but that could only take you so far.

Crouching into a side roll, Sleep narrowly dodged again. The thing's shadowy form could stretch, allowing its claws to jab at him at any distance. It made things a little bit difficult- not that his job was ever easy.

Rolling once more Remy then pushed himself up, jumping to his feet and then bending back to avoid a swipe to his head-even though the movement was quick, the Guardian saw the swirling claw pass over the lenses of his sunglasses in slow motion- huffing he quickly threw his hands over his head, pushing on the grass below him to basically complete a backflip.

Once upright and now a slight distance away from the enemy, Remy smirked, lifted a finger and beckoned it closer.

The Intrusive thought, angered, rushed forward- only for Sleep to take a single step back- it ran into a wall of sand. Confused the Thought tried to go around in an attempt to rip the Guardian into pieces- except it ran into another wall...and then another...and another. And before it could even think to have climbed up, another wall was placed above it.

It was completely surrounded.

"What you thought I was rolling around for nothin'? Please, this jacket is too goddessdamn expensive for that. Everytime I rolled, I had my Sand spread out, enough to lift up into a cage. Nice trick don'tcha think?"

The Intrusive thought howled throwing itself against the walls of its Sandy prison.

"Thought so too", Smirked Remy, "alright then, lights out buddy!"

Sleep clapped his palms together- the Sand walls moved, closing shut and completely crushing the being it once held.

"Welp, that's all folks", mumbled the Guardian to himself. The annoying buzzing had finally stopped, but his head still ached something rude.

Wincing a bit, he headed back to the Dream Tower.

-----

Remy groaned.

He fixed the problem, so why does his head still feel like he got run over by the mob at Sb's when Pumpkin Spice first gets out?

Speaking of Starbucks, when was the last time he actually went there? Last week? Week before? Why can't he remember??

He'd been functioning on the castle's brew, which wasn't bad, just...not good.

Eh, fuck it.

Shower, coffee then a power nap, yeah- that's a good idea, it'll probably get rid of his stupid headache too.

One cold shower, a trip to Starbies and an iced coffee later...he was now on his bed with an even worse headache.

Grumbling to himself about 'stupid fuckin headaches', Remy downed the rest of his drink, tossed his cup in the bin by his door and proceeded to flop down face first into his pillow.

Maybe the nap would help?

------

It did not help.

He woke up, not even a half hour later, with his head pounding so hard he could feel his pulse though his eyes.

Placing a hand to his temple Remy winced and then groaned, "what-the-ever-loving-fuck?!"

To make matters worse, his phone began to ring.

The sound was so loud it made him jump and scramble to shut it up.

It was the ringtone he used for Thomas but he honestly couldn't bring himself to answer his Host. His body had near automatically curled up, hands pressed against his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. Remy honestly felt like his head was trying to explode, even the sound of his own breathing was too loud-

The phone rang again, Roman's ringtone this time. A louder, much more bass heavy song.

The sound echoed, the reverb practically shaking his brain into pained mush, tears pricked at his eyes and he could do nothing more than whimper-

Remy's sand then rose up immediately and just...ate?? the offending piece of technology.

Sleep found that oddly funny, the sand covered the phone...and then the phone was gone, like a magic trick...or like something getting swallowed up by waves off the beach. Funny, the sand was the wave this time. He wanted to laugh or cry or something! He didn't know, everything...everything just freakin hurt.

----

Roman frowned.

"He's not answering my calls either"

"Of course" mumbles Thomas, flopping down on his bed and throwing a pillow over his face. "Uggh! I'm so tirrreed!!

"Um, We could always go look for him for you sport?" Tried Patton, a sympathetic look on his face.

"You could do that?"

"Well, considering that we can't really summon him since he's an Aspect and not a Side, that would be the best possible way of bringing him here", piped Logan from the Host's door frame.

Virgil, who was on the floor, shrugged. "I mean, I guess, we probably should check the nearest SB's first though"

Thomas chuckles "true"

The Manifestor removes the pillow from his face just in time to watch his sides sink down, hopefully they can find Sleep so he could actually get some decent sleep for once.

-----

The Personalities pop up in the Commons before climbing up the stairs towards Roman's room.

"Soo", whistles Virgil, falling into step with the prince, "where exactly are we going to find him?"

"The gate, first"

"But its day? I thought he only guarded it at night?"

"No, he guards it at all times, he's the Guardian of the Subconscious not a freaking night guard!"

"Woah easy Princey, go off on him not me-"

"No, no sorry, I just- he never ignores my calls, if he misses it, he calls me back immediately, we made a deal about it in case of emergencies...I think- I think something's wrong"

The other three exchange a glance at each other.

Roman pushes open the door a bright light depicting the portal to his Kingdom, the Mindscape itself. With a bit of concentration the light disperses, showing the image of the Dream Tower's entrance.

-----

The moment they step in, Roman freezes.

Everything feels off.

The air feels slow and sluggish and no one is moving around. As a matter of fact, no one was there at all.

Frowning, he climbs up the stairs towards Remy's room. Something was definitely wrong, the Dream Tower was always bustling with, Aspects, Figments and Emotions.

The others follow behind Roman as he picks up the pace-he almost trips.

There's a tugging, he looks down...sand, Gold sand is wrapped around his ankle.

"Shit!"

-------

"The Sand's not gonna attack us right? I've never seen it like this before"

"That's because it's worried about him, aren't your shadows the same way?"

"Uh, sometimes? I think? There a hell of a lot less sentient than this sand is, that's for sure"

Remy's room...would make the Sahara Desert cry.

Everything, everything was covered in sand. Well it was more like wrapped in sand? The glittering, gold dust didn't drown anything under it, the individual shapes of everything were clearly visible but it was a lot of sand.

"Will you two stop ogling at it and help us get him out of it. The infernal thing doesn't seem to realize the more it covers him the less of him we can actually hold-" huffs Logan, as he keeps trying to brush the sand off of Remy. Every time he did so more sand would crawl over it master, hissing at the Teacher as it did so.

Patton places a hand on his shoulder.

"Logan wait- I think the Sand doesn't want us to touch him"

"But that would defeat the purpose of it asking us to help!?"

"No I think it's for a different reason. I have an idea-"

"Patton we-"

"Hear him out L, none of us know what's going on-"

"Thank you Virge, Roman can you conjure me a thermometer?"

"Um, ok?" The prince holds out his hand and after a brief second of concentration, a new prepackaged thermometer appears.

Patton wastes no time in grabbing it and tearing pack open. Gently he turns Sleep's head- the Sand hisses at him for this.

"Shh, I'm just trying to help ok"

If sand could look sceptical...though it quiets and let's the Prominent personality slip the thermometer between Remy's parted lips.

It's kept under his tongue until it beeped-

"104.6°F"

-------

Bonus:

"Sleep"

"Ngh, where-?"

"Hey Sleep!"

"Mnh?"

Remy blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurry and his head pounded. Honestly he was consider going right back to-

"Sleep!"

Remy sat up with a gasp. Wincing as a cold rag fell into his lap. He picked it up. "What?"

"You ok there pal?"

Remy tensed, only just realizing that someone was in front of him, that someone being a very worried-

"Thomas?"

"Yeah it's me-"

"Where-?"

"You're in my room, and you kinda brought the Sides here too"

Ever confused, Remy could only squint and mumble. "Wha?"

Thomas simply pointed down.

From the bed that they were on, Remy could indeed see Thomas' main sides in all degrees of sprawled asleep on the floor. They did look quite peaceful though.

"Um?"

"Yeah...that was my reaction too-"

"You said I brought them here?"

"Uh, ye, about that...what do you remember?"

Sleep placed a hand to his head, wincing... "Um, your- your phone call I think and ...Roman's? But other than that, I have no clue"

"I-uh, I guess I could tell you what they told me?"

"Better than nothing, go for it"

-------

"Pat said you had a high fever and according to him, the others were helping to lower it, but-"

"but?"

"But you...kinda woke up? Roman said you were out of it, mumbling something about protecting me and a fence-"

"Gate"

"What?"

"It's a Gate, huge ass Golden gate that separates the conciousness from the unconsciousness, the literal division and final protection of your subconscious"

"...ok wow, I didn't, um"

"I still can't believe that you've been inside the subconscious, the damn Dream Tower itself and still haven't seen the Gate"

"In my defense, I almost died"

"Fair. Now continue, what did my apparently fever drunk ass do next?"

"Um, well Virgil said you turned into a zombie, you like stood up and were trying to get outside, Roman had to hold you back but you kept shuffling forward-"

"Oof. Yeah...been there done that-"

"What? This happened before?"

"Ohh yeah. One time I was sick and my girls at the Tower had to legit lock me in my room so I wouldn't keep working"

"And here I thought you were lazy?"

"I'm far from lazy hun, I'm just always late. I don't like hard work, doesn't mean I won't do it, I just don't like it. Besides I'm cool do you think anyone this fine could look like this by being lazy? Please gurl, my work schedule could put Logan to shame"

"And yet-"

"And yet I'm always late, yeah- yeah. Look my sense of time and direction, are like, complete shit babes, but at the end of the day, I get my shit done and it gets done well. Quality over quantity and all that."

Both Aspect and Host paused and then instantly started laughing.

"Ok,ok, what happened next? How did we all end up in here?" Asked Remy as he gained his breath back.

"Uh, yeah, um apparently while you were struggling against Roman, Logan had asked Patton how he thought this would have affected me-"

"And let me guess, I heard him mention your name and just popped everyone here huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much, basically"

Remy shook his head at himself.

"Alright, why are they all sprawled out? I doubt that Roman of all people volunteered to sleep on the floor"

"Yeah...about that. When you brought everyone here, you kinda passed back out. The others were trying to explain something about the sand in your room, when this Gold sand just appeared from nowhere and Moana-Ocean-style came up to each of them in like the shape of a finger and just.. shushed them. Like literally went "Shhh"

"Oh, God-"

"And then before we could question it, it retracted, like it crawled back over you and turned into your bag- wait! Is that why you always have this bag with you?!"

"No duh? It's my sand, just easier to carry it around in bag form-"

"H-how, how does it change color like that?"

"It doesn't, that's just the color it takes when it's dormant and bright Gold when awake-"

"Cool, and what about your shades and Jacket?"

"That...is whole 'nother story, one I have absolutely no energy to tell tbh"

"Oh. Ok, well the guys kinda just drifted right off after your Sand became your bag, so yeah, that's the whole story I guess"

"A mess, but good to know-" Remy chuckled only to cut himself off with a wince. His head was still hurting like hell, even throughout Thomas' recounting- but now it just felt worse.

Watching Sleep in pain made the Host's stomach coil. He didn't like seeing anyone hurt, especially his Sides or Aspects in this case.

Gently he grabbed Sleep's shoulders and helped lower him back onto a pillow.

"Ok, why don't you lay back down-"

"Yeah, ok"

------

Remy lays back, settling himself on the bed...and then he pouts.

Thomas chuckles, already knowing the reason for that pout. He easily pulls Remy onto his chest, patting his back gently. The Aspect practically melts into it.

"And you call me clingy"

"Shhh!"

-----

Thomas is woken up early next morning, by the sounds of hissing and mumbled cursing.

Sitting up, he bites his tongue so as not to laugh at the sight before him.

A disheveled Roman was carrying a very much asleep...Sleep, bridal style. The Aspect had his face burrowed in the crook of the Prince's neck, seemingly relaxed, completely unperturbed by the events. Right next to Roman was Patton, who was holding Virgil quite similarly. Every second or so, the Emo's foot or arm would twitch before he resettled. Honestly between Virgil and Remy, Thomas couldn't tell who was snoring harder. The kicker though, was Logan, sleepily holding onto Patton's cat hoodie,slightly swaying as he rubbed his eyes. The Logical side was obviously not a morning person.

Patton waved at his Host, while Roman gave him a nod, Logan mumbled something, but Thomas could not decipher any of the other's sleepy jargon.

The Manifestor simply waved as they sunk down.

Once gone, Thomas flopped right back down curling up comfortably- what? He was sleepy.

------

AN:// Hi guys, I did a thing! I should probably take a nap tho XD. The Innerworks update is still coming, I've just been busy and tired, but it's coming, just hang in there. But you can consider this lil ficlet a part of the Innerworks universe, it just takes place after the events in Innerworks....so canon lol.

#sander sides #thomas sanders #sleep sanders #remy sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sick fic #my writting #innerworks #technically #have a sick Remy cause why not?

[icanthelpbut-love-you]

together dancing cheek to cheek

read on ao3

“May I have this dance?”

It’s with unsteady legs that Magnus steps forward to take Alec’s proffered hand, moving as though in a trance to rest his other hand on Alec’s shoulder, Brother Zachariah’s words pronouncing them one still echoing in his ears.

“Of course,” he murmurs belatedly, aware that the permission is more than obvious in his near-desperate hold. But he’s unable to summon anything witty, or even just less redundant, to say in the face of the all-consuming love he sees in Alec’s expression. It takes root, steady and warm in his own chest, stoking the feeling of overwhelming adoration already burning there and making moisture prick behind his eyes.

They’re surrounded by all the people they care about, looking on with assorted expressions of pride and, in many cases, more than a few tears. But they might as well have completely disappeared for all Magnus notices then. His vision has narrowed, entire being focused on the man standing before him.

He’s hyperaware of the ring on his left hand, hasn’t been able to stop reverently running his thumb over it since Alec guided it onto his finger only minutes ago. And now, with their hands clasped firmly together the feeling is only amplified, the smooth band pressing comfortingly against his skin. He can feel Alec’s ring too, he realises with a pleasant jolt, the cool metal digging into the sliver of exposed skin at that Alec unerringly zeroes in on as his hand sliding under Magnus’ jacket to grip his waist.

A small part of his brain has alarm bells ringing, conjuring memories of Havana. Admittedly, salsa dancing had possibly been a little ambitious for a beginner such as Alexander. But in all fairness, Alec is far more coordinated than he gives himself credit for – it would be impossible for him to be completely out of touch with his body given his warrior training – and when he did manage to relax his sense of rhythm wasn’t half bad, especially once he worked out what to do with his hands. 

As always though, Alec had been his own worst enemy. Magnus would have been content to stumble through it together, intermittent wincing and all, if not for his boyfriend’s mounting distress. Every misstep had sent Alec stuttering with frantic apologies, frustrated tension building and only making his movements less fluid.

It had been so, so worth it though. If for nothing else, then just for the way Alec’s hands had pressed roughly into his hips as Magnus had moved to the music against him and for the vibrant flush that had crept up his neck as Magnus had wrapped a leg around his hip to press them close.

Shaken back into the present by Alec’s thumb caressing gentle circles against his own, Magnus silences the part of himself concerned with self-preservation which whispers that, especially with the added pressure of everyone they care about looking on, this is a hilariously bad idea.

His toes will survive. And honestly, a little bit of bruising is a small price to pay for the pleasure of dancing with his husband.

Then Alec pulls Magnus suddenly flush against him and oh. His husband is a menace.

He’s clearly been practicing, though Magnus can’t think when in the world he would have found the time, stifling actual giggles at the hilarious mental image of Alec spinning across the training room with a reluctant and very uncomfortable Jace.

Magnus can’t believe it, that Alec’s kept this from him and let him believe he was in for a repeat of Havana. Even just a heads-up would have been nice, a quick “hey babe, just warning you that I’m about to shatter your entire world.”

Because that’s what he’s done. Magnus was in no way prepared for the sight of Alec, a confident expression on his devastatingly handsome face, holding him in position with perfect technique (though a little closer than is usually conventional). And based on Alec’s poorly hidden smirk, that was exactly the idea. Not that Magnus can talk though; it’s more than likely that Alec’s taking his cues from Magnus’ tendency to downplay his own proficiency in various areas – from pool to hand-to-hand combat – for a competitive edge.

Then Alec starts to move and Magnus is gone, unable to do anything but cling to his husband as he guides them across the floor in smooth circles

Alec’s eyes find Magnus’ as he relaxes into it, focusing less and less on executing the steps and just moving naturally. The look Magnus sees in them makes his heart clench. It’s complete and utter joy, glowing inside him and lighting him up as though he’s been carved from pure adamas.

Powerless to do anything but grin in response, Magnus wonders how on earth Alec ended up such a hopeless romantic. It’s so out of place with what he has seen of shadowhunter culture, and how the Clave’s rigidity and violent repression hasn’t beaten it out of him long ago is beyond Magnus. Although to be fair, between crashing his boyfriend’s political marriage and watching said boyfriend be used as a power play for control of the institute by his ex-Circle parents, what he has seen is probably not an accurate representation of your average shadowhunter family dynamic. And credit to Maryse, she (if no one else) making a definite effort to be better. Although that only really started once she was no longer technically a shadowhunter, so he’s still undecided on whether it counts.

But Alec... Alec is soft in a way Magnus could never have prepared for. In a way that could never be expected given his harsh upbringing. Which isn’t to say that he’s not a formidable warrior; you don’t get to be Head of the Institute by being anything short of fearsome in battle. But here? When he’s staring into Magnus’ eyes, a small smile gentle on his lips, visibly savouring his first dance as a married man?

Here, Alec lets his guard down completely. It still feels like a privilege to be the one lucky enough to see him like this.

Caught up as he is in his introspection, Magnus doesn’t notice the sudden mischief flashing in Alec’s eyes until it’s too late and Alec’s already dipping him, strong hands firms against Magnus’ back. 

By all rights this should feel deeply unsafe, he muses, his entire weight resting on Alec’s hands as he relies on his husband to keep him from crashing to the floor. But it doesn’t. There’s not an ounce of tension or worry in his body as he falls backwards, that ridiculous, borderline irrational trust in Alec that has been present from the very beginning – and only grown since – whispering that Alec won’t let him fall. So he lets Alec dip him low, and the provocative grin Alec sends his way ignites sparks that burrow under Magnus’ skin.

Trust Alec to be competitive even in this, of all things. Trust Magnus to find it way more attractive than he should.

Alec holds him there, smirking as he draws out the moment just long enough that Magnus can feel himself starting to get breathless. The entire situation is distantly familiar, like a memory from another life or the impression of a dream, of the golden morning sun and light-hearted teasing and calloused hands clutching his. The thought quickly slips away as Alec’s lips brush softly against his. Magnus can’t help but arch up slightly, chasing the feeling, and then Alec’s pulling away and pulling Magnus back up against him.

And Alexander calls him a tease.

Not to be outdone, Magnus seizes control of the dance before Alec can react, spinning him out and raising his arm to coax him into a twirl. He half expects it to throw Alec off completely but he takes it in stride, turning neatly with an amused huff, graceful in a way that’s surprising given how tall he is and how awkward it should look as a result. Alec’s hands wrap around his neck as Magnus draws him close again until they’re moving only a few steps each way, rotating slowly in the centre of the floor. He caresses Alec’s hip, inadvertently releasing a spark of magic from his fingertips where they grip tightly, relishing the way his husband shudders against him, a slight hitch in his breath where it puffs against Magnus’ jaw.

It occurs to Magnus, not for the first time, how wonderfully and uncannily in sync Alec is with him. How he can read Magnus’ cues like it’s his native language, where others haven’t even bothered to learn them at all. In fact, Magnus can’t recall it ever being this easy with someone before. Take away the complications of their jobs and the world that’s thrown everything it can in their path, strip it back to just them, and being together is the easiest thing Magnus knows. 

God, he can still barely believe that after decades upon decades of searching and even more wandering aimlessly trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter, that he’s given up, he’s managed to stumble upon this. And it’s borderline inconceivable that he gets to have this for the foreseeable future. That he apparently has a hold on Alec that he didn’t have over others (others who couldn’t or wouldn’t stay), a hold that actually matches the strength of the one Alec has on him.

After so many years of heartbreak he’s standing here swaying in the arms of a man who matches him stride for stride, a man who married him. 

A man who, in that moment, manages to stumble and step on his foot rather spectacularly.

Wincing, Magnus experiences a moment of confusion. They’re not exactly doing anything ambitious – just swaying gently, foreheads pressed gently together and breath intermingling. And then it hits him, given away by the subtle feeling of vulnerability he’s aware of if he focuses on it and the awestruck look Alec is giving him as he struggles to regain his balance.

He’s dropped his glamour. And it was enough to make Alec practically trip over his own feet. 

Caught completely off-guard, giddy with the revelation, Magnus can’t help the delighted laugh that bubbles out of him. Alec’s playfully glaring at him and Magnus tries to compose his expression into a look of innocence. It’s a battle he loses spectacularly, shoulders shaking slightly with mirth.

“Not a word,” Alec mumbles, expression an endearing mixture of embarrassment and reluctant amusement.

If Magnus’ hands weren’t already occupied, clutching his husband with no intention of letting go, he’d be sorely tempted to exaggeratedly mime zipping his lips, if only for the impressive eye-roll it would no doubt prompt. He settles for one last snort of laughter before schooling his expression into one of appropriate solemnity, for once passing up the opportunity to poke fun. Partially because he’s pretty sure if Alec gets anymore flustered he’ll just pass out from the sheer volume of blood rushing to his face. Or worse, start overthinking and pull away altogether. Either way, Magnus is not about to let this moment end just yet. 

And partially, because how could he tease Alec about this? Sure, the sudden lack of coordination is objectively hilarious, but Magnus can’t remember anyone in his long history who’d been so delighted by the sight of his real eyes that they’d have this kind of reaction. He’s grown to expect careful neutrality at best (and he’d rather not dwell on the worst). Alec’s utter, unguarded adoration for them is not something he’ll ever get used to.

There’s also the fact that he hadn’t felt the glamour slip away, wouldn’t have noticed if not for Alec’s response. Normally he feels practically naked without it, stripped of all defences in a way that echoes how he’d felt when he lost his magic. He knows he trusts Alec, but this is beyond conscious decision, a centuries-old defence mechanism that apparently now just falls away in his husband’s presence. And that speaks to a level of trust beyond sense or reason, something that he can feel at the very core of his being.

With all those thoughts swirling through his head, Magnus doesn’t think he could speak even if he wanted to, rendered speechless by the impossible depth of feeling Alec never fails to evoke from him. So he doesn’t try. Just draws his husband closer, let’s him hide his still-pink cheeks in Magnus’ shoulder as they sway together, ushering in the beginning of the rest of their life together.

#malec #shadowhunters #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec wedding #shtv #jace herondale #jace lightwood #once again only mentioned but i thought i should tag him anyway #brother zachariah #my fic

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

The Butterfly Effect Chapter 2: A Conversation

@mugofmocha

@ziggystarluster

@ravenmione

@malfoybellamy

@msruchita

@damnedmagicallisa

I hope I tagged everyone

Wow… was really surprised that this was received more popular than I expected. Thank you everyone for your support and reviews! It really means a lot

Although, there is a thing some reviewers brought up that I want to kinda address. Some accused this as being Ron bashing, but I’m confused on how, considering the whole making fun of Hermione happened in canon, and if this is Ron bashing then, isn’t it also Harry bashing as well? Hermione calls out Harry too. I’m just a little confused so if anyone can explain this to me I’d be grateful. I wanna avoid unfair bashing.

That being said, Ron will not be treated as completely horrible and irredeemable. He’s eleven years old—he’s a kid. He may be a jerk, but he isn’t evil. Also, I don’t understand how repressed anger issues make someone perfect—Hermione’s got issues. This is to touch upon what JKR didn’t—people develop issues when they are bullied. I’m surprised Harry only had anger issues when he was older, and no other repercussions to his mental state while living with the Dursleys.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter

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

Chapter Two:

A Conversation

For once, Hermione didn’t feel the need to attend her classes. The anger still churned in her gut and it felt if she had the ability, she could conjure fire from her skin. The aftereffects of bottling her emotions left her feeling shaky and anxious, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to Madam Pomfrey for medicine, knowing the object of her anger would be there, and the cycle of her fury would commence all over again.

She sat herself outside, hoping the fresh air would do her some good. Her wobbly hands grasped her stress ball, squeezing it rapidly, trying to calm herself. She hated when she got like this—the aftermath of the high. Lashing out was so instantaneous—it didn’t take thinking or plotting—it’s by instinct, and your body can’t help but soak all the adrenaline up like a sponge, before the euphoric feeling of making the person that hurt you hurt back, and you’re left with a sickness as if you’re going through withdrawal.

The torrent of emotions made her stomach lurch, and Hermione did her best to swallow the anxiety, trying not to dwell on what she had done, but also couldn’t help but replaying it over and over in her mind. She kept telling herself she should’ve had better control, or she should’ve let it go, but humiliation and pain caused her to snap before she could even get a grip on herself.

Hermione inhaled deeply, an attempt to calm her nerves, but it had no effect. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and not come out—anything to spare her the inevitable when Professor McGonagall would confront her. She wasn’t a stranger to this before with her teachers since violence wasn’t looked highly upon. Yet, that only made her even more anxious because she knew it would eventually come but didn’t know exactly when.

Her stress ball was covered in sweat, but Hermione didn’t dare stop squeezing it. She had to calm down. Worrying would do her no good. In fact, if she was honest, she still didn’t regret punching Ron, even though it wasn’t really the best solution. However, the rush of vindication that ran through her when she heard his nose crack was incredibly satisfying.

“I’m a mess…” Hermione laughed humorlessly. She practiced some more deep breathing exercises, not noticing the lone figure approaching her. When a shadow fell over her, Hermione felt a lump in her throat when she caught sight of not her head of house, but Professor Snape staring intensely down at her instead.

Neither of them said anything, and Snape surveyed her critically catching her blotchy face, heavy breathing, and eyes wide with fear, before sighing in exasperation. He appeared to want to pinch the bridge of his nose if he wasn’t so composed.

“Come along, Miss Granger.” He ordered. Hermione gulped, standing up on wobbly legs. Professor Snape didn’t bother waiting for her and she quickly hurried after him, her heart pounding in her ears. A cosmic being must’ve had mercy on her for no one caught the sight of Hermione following the infamous potions master down into the dungeons. They quickly arrived at his office, where she followed him in without complaint, not wanting to take any chances with her Potions Professor.

Professor Snape seemed to not pay her any heed, searching through his cabinets for something before returning to her with a vial. Hermione looked at the bottle warily, wondering what Snape was doing.

“It’s a calming draught, Miss Granger. If I was going to poison you, I’d have make sure you definitely wouldn’t suspect.” Snape sneered. That satisfied Hermione, for Snape brought up a very good point. He was too cunning to even give a clue if he was going to poison someone.

“Thank you.” Hermione said quietly before downing the vial in one go. She assumed he was done with her, but Professor Snape had other ideas.

“Not so fast, Miss Granger. I believe there is something we need to discuss.” Snape was quick to shut any plans of escape down in her mind. Hermione huffed, feeling irritation build up despite her anxiety.

“Shouldn’t my head of house be discussing this with me?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms. Snape wasn’t amused.

“Your show of backbone may intimidate your schoolmates, but me it will not, Miss Granger.” Snape sneered. “As for your head of house, she is still looking for you and expecting you and Mister Weasley to talk about your differences and apologize.” Hermione made a face at his statement.

“With all due respect Professor, that never stops a bully.” She was feeling bold now, the calming draught clearing her of her anxiety, only leaving irritation. She was familiar with this all too well and was very familiar with the after effects would be.

“Who said I agreed with Professor McGonagall?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “’Resolving differences’ under the supervision of an adult often doesn’t stop bullies. Your own ferocity will.”

“So… you agree with me?” Hermione ventured. Snape narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t say that either. Uncontrolled violence also leads to more conflict. I thought your high grades would clue you in on acting smarter with your enemies.” Hermione felt her anger flare up, not enjoying his jabs at her.

“So what? Should I have ignored it as my housemates were laughing at me?! Everyone is intimidated by you! You have no idea what it’s like to be picked on all the time, no matter what you do, there’s always that someone to find something to pick at!”

Snape’s face darkened. However, Hermione’s self-preservation no longer mattered. She was too angry. He just didn’t understand. He brushed people’s hate off like it was a spec of dirt on his robes. He didn’t care for others’ opinions. Even when Snape rose from his desk and strode around his desk to stand in front of her chair, Hermione’s glare didn’t waver.

“Don’t presume to know me Miss Granger. I have been through things that you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Things that would break you and make your measly thin skin crumble.” He hissed.

“Then don’t presume to know me either, Professor.” Hermione bit back. “You think I didn’t try to let stuff not bother me? I went to every session, did every exercise, but that didn’t make any of it stop.” She stood from her seat and a desire to hit something increased. Emotions churned inside her as she looked at her reflection in the glass cabinet. She hated the image staring back at her. “Then I came here. I was so hopeful that things would finally be different. But it isn’t and it makes me so—ugh!” she couldn’t contain it and punched the glass cabinet, shattering it. Her hand bled, but she was too upset with image of herself to care.

It was silent in his office before a sob broke out of Hermione’s mouth. It wasn’t from her hand, but rather from her turmoil of emotions—the anger, the humiliation, the self-loathing, the wish for things to be different. She slid down the side of the wall, crumbling to the floor. She didn’t care about the blood on her uniform or the fact that it was Snape of all people seeing her breakdown.

A handkerchief was soon presented to her. Hermione peeked up and Professor Snape was as impassive as ever. However, he was patient as he held out the cloth. Hermione sniffled, taking the cloth with her good hand and blowing her nose. Snape sighed, kneeling down and taking out his wand. He recited a spell quietly, and Hermione was amazed to see her hand completely healed.

“Contrary to popular belief, Miss Granger,” he began in a slightly gentler tone. “I, too, know what it’s like to feel trapped and hopeless that you just lose control of yourself.”

Hermione watched him in awe. This was a side of her Potions Professor she had never seen—perhaps no one has ever seen. It left her feeling humbled.

“Did… did you get fixed?” Hermione whispered. She wanted to know. She needed to know if there was hope for her. Snape rose from the floor, casting a repairing charm to his cabinet.

“I’m not a therapist, Miss Granger. I don’t presume to judge whether or not someone is fixable.” Snape replied. Hermione was downcasted, but also understood Snape couldn’t provide her that answer.

“Oh…” Hermione murmured.

“Are you composed enough now?” Snape asked not kindly but not unkindly either. Hermione nodded, sighing.

“I guess I should get this over with…”

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

I wanted to type more but I am not really doing so great right now and am exhausted. I will try to update as soon as I can but there’s a lot of stress right now. Please let me know what you think.

Also if anyone wants a Everyone Loves Hermione fic let me know! I started writing it since it’s a lot more light hearted and easier to write.

#Hermione Granger #severus snape #hermione has anger problems #bullying gave her issues #the butterfly effect #harry potter #hp #hp fanfiction #hermione fanfiction #hermione granger centric #harry potter fanfiction

[gaymessonmain]

Divine Light

@bloodyshadow1

If your still looking for beauyasha prompts. Yasha sees beau during their fight fight with the demons, glowing with divine energy from the wild mother, hands crackling with the storm lord's lightning, still covered in dried demon blood from when she tore out the last demons heart. Then yashas heart goes pitter patter and she knows shes losing ground

Hope you enjoy, my dude. (;

In the time she has been with the Nein, Yasha has found out there is more to the world than she ever thought possible. There are flowers of every imaginable color with wild shapes to go with, there are as many shades of gray to choose from when it comes to morality as there are in the sky during the storm and there’s the rainbow after while she walks back, bloody and tired but enthusiastic, towards her new found family.

There is, of course, darkness, but that she can pierce with her eyes. There are demons and creatures with nothing but insidious intent, lusting for the blood of whichever living vessel they come across. And then, there’s light. There’s the fleeting flash of lightning in the sky, there’s the glowing orbs that Caleb puts out there for those unable to see through the veil of night, there’s the eerie green to the flames Fjord produces and the sparks flying in all directions as they ricochet against their enemies’ armor.

Right now, there’s a soft candlelight coming from ahead that’s getting brighter by the second, turning into blinding for a moment and then settling into a strong torch-like glow. It’s by no means faint but it doesn’t hurt her eyes anymore. It silhouettes Beauregard from some spot in front of her shoulders and it emanates a soft warmth that sings to Yasha’s blood. The pull is there, the urge to reach, but they’re in the middle of battle and the creatures salivating in front of them are not nearly as allured by it as she is. 

The rage is still building inside her chest and there’s a heaviness to her body she can’t quite shake. It’s easy, then, to blame that for the way her heartbeat has jumped into a frenzied staccato.

Beauregard leaps into action, trying and failing at decking the creatures, potentially as distracted as Yasha is by the recent developments.

Thank the gods for Fjord and Nott, because between Beauregard’s punches going wide and her sword strikes being somehow ineffective with her strength diminished, they could have been in more trouble than expected.

The rage has started to consume everything around her now, and she is finally starting to focus once more, distractions blurring in her peripherals. The one creature weakened by her friends falls into the fire and dissipates into ashes, but the sickly feeling is still holding onto her muscles.

It’s maybe because she’s actively trying to block the distractions that it hits like a boulder from a giant when another enemy lands right in front of Fjord. It looks ridiculous, that’s her first thought. Like a way too big insect from the swamp, but it strikes right after diving down and Fjord sinks to his knees.

The buzz of its wings almost makes her miss the crackling of lightning running along Beauregard’s knuckles. The electricity plays along her closed fists and once more, Yasha finds herself enthralled by the sight. It’s incredibly distracting as Beauregard moves through the wall of fire, seemingly disregarding the scorched ends of her robes and the way the flames lick her forearms while she delivers one blow after another.

Instinctively, Yasha closes her eyes and shakes her head, summoning the image of Zuala like she could somehow protect her from the feelings blossoming inside her ribcage. For a second, she expects to feel the pang of guilt she’s used to, but the face of Zuala she conjures is smirking in that way Yasha knows she did whenever she found something amusing and enticing. It doesn’t help her confusion and does nothing to temper the storm in her mind. If anything, it invigorates it.

The flashes illuminating the entire chamber they’re in as Beauregard punches and kicks finally die down. For someone as Yasha, used to fighting with metal and muscle, it’s always a good show watching the trickery her friends come up with. From holy flames to small unicorn-like-creatures, that’s always way more elegant than brutal slashing and hacking.

Yasha wants, again, to blame all of that for the way her attention seems to be diverted from the enemies here. But then there’s the splash of blood hitting rock and Yasha’s eyes search for Beauregard in a knee jerk reaction. A huge gash runs down her shoulder and there’s a nasty looking wound on the side of her face. She’s panting, although not heavily, and bleeding onto the ground beneath her. The red intensifies at the edges of Yasha’s vision as the back of Beauregard’s forearm wipes away the trail of blood and they both snarl in sync at the creature. In her rabid stupor, she almost misses the way Jester and Fjord fall unconscious, but there’s nothing she can do about that.

Only one thing. Get rid of the danger.

Caleb, Nott and Cadeceus make quick work on the remaining smaller pests and Yasha’s vision pinpoints on the one still standing on its long thin legs. She goes to swing and the creature dodges out of the way. The scraping sound of the sword against stone makes her grind her teeth together. Her second swing catches the creature and a bloody foam comes out of its jaws.

It turns towards the prone form of Fjord and Yasha grunts, she faintly hears Caduceus yell piercing though the fog of the rage. Weirdly enough, she can distinctly make out Beauregard’s very soft gasp, who is not much closer to her than Caduceus is. But she decides to ignore that for the time being.

When the creature tries to take a step away, the rage and fear combine and synergize and Yasha swings at it, gnashing a torn on its side and forcing it to stay put. Just in time for a boulder to be chucked its way and striking with enough force to pummel the hideous insect down. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Yasha registers the giant they brought along roaring something unintelligible as it hits.

The corpse hits a wall and falls into the water basin ahead, spreading its blood and tarnishing the crystalline depths.

It’s over. Yasha takes a moment to control the divine fury, breathing deeply, perfectly still, as her friends spread along the area to make sure no other creatures are lurking around. They have but a moment of peace to gather themselves.

Mismatched eyes blink blearily and sweep around, catching the form of a crouched Beauregard. Her still glowing hands are held up in the air as she nudges Jester awake with her elbow, almost like she’s scared of touching her with them.

Everything feels still a bit blurry as they sit together and Caduceus works his magic to restore their physical health.

The group huddle together, but maybe guided by a power too great to comprehend, because that’s better than considering it’s her own desire forcing her to do it, Yasha manages to sit next to Beauregard just far enough from the others to get some resemblance of privacy. There’s still a fair amount of blood splattered across her face from when she tried to wipe it clean after getting injured and she looks nothing short of intimidating like this. It stirs something deep inside Yasha’s belly, something she tries not to think about as she moves a bit closer and eyes her shyly.

“You—huh—there’s—,” her hand reaches forward, the back of two fingers gently tracing the cut along Beauregard’s jawline. Beauregard doesn’t flinch, but she’s frozen in the spot. With a mind of its own, the hand begins glowing dimly and a tremor runs down her spine when Beauregard lets out a sigh at the touch. The blood has dried and remains where it’s been smudged, but the skin beneath it is now healthy if a bit reddened. “I’m sorry, you had a—you were hurt.”

It’s lame and it’s a terrible way to excuse her behavior, because all of them are hurt, many more heavily than Beauregard. Not to mention they’re being healed by a proper cleric as they speak. Beau doesn’t seem to mind it, however, if the way she’s staring with wide eyes is anything to go by. It makes no sense, how her fingertips warm up immediately when knuckles covered in a sparkling sheen of magic touch the back of her hand.

“Yeah… got me pretty bad there,” there’s a smirk poorly hidden behind Beauregard’s words and Yasha can’t help but smiling a bit at being caught. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Yasha somewhat manages to reply without stuttering, glancing at Beauregard’s face to catch her grinning. The hand barely touching her face is covered by a wrapped one and they let them both fall to the side, still together.

Zuala’s image flashes back through her mind like a bolt of lightning, this time without need to summon it. The same curious look plays with the sharp angles of her face the second Yasha closes her eyes to enjoy the warmth of the healing magic and the hand clasping her own. Yasha tries to make sense of it, because it could very well be wishful thinking, but it looks like Zuala is accepting of this… thing… happening between them.

“We need to talk,” she listens to herself say and Beauregard’s eyes snap from their fingers to her downcast eyes. Yasha’s stomach lurches and she looks around. The rest of the party has scattered close by, probably trying to give them some needed privacy. They really need to talk about Zuala, they need to talk about whatever this is that’s going on between them. It’s a conversation that’s been long time coming. “When this is over. Tonight, maybe?” she clarifies, and Beauregard gives a hesitant nod and tries to pull her hand away. Yasha immediately hates the cool air touching her skin and without giving it much thought, catches the retreating hand. “You deserve my honesty.”

There’s a bit of surprise in the blue depths staring back at her, but Beauregard seems to get it together quickly enough, her hand resting on the ground between them with Yasha’s on top of it. She realizes she’s been gently tracing the lines of the receding glow on her knuckles.

“Tonight, then,” Beauregard agrees with a smile that causes the butterflies in Yasha’s stomach to wreak havoc. “I’m getting good at this honesty thing myself.”

#beauyasha #yashregard #sentinel babes #yasha nydoorin #yasha #beauregard lionett #beauregard #critical role #critical role fanfiction #critical role fic #critfic #critical role spoilers #c2e59 #past zuala/yasha

[warriors-windandfireau]

Wind and Fire: Into the Wild - Chapter Twelve

Read on Ao3

The events that had just occurred had happened so quickly that Firepaw had barely any time to process what was going on. One moment he was worriedly eyeing Tallstar’s uncharacteristically alarmed expression, the next he was fighting in the battered, blood soaked WindClan camp, and the next, he was running alongside WindClan in fear, being driven out of their own territory.

Although he couldn't read minds or anything of the like, it seemed that everyone shared Firepaw's thoughts as well. The fear scent coming off of the WindClan cats was so strong that you could probably suffocate in it, and the silence, save for the heavy breathing and panting from the tired and injured cats, was unnerving.

But who could blame their shock and terror? They had just lost their home, and they couldn't even do anything about it.

I didn't realize that Brokenstar was going to go this far, Firepaw thought, his heart sinking with dread.

Images of the camp he had cherished, considered a home for so long, torn apart and filled with yowling and bloodied cats of both his Clan and their newfound enemies alike. The stench of blood always present, even now amongst the cats around him. The thoughts of how he had been forced to fear for his life despite being taught by his fellow Clanmates that it was against the sacred code for the warriors.

He was almost sure that everyone around him had felt the same or a very similar feeling, judging from the withdrawn expressions on most of the other cats’ faces.

Amidst the thick silence, Deadfoot began walking as fast as he could with both his injuries and lame paw through the group of cats, muttering something to himself as he passed by each cat. After he finished examining everyone, he padded back to Tallstar. The deputy whispered something to the leader who, upon hearing it, hung his head low for a moment before eventually raising it back up. His eyes scanned the crowd before he spoke.

"Cats of WindClan," he began, his voice not as loud as it usually was when addressing his Clan, almost as if he feared that the ShadowClan warriors would hear him calling if he spoke any louder. "Deadfoot has done a quick check to make sure who is still with us. It turns out that two cats are not, and we can only assume that they were killed during the battle with ShadowClan." He bowed his head. "Although we cannot give a proper burial or vigil, we will honor Spiderdapple and Willowspot in any ways we can." 

A feeling of cold fear flushed through Firepaw as he recalled the limp mound of fur, hardly visible behind all the cats fighting, unidentifiable due to the blood that covered the fur, pressing it slick down like mud.

He shook himself, and winced due to the jolt of pain it caused in his shoulder and neck.

Tallstar continued. “Keep Spiderdapple and Willowspot in your minds as we travel, and remember that they gave themselves away for this chance.” The leader went quiet, signaling the end of the faux-meeting.

Firepaw studies the cats around him, most looking still alert, with bushed up fur and raised hackles almost as if they expected to be ambushed any minute.

I’m a little nervous. He almost laughed as soon as the thought came, considering what an understatement it was. But… he recoiled into himself, whatever laughter that had come to him had died. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, trying to avoid the intoxicatingly thick scent of fear. But I can’t show it.

While caught up in his thoughts, he only was cut off from it when he heard murmurs from a cat in front of him— Barkface— speaking to Tallstar.

“I’m gonna go in a different direction to look for herbs.” The medicine cat shot a worried glance at the cats behind him, limping, bleeding, and wounds exposed to the air.

Tallstar nodded. “In that case, we will take a break here, both so the cats can rest and you can more easily use your herbs.”

Barkface gave the leader a small smile, before flicking his tail in a goodbye and whisking away into the unknown forest.

A few moments after Barkface left, Tallstar suddenly frowned, and eyed the crowd. “Mudclaw, go accompany Barkface. Explain to him that I said I don’t want cats on their own.”

Mudclaw nodded, dipping his head to the leader before bounding in the direction that Barkface had vanished to.

Firepaw studied the crowd of cats around him, and found his gaze falling on his friend Onepaw, who had Runningpaw beside him. The two were muttering things to Ashfoot and Morningflower that Firepaw couldn’t hear, but judging from how Runningpaw had her tail wrapped around Ashfoot’s, and she seemed to be squeezing it, Firepaw found it most likely that they were attempting to comfort the two queens.

Firepaw hummed quietly to himself as he watched the two apprentices whisper to the queens only things that could be conjured from imagination, and found himself getting up to join them.

“Firepaw.”

The voice of Tallstar stopped him in his tracks, though, and he quickly turned around. He dipped his head as a sign of respect, and Tallstar only chuckled in response.

“Er- Huh?” Firepaw said, only half expecting an answer, as he was confused as to why Tallstar was laughing.

“And here I was thinking we were close enough to get past the bows.” 

When Firepaw studied Tallstar’s expression, he was slightly surprised to find a complete lack of mockery and of pure— oh, what was it? Some sort of mix of amusement and friendliness. 

Firepaw responded with a smile, trying to push away his polite tendencies, “I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

Tallstar quickly changed the subject. “I was going to ask if you were doing okay.”

"I..." Firepaw shook his head, his smile leaving his face. "I really can't lie... not really." His leader watched him in silence, as if he were quietly urging Firepaw to elaborate. "It's just that... everything happened so fast, and I'm worried for everyone else here as much as I am for myself." He shivered slightly, and Tallstar laid his long tail gently against his back to reassure him.

"I understand what you're saying," the WindClan leader muttered. "I fear for our Clan too. However, I am their leader, so I must stay calm for them."

Firepaw nodded gently so that he didn't disturb his wounds. "Yeah."

"One more thing I should mention," Tallstar said after a moment of silence between him and Firepaw. "Training for every apprentice will be put on hold for now. Right now, our main concern is finding another place to stay, and who knows how long we'll have to stay off of our territory."

Firepaw fell into silence, not quite a tense one, but definitely not a comfortable one. He could swear he could even smell the smallest trace of fear coming from his mentor. It shouldn’t have been surprising as it was, really.

Tallstar was a constant neutral figure, in almost everything- careful, thorough, and objective with his decisions.

Nonetheless, Firepaw considered himself foolish for thinking that perhaps WindClan’s leader could feel something so negative, and well- mortal, really- as fear. 

But the scent had vanished as fast as it had come, so quickly that Firepaw figured he might have imagined it, mixed it in with the constant cloud of fear coming from the cats around the two.

Firepaw shook himself, sighing. Noticing the gesture, Tallstar looked at him with a curious gaze. Just as he seemed about to ask a question, there was a rustle of leaves from behind the two.

Firepaw turned around to see that Mudclaw and Barkface had returned, only a few similar-looking (or at least in his opinion) herbs in the two cats' jaws.

Tallstar approached Barkface, who mumbled something incoherent at first before setting down the herbs. “I could only find a couple things, and I figured I shouldn’t go on a much longer search without notifying you and without permission.” He paused before adding, "Especially since our Clan desperately needs to heal and rest at the moment. Again, it's not much, but as we travel further, I'll see what I can find to help."

Tallstar nodded, expression unreadable as he looked at his medicine cat. He then gestured around the shelter they found. “Please, go on and do what you can.”

At Tallstar’s dismissance, Barkface looked ready to set off to look at individual cats’ injuries, but he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned in and muttered to the larger tom.

“Morningflower is very close to kitting. She will need a proper place to do so.” After a moment of silence, he added in a lower voice, "It's a shame she has to give birth in these conditions." Tallstar was quiet, with a dangerously neutral look on his face, before he spoke up.

“Understood. We will set off soon to find a more proper place as soon as is possible.” And with that, the conversation was done, and Barkface left to look closer at the cats in the crowd. Mudclaw placed his small herb bundle near a sheltered area, notified Barkface of its location, and padded off to rest and wait for the medicine cat to check his injuries.

While this whole fiasco had gone down between the two toms, Firepaw had failed to notice Webpaw curled up and shaking near one of the trees. It wasn’t till the conversation he had watched finished that he actually noticed.

When he did realize it, he rushed over to his friend, glancing around to see if Onepaw was nearby as he did so. Sure enough, he was not, most likely caught up in conversation somewhere in the throng of cats.

Firepaw silently sat beside Webpaw, who seemed to barely notice his presence. He wasn’t entirely sure how to help, which is why he had glanced around to see if Onepaw was close. 

But he did remember what he had seen the tom doing with the queens earlier, and decided to copy what he and Runningpaw had been doing.

Firepaw curled his tail around his friend's, before leaning down to quietly ask him a question.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The words seemed to snap Webpaw back to reality, and his fur fluffed up in embarrassment. “Er- what did you say?”

“I asked if you were okay.” He repeated, hoping that his voice was soothing.

Webpaw blinked at Firepaw a couple times, before he simply gave him a small, strained smile and his shoulders slumped. “I’m about as okay as we really can be in this situation.”

Firepaw returned the smile, and squeezed his friend’s tail again. “I suppose you are right. Everyone around here is at least a little scared, and it’s normal.”

Webpaw seemed to relax a little at Firepaw's words. "I get it, but it's just... so scary. I had a bad feeling about Brokenstar when he threatened us at the Gathering, but..." The apprentice's words trailed off, yet Firepaw understood what he was trying to convey.

The two apprentices laid there in the shade, each others' presence as well as their previous small discussion enough to reassure them that they would be safe. As Firepaw glanced around, he could see that the rest of WindClan was basically feeling the same way; although a tense and fearful energy still hung around in the air, Clanmates calming and reassuring each other that it would be okay certainly toned it down a few notches.

Barkface was still padding from cat to cat, looking over their injuries and treating them the best that he could with his limited herb supply. But now he was padding up to the two apprentices, and Firepaw could swear he saw a glint of determination in the medicine cat’s eyes.

“Hello, Webpaw, Firepaw,” he gestured at the toms to get up, “what kind of injuries do you have?”

Firepaw rose, and saw Webpaw do the same. He shifted so that Barkface could see the wounds on his cheek and shoulder. “I have these, and I also have wounds on my belly as well.”

Barkface nodded slowly, before he came closer. He lifted up a leaf that had some strange gooey substance on, and gently rubbed some of it onto Firepaw’s shoulder and cheek. After doing so, he placed down the leaf and placed cobwebs on both. He then backed up.

“Show me your belly, please.”

Firepaw nodded, flipping over so the medicine cat could see his belly. The medicine cat frowned, before coming forward again. He rubbed the same substance he put on Firepaw’s cheek and shoulder on the wounds in his belly, as well as another liquid. At Firepaw’s confused expression, Barkface gave a short explanation.

“This should push away infection. Your belly cuts have some mild infection,” Barkface said after covering them up with cobwebs. “Try to limit doing things like jumping and running. In other circumstances I’d ask you do limit your walking, but I know that isn’t possible in these circumstances.”

After this, Barkface turned to Webpaw to help whatever injuries the tom had. But Firepaw found his mind wandering as he stared into the crowd of now mostly bandaged up cats, questions whirring through his mind. But he couldn’t help but ignore the most prominent query, which happened to find itself almost as constant as the fear in the air.

How do we even know we’ll be able to return?

#Warrior Cats #Warrior Cats AU #ITWChrono

[owlish-peacock36]

Exsanguinate: Chapter 5--Tapestries

A/N: Sorry this is so late! I hope you enjoy!

Previously: Prologue   Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Jamie found Claire waiting outside the door, patient and still as only vampires can be. Without the fierceness and distrust in her eyes, he could truly see her face as it was. Fair and soft, she was quite beautiful, with full lips and a pointed, freckled nose. But what was most captivating were her eyes. They were large and round, fringed with dark lashes. The color of them was strange, and somehow familiar. A whisky color that reminded him of home.

“I know you don’t trust me, but will you come with me?” She held out a hand, her thick pearl bracelet clicking with the movement.

No words were spoken, but Jamie gently placed his hand in hers, her thin bones belying the steel strength beneath.

“Lead the way.”

***

Myths about vampires had become increasingly more ridiculous ever since Vlad the Impaler’s cruelty:

Sensitivity to sunlight (false).

Allergic to garlic (false).

Unreflected in mirrors (false).

Alarmingly large cuspids (false).

But as Jamie was led through the bowels of the Parisian home, he began to wonder if maybe some myths were true. Were they hiding coffins? Did they drain bodies upside down in the cellar? Jamie wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

As they approached the bottom of the staircase, a single door stood, only visible by the two sconces that guarded it.

“How much do you know of our history? Vampire history?” The walk down had been silent, so Claire’s voice was startling.

“Oh, umm, verra little. If any.”

“I thought so. Fergus, well, he saw that you woke alone when you were changed. I suppose you’ve never had anyone teach you.”

“Nay.”

“Well.” A small smile graced her face, shadowed by the lacking candlelight. “It’s never too late to learn. In here.”

She pushed the door open, and it creaked with disuse, an assault on the ears.

“Come.” Claire pulled a candle from it’s sconce, and entered the room. Jamie followed close behind.

The room was dimly lit, and lavishly decorated, like the apartment above it. What set it apart, though, were the multitude of tapestries that covered the walls. Brilliant colors flashed against the neutral stone. Hand painted and intricately detailed, each tapestry told a story. A scene that conversed with images instead of words.

“A dhia…”

“This is our past, present, and future. All of us. We should start at the beginning.”

She began walking toward the tapestry suspended on the far corner. Again, Jamie followed.

“This is where we all come from.” Claire carefully thrust the candle closer the image, shedding light on the scene.

Five humans were centered on the fabric—three males, two females. They were surrounded by hundreds of other figures, cloaked in black. Red paint was splattered upon the scene before him, marring its beauty. Blood. It was haunting. An image not soon forgotten.

“What is this?”

“The first five vampires. Every vampire is descended from one of them. This image here… this is their creation.”

“How?”

“Conjurers. They began… experimenting on corpses, trying to defy death. I suppose they were technically successful; their creations were immortal. What they didn’t expect, though, were the side effects.”

“Bloodlust?”

She made an affirmative noise in her throat. “Mmhmm. The five woke confused and hungry. They destroyed the entire coven within minutes of their rebirth.”

She motioned to the tapestry to the right. Similar to the first, the black-cloaked figures were now covered in crimson, lying prostrate beneath the five vampires.

“What does this have to do with yer war?”

“It was rumored that draining one of the originals would bring the drinker unspeakable power. No one has ever done it, though. And four of them are dead now, their blood feeding the earth. Only one remains.”

A pale finger pointed to the smallest vampire, an older man with white hair and deep, intelligent eyes.

“My father. Our father.” She motioned toward the ceiling, where Jamie could still hear the footsteps of the other vampire inhabitants. “This war… it will be about him.”

She crooked a finger, and made her way toward the opposite wall.

“And if we lose…” The next image she illuminated depicted the same small vampire, dead and blue. A shadowed form hovered above the corpse. There was no face, only blood where the face should be. Lightening surrounded the scene, emanating from the shadow’s fingertips.

“And if ye win?”

“Then life will be normal. Well, as normal as vampire lives can be.”

“And how do ye ken all this? I mean, who painted these?”

Claire looked a bit taken at his question. “Well… I did.”

“Ye… ye painted all these? They’re incredible.”

A sheepish smile crossed her face, cheeks pinkening. “Thank you.”

“How, though? How do ye ken these things?”

“Well, you know how Fergus can see memories in blood? I see things sometimes, too. Some things in the past, some in the future. I paint them as I see them. Otherwise, I won’t remember.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how to feel about that revelation. There was definitely something strange about these Paris vampires.

“We’re a bit… different, I know.”

He wondered briefly if she read minds as well.

“Father… He was a conjurer before his transformation; the only conjurer in the original five. There’s magic in his blood. So when he changed us… We inherited some of that magic.”

“And what about your other brother? John?”

“He’s highly empathetic. He can feel the emotions of others.”

“Oh.” It was all he could think of to say to that. “So, yer sure this war will happen?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen the war many times. The outcomes may change, but the war…” She moved again toward the tapestry above the fireplace. This was the largest one in the room, and the most chaotic. Bodies flew, blood poured, and Jamie could feel the battle within the image. So vivid and clear, he felt himself transported back to a field of war, until Claire interrupted his thoughts. “The war doesn’t change.”

“Christ…”

“Quite.”

“So, what is yer plan?”

“Fight. Fight the enemy when they come.”

“That’s no much of a plan…”

“It’s all we’ve got right now.”

Jamie turned toward her, hearing the worry in her voice. He saw it then. Beneath the confidence and assertion, true fear shone in her eyes. He wished to erase it.

“I’ll help ye.”

Ears perking, brows knitting, she asked, “Really?”

“Aye. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“I… I will.”

What did I just agree to?

“Do… do you have other questions? I suppose it is a lot to take in…”

“Nay, I dinna think so… Ye’ve overwhelmed be a bit,” he teased.

She laughed then, a deep bell-like sound that caused something to stir in Jamie’s stomach.

How lovely…

“I am curious, though...”

“Aye?”

“Where is your mark?”

Instinctively, Jamie’s hand flew up to his chest, rubbing the thick scar tissue above his heart.

“Ah... I want... That is... I hope I am not being too forward in asking... to possibly see it? It’s... Well, some sires have a distinctive mark. I’m wondering if I may recognize it...”

“Oh, umm...” Unbuttoning his top buttons, Jamie pulled the collar of his shirt to unveil the mark beneath.

“Oh, my...” A soft fingertip traced the mark, sending sparks of fire through his body. “Your sire was not very gentle with you.”

“I wouldna ken.”

At that, she reached for her wrist, pulling the thick bangle from it. Beneath it, her mark shimmered silver in the candlelight. It was similar in shape to his, but less mangled. A bite with care, if such a thing existed. Unconsciously, Jamie grasped her arm gently, covering the scar with his hand.

“Do ye... Do ye recognize it, then?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen a mark so... malicious. Created with so much hate...” She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then caressed his scar gently. The sparks became uncontrollable flames. Jamie reciprocated, bringing his lips to her wrist.

The slamming of a door brought him back to the present, and he jumped away from the beautiful vampire before him.

“Bonjour, mes petits!”

A small grin pulled Claire’s lips. “That’ll be Father. Come. You should meet him.”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #exsanguinate #chapter 5 #tapestries #jamie x claire #vampire au

[ardentmuse]

Can’t Sleep (Harry Hart x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x fem!Reader

Summary: Sharing a hotel room with you while on a mission is just a difficult as Harry thought it would be.

Wordcount: 2.25k

Warnings: swearing, heavy petting, talk of sex

Masterlist

(NOTE: gif courtesy of google. Credit to original creator)

Harry couldn't fall asleep, not with your body curled up just a foot or so away from his. No, he was hyper-aware of your presence: your smell, your light sighs, the constant sway of the blankets with each calm inhale-exhale, your heat radiating towards his side. It was intoxicating, just as he had imagined it would be all those nights he laid himself down at night in his own bed and took himself in hand as he imagined you beside him, on top of him, under him. And Lord, how much he hated himself for those thoughts come morning.

He wanted you desperately and this, being forced to share a bed with you, to play as a couple for the sake of the mission, was killing him. Every grab of your hand or wrap of his arm around your waist came a bit too naturally to him. Every uttered “darling” or “dear” was a slip of the tongue that he’d been holding back for months. And listening intently to you, talking with pride about you, laughing as you engaged him in conversation, was exactly what he wanted to be doing from this day forward. And now here you were, in the same bed, as a couple should be, and Harry was having a hard time returning to colleagues. He’d tasted the sample and now he wanted the real thing; you, as his, always.

He turned his back to you, curling on his side and looking out into the darkness of the hotel room, street lights sending faint streaks throughout with each subtle wave of the curtains. Harry tried to focus on their movement, but of course the back and forth the air conditioning created in the fabric seemed to match in time with your breathing, only drawing his attention back to you. Always back to you.

Harry sighed. He needed to sleep. A glance at the alarm clock alerted him to the precious few hours remaining until the brunch you had to attend. Any yawns or dark circles around his eyes were only going to cause a few off-color jokes from the target about how Harry must have had a good night with you to be so exhausted. Committed to the cover, he knew you’d just blush and curl into his side, murmuring something about how every night with your boyfriend was a good one. Even just thinking about you acknowledging a sex life, although fictitious, with him was enough to make him groan.

“Harry,” he heard your voice call out, raspy in sleep.

He turned to you, his knees grazing yours as you too curled inward.

“Yes, Y/N?” he whispered, as though unsure if you were actually awake.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, reaching over to stroke his arm in a way you clearly thought was soothing, but was indeed having the exact opposite effect. Your fingertips left a heated path of raised hairs and goosebumps in their wake, like electricity sparking the very parts of himself he was trying so hard to keep hidden from you.

As you pulled your hand away, the feeling stayed and before you could return it to pillow under your head, Harry found himself grabbing your wrist before he could think better of it.

You tensed at his touch, causing a wave of regret to immediately chill him, but you quickly relaxed. He was glad his touch was merely unexpected, not unwelcome.

“I,” Harry started, gently stroking his thumb over your pulse. Your eyes were not on his but intent on where your hands met, as though captivated by the motion. “I don’t think I can sleep.”

You shifted your gaze to now meet his eyes. You were biting your lower lip in a way you often did when you were concentrating, just the bottoms of your two front teeth visible. What he would give to taste you right now.

After a moment, you curled your fingers upward to interlock with his that had previously been stroking your wrist. Now it was Harry’s turn to be caught off guard. You scooted a little closer, moving your head to the edge of your pillow nearest him. “I can’t sleep either, Harry,” you admitted.

“But you seemed so peaceful and your breathing was regular,” Harry said in confusion. He was seriously hoping you hadn’t heard his groaning and shifting, wondering if you could put together the puzzle of lude images his mind had been conjuring of you to his dismay.

“We’re spies, Harry. Of course I can fake sleep. Best way to surprise the enemy,” you told him with levity. Harry chuckled.

He found even still with your fingers interlocked, he couldn’t help but let his fingers continue to stroke at your delicate skin. He had been holding your hand all day, but this grasp had been the only one he was sure you chose because you wanted it. He didn’t know what to make of it, but wasn’t going to question his fortune.

“And what is keeping you up?” he asked.

You let out a deep breath. “This is a little weird, isn’t it? Sharing a bed?”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed hesitantly. He knew what he meant but he felt cold in the pit of his stomach that you might mean weird as in completely detestable.

“I just feel so awkward. I’ve wondered what it would be like to sleep beside you for so long and we’re both just stiff as boards. It’s awful,” you said, so quickly it hardly registered to Harry.

After a moment, he processed the words. He felt his heart begin to race, his fingers stopped their gentle caress of your palm. Did you just say you’d wanted to know what it was like in his bed? Did you mean it? Had you wanted exactly what Harry had wanted this whole time? His mind was working at warp speed, building up all the wonderful possibilities, but he quickly stopped himself. He had to get you to clarify. He couldn’t assume.  

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“We’re being really stiff,” you replied with a nervous laugh.

That was a half-answer. “You said you wondered what it would be like to sleep beside me. What did you mean?” Harry practically whispered, now so worried that your dismissal of his question meant you regretted the words you spoke.

“Did I?” you asked, full of innocence. And there you go with that damned lip bite again.

“I believe you did,” Harry said, soft and sympathetic.

Much to his dismay, you pulled your hand from his and began to turn over. As you flipped, he heard you mutter, “Well, shit.”

He had fucked up and made you feel bad for what you said. He needed to get you back. He had no idea when this opening would return to him, if ever. “Y/N, darling, please don’t turn away from me.”

You had buried your head in your pillow. Completely closed off from him. He heard your voice, tiny and contained, “Please don’t call me that.”

Harry lifted himself from the mattress determined to get closer to you, to get you to understand that he wasn’t asking you what you said in judgement but rather in hope. “What shouldn’t I call you?”

You were hugging the blankets to your chest now, curling even smaller than you had been sleeping previous. “Darling. Please don’t call me ‘darling’.”

Harry reached out to stroke your arm as you had for him. He couldn’t think of what else to do. “Why?” he asked.

“Because it just makes me believe that you want this too,” you said into the pillow.

Harry’s heart nearly stopped. You may have said it shy and sheepish, but you said it again. You wanted this. To share a bed, to have this intimacy, to call each other ‘darling’ and ‘love’ and really mean it.

He leaned over your body as you lay, curled, cold, and dejected. He wanted to laugh, so warmed at his own stupidity for not realizing you’d felt the same, but he held it in, not wanting to make you feel shame or embarrassment at your admission.

“Darling,” he said emphatically, gently pressing into your shoulder to regain eye contact with you. He felt you wince at the pet name. You still refused to meet his eyes. “Darling,” he said again, this time pulling himself to hover over you. “Darling, look at me,” he said again, now stroking beside your ear facing him.

You did as he asked, showing him your reddened face and watery eyes. This time he did laugh.

“Darling.” Harry added in whisper as he held your gaze.

“I asked you to stop.”

“Not until you know I mean it,” Harry whispered as he hovered over your form, holding your gaze. He uttered one last ‘darling’ for good measure.

Without a word, you turned to your back, slowly lifting your hands to caress the face of the man hovering over you. Harry leaned into your touch, unable to control his desire to be closer to you. He saw where confusion had previously been on your face replace itself with passion. Your eyes widened, your lips pulled together in the faintest of smiles, your cheeks burned a red that he couldn’t see but that he could feel radiating off of you. Harry moved his arms to either side of your head as you pulled him down to meet your lips.

The initial touch was hesitant; feather-light touches of plump flesh which quickly pulled away, heavy breathing creating a tingle where wetness remained. But when Harry pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact never breaking, he saw as something snapped in you. You lifted your chest to meet his, desperate for as much physical contact as possible, and pulled him down to your kiss, now bruising and hot. Harry smiled against your lips as he returned your ferocity.

You were making out like teenagers and Harry couldn’t stop smiling. Hands roamed each other’s bodies with explicit purpose. You caressed his jaw, his cheek, his neck and shoulders until finally resolving on tugging gently on his hair, pulling and moving his head as necessary to deepen your kiss. Using one arm to support himself overtop of you, his second hand stroked up and down the side of your body, from your hip up your waist and higher, your chest tightening and nipples perking in anticipation of something that never came. All the while, your lips continued to fight for dominance, Harry enjoying the gentle nips of his upper lip you continued to send his way and the swift swipes of your tongue causing shocks to his core each time your tips made contact.

He wanted to consume of you, pull his lifeforce from the little shuttered exhales you gave during the brief moments where your lips separated. God, you were perfect, writhing and bucking underneath him, arching yourself closer to him with the rhythmic cascades of your hips into his thigh. He moved his lips down to suck on your jaw and neck in earnest. You shivered at his teasing hands which finally ghosted over your nipples, forcing him to reposition himself between your thighs fully.

When the hardened, sensitive part of himself made contact with your heated core, it was like being doused in ice water. Harry immediately pulled himself from you and shot upright, nearly to kneeling between your legs. It took you a second to open your eyes, shocked by the sudden change. When you met his eyes, he could see the hurt in them.

“This is wrong,” Harry said, immediately watching your lip quiver. He quickly retracted, “Not wrong in that I don’t want it. Darling, I want you so desperately. You are smart and kind and overwhelmingly beautiful. I’m the luckiest man that you might want me in your bed. But this isn’t the way it should be,” he paused to breath. “Our first time together shouldn’t be late at night in a fancy hotel room that Kingsman’s paying for.” Harry removed himself from above you and returned to his position resting on his side beside you.

Calmed by Harry’s words, you turned in order to listen to him.

He reached out to hold your neck as he spoke. “It should be late at night in a fancy hotel room that I’m paying for.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

Harry laughed too. “It is a subtle distinction, but one that matters.”

You stared at each other for a long time while holding hands, but it wasn’t awkward. Your sexual tension was now partially resolved with a verbal commitment to fully resolve it in the near future. You both felt peace for the first time since this damnable mission started.

Harry watched as your eyes began to droop, closing every few seconds for longer intervals each time.

“May I hold you?” he piped up, pulling you awake from one of your longer dips.

Too tired to speak, you nodded.

Harry scooted closer to you, positioning himself more comfortably on his back before pulling you forward so your head rested on his chest. He weaved his arm around your shoulders, securing you into his side.

“Sweet dreams, my darling,” he whispered before peppering the crown of your head with delicate kisses. With you nestled securely into the crook of his arm, an image he had pictured a million times before but he knew now failed to live up to the joy of the real thing, Harry was finally able to find sleep.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd​, @aerdnandreaa​, @thisisbullshytt​ 

Harry Hart tags: @un-education​

#kingsman #kingsman imagine #harry hart #harry hart x reader #harry x reader #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: the golden circle #agent!reader

[tanjamikaelson]

LOVE FOR ETERNITY - PART 39

MASTERLIST

PART 39: | WE’LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, DARLING |

REBEKAH’S P.O.V:

After having a fight with Klaus, Rebekah went to see Marcel. One thing lead to another and they slept together. That night reminded her of all those night when they were together, she was still mad at him because he didn’t look for her, but that didn’t stopped her to stay the night.

Some time after they both woke up, Marcel suggested to take her to a place she needed to see. He took her to a place that he called The Garden. It was a prison he made where he punished vampires who had broken his rules. His prisoners were either bricked into a wall and buried in cement in the ground and left to desiccate for the duration of their sentences. The only source of light for the prisoners was that little sunlight streamed from the ceiling and the few candles that were lighted by the guards Marcel places to watch over the place.

Marcel lead Rebekah into a garden, and gestured his guard to leave them alone.

 - “What is this place?” Rebekah asked as she stared around in confusion and mild horror at the heads that popped out of the ground.

 - Marcel gestured around at all of them, “This is the Garden. It’s where I punish vampires who break my rules.” he walked over to a wall and pulled out some rolled up blueprint, hidden in the small hole, “But, a long time ago, it used to be something else.” He unrolled the papers and showed the image to Rebekah, “Go on, tell me what you see.”

 - Rebekah examined the sketches, “Two stories.” she began as she started at the image of the house that she found beautiful, “Greek columns, wrap-around porch. High ceilings, transom windows..” She sighed as she glanced up at Marcel, “It's lovely. So what?”

 - “So, I designed it for you. It was going to be ours.” Marcel told her simply and firmly.

At that, Rebekah gulped down the lump that was beginning to grow in her throat at the thought of almost having a good life with a man that loved her as much as she loved him.

 - “That..” she cleared her throat as she looked around the place, “This.. was supposed to be our happily-ever-after?”

 - “Yours and mine.” Marcel replied as he put the blueprints away, “Except you flew the coop with Klaus. I already built the foundation for the place. I halted constructions after you took off. The plan was to wait for you to return.” he locked his eyes with Rebekah, “You never did, so, now it's where I bury the people who betray me.”

 - “You could have come after me!” Rebekah agreed, not wanting to believe that she was the only one at fault for ruining their happiness.

 - “You were with Klaus!” Marcel defended himself, “I didn't know where, I didn't know if you still wanted to be with me!” He knew that was a poor excuse, but it was the truth, “All you had to do was come home!”

 -  “It was more complicated than that.” Rebekah exclaimed, “Not long after we left here, he put a dagger in my heart and stuck me in a box for NINETY YEARS. He stole a century for me like it was nothing!”

 - “That's what he does, Rebekah!” Marcel told her, “Klaus will never be happy. He'll be damned if he lets anyone get something that he can't have!”

 - “I know! I've been dancing to this song for a thousand years! All my siblings have.” Rebekah spoke, there was a hint of hurt in her tone, “And now instead to dagger him for all that he has done, Kol and Natali decided to team up with him so they can put you down. I believe they are finally out of their minds.”

 - “Starting right now, you have a choice, between the brother who takes away your happiness whenever he feels like it, and the man who wants to give you anything you ever wanted.” Marcel told her.

 - The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, before Rebekah shook her head down, “They will kill you in front of my eyes out of spite.” she said sadly.

 - Marcel shakes his head, “Not if we get rid of them first.”

 - Rebekah looks at him in a shock, “Do you know how many fools have tried to vanquish my brother?” Rebekah argued with Marcel, scared for his life, “If you stand against him.. against them, they will kill you and it will be awful and bloody and I will not stand around and watch.”

 - “You forget, I have a secret weapon. Davina, the most powerful witch in the last couple centuries!” Marcel spoke and Rebekah sighed, considering the only reason Davina was so powerful was because she has a nuclear energy that she cannot control.

 - “Not so secret weapon anymore.” Rebekah reminded him, “And you know very well that she isn’t more powerful than Natali. She would take away her powers and kill her by doing so.”

 - “What if Davina can find a way to put them down, until we don’t bury them down here forever.” Marcel suggested, looking intently at her.

 -  “Are you mad?” Rebekah exclaimed, “This little chamber of horrors may work for your riff-raff, but do you really think it will hold the three of them?” she paused for a moment to think, “Not to mention every vampire of Kol’s sire line that is working with them is going to come for you. And most of them are six or seven times your age, maybe even more.”

 - Marcel sighed, “Isn't it worth the risk? You know I'm right! Klaus will never stop trying to control you!”

 - “And I'm supposed to believe that, after a century, suddenly you're willing to risk death at their hands to be with me?” Rebekah questioned him.

 - “I want to defend my home. I wanna be free. And if that means I get to be with you, all the more reason to bury them.” Marcel spoke firmly, “Now, you tell me - what do you want?” Rebekah stared at him without saying anything. His question made her put everything at risk. She knew there wasn’t a big chance for Marcel to win, but she also wanted to be happy for once.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

 - “I specifically told you not to go against Marcel without me.” Klaus growled as he entered the Fangtasia. For his surprise Natali still didn’t placed another barrier spell so he wouldn’t get in.

 - At the sound of his brother voice Kol narrowed his eyes in confusion and turned towards him, “We didn’t do anything.”

 - “Your girlfriend did.” Klaus shouted, “Where is she?”

 - Before Kol could say anything more, Natali stepped into the room, “Here I am.” she spoke in a flat tone, “And just because we will take down Marcel together doesn't mean you get to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

 - Kol glanced at her, “Why didn’t you tell me anything about it?” he asked.

 - “Because you didn’t let me talk when I came back.” Natali reminded him of what they did last night.

 - “Oh, right.” Kol smiles at the thought, “Tell me now, what did you do, darling?” he asked, becoming very curious, knowing it is going to be a good story.

 - “Well, I showed Marcel how witches use the magic we taught them.” Natali began, “They ripped the hearts of the three of his vampires and.. I may have stabbed my high heel through his throat, just for good time sake.” she says, with an amused grin appearing on her face.

 - Kol smirked at her, “Great job, darling. You shall be reworded for that.”

 - “Didn’t you just heard what I said?” Klaus exclaimed, reminding them that he was still there.

 - Kol stood up in challenging way and as he glared at his brother he spoke, “Didn’t you just heard what Natali told you? You’re not in a position to demand us and if the three of us don't take down Marcel in the next 24 hours I’m going to kill him myself and get over with it.”

Klaus clenched his jaw in anger. Natali didn't like the way he is starting to act, so she told him, “Klaus go away, or I will make you go away.”

 - “Rebekah knows we are working together.” Klaus spoke not moving from the place where he stood.

 - “You told her?” Natali asked in not so happy voice.

 - “No, she was eavesdropping us.” Klaus told her.

 - “You think she left to tell Marcel?” Kol asked him.

 - “I think she will side with him.” Klaus said, which made frown on Kol’s and Natali’s features, “She’s lying to me and conspiring with an enemy.”

 - Kol chuckled for a moment, “Look I know why she is doing that, you took centuries from her as well as mine. You punished us rather unfairly on so many occasions, so it’s no surprise she would side with a man she’s madly in love with.”

 - “And there is only one thing they will want to do.” Natali continued, Klaus already felt like he knows where is she going with that, “They will want to get rid of you, so that they can finally live happily ever after.” she let out a laugh under her breath, “But life is not a fairy tale and they won’t win.”

Klaus was still very surprised that out of all people, the two of them would have an alliance with him, when the rest of the family turned on him. But he knew that they came to make chaos in New Orleans and that’s exactly what they are going to do if Marcel does not surrender easily.

 - Klaus glared intensely at them for a few seconds, before saying, “What can your wicked mind conjure up for us to take back what’s ours.”

 - “Their eyes darkened, Kol’s usual evil grin slowly appeared on his face, “It’s very simple, Nik.” he began, Natali nodded in agreement and continued for him, “We are going to walk in the compound like we own it, because to be real we do.” she spoke firmly and surprisingly Klaus agreed with them.

・ • ・ • ・

I don’t like your kingdom keys

They once belonged to me.

・ • ・ • ・

REBEKAH’S P.O.V:

After thinking Marcel’s plan through Rebekah meet up with him at The Garden again. She decided to work with him. You can’t get anything without taking the risk, and if she truly wants to be happy she will need to do it.

 - “Where are we gonna put Klaus?” Rebekah asked him, gesturing with her hand around the room, “He needs to be away from all the others. We don't want him formulating descent. You know he has a knack with words, he could talk his way out of hell.”

 - “Yeah, he got a spot picked out for him in the back.” Marcel told her, “Only person he's gonna be talking to in the next fifty-two years is himself.”

 - Rebekah frowned, “Fifty-two?”

 - “One for each year that he kept you daggered in the 1800s.” Marcel replied.

 - Rebekah raised an eyebrow at him, “You mean you let him keep me daggered?”

 - “And I'll spend every year Klaus is in here apologizing to you for it.” Marcel told her, taking a step closer to her, “And about the other two.” he spoke, referring to Natali and Kol, “They will be buried in a cement.”

 - “Maybe we shouldn’t do the same to them.” Rebekah told him uncertain.

 - Marcel narrowed his eyes, “What? Why did you change your mind?”

 - “You know Natali forgive me for telling Nik, their planes back in 1914..” Rebekah paused for a moment and shocked her head down, “..but after everything they did to me for the past two years, I don’t think that was a real forgiveness.”

 - “I’m sorry, she never was a forgiving type of the person.” Marcel stated as he glared at her, “That’s why you shouldn’t change your mind.”

 - “If I don’t change my mind, I will betray them again and it won’t end well when they escape here.” Rebekah told him, thinking that it will be a good decision if they leave them alone. “When it gets boring they will eventually leave this city.”

 - “I can assure you, they won’t escape.” Marcel told her in a strong and firm voice.

 - “Didn’t you forget that this city is crawling with magic.” Rebekah quickly reminded him, “That by the way she can siphon as easily and free herself from here, along with Kol. I don’t think they would free Klaus, but they will be just as furious without him as they would be together.”

 - “Okay.” Marcel nodded, knowing that she won’t give up, “We won’t bury them here, but they need to leave as soon as possible.”

 - “I will deal with the two of them.” Rebekah told him and sighed, “But it's gonna be tough to keep Klaus in here. That little witch of yours would put the odds in our favour. “

 - “I know I’ve said that she can help, but I can't risk it.” Marcel said as he watched Rebekah pace around, “She's got less and less control over her magic lately. I can't even get her out of the church attic, much less rely on her to go to battle against three of them.”

 - Rebekah sighed, “Then we'll need your very best warrior's. Klaus is strong and crafty, and betrayal makes him particularly nasty. And I have no idea if they are going to bring an army of centuries old vampires with them or not, but we need to be prepared.”

 - “What we're doing is nothing Klaus hasn't done to both you and your brother four dozen times over.” Marcel told her as he approached her, noticing hesitation in their plan. She sound like she was giving him a reasons not to do it. He cupped her face and locked his eyes with hers, “You're not getting second thoughts now, are you?”

 - “These aren't second thoughts.” Rebekah told him and slightly smiled, feeling his hands on her skin after so long, “They're feelings of regret.” he released her as she sighed, “I should have buried him a hundred years ago.” she placed her forehead against his, “A hundred years we could've been together.”

Marcel cupped her face once more, before he connected her lips with his own.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜

Klaus, Kol and Natali entered surprisingly empty compound. They expected that there would be at least a few dozen vampires to kill right away. But apparently they have been hiding in the shadows.

As they were glancing around the empty compound they heard Marcel’s voice behind them, greeting them.

 - Klaus looked Marcel with hard eyes, “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

 - “A little pissed off lately.” Marcel shrugged nonchalantly. He was pissed off at his sire as much as he was at his brother and his not so lovely girlfriend.

 - “Apologies for our behavior can come later.” Klaus told him.

 - “I didn't think you two would side with him, after everything he has done.” Marcel spoke, glaring at Natali and Kol.

 - “We’re family after all.” Klaus snarled, “And when we are already talking about family - where is my dear sister Rebekah? I know she is working with you.” he asked, blindly thinking that his sister would never betray him over Marcel.

After that Rebekah appeared next to Marcel, looking proud that for once in her life she got to chose then that she loves over her brother.

 - “Apologies for your behaviour?” Rebekah asked incredulously as she frowned at them, “You don’t apologize, Nik or you two. You just act. I’ve had enough.” she glanced at Marcel, but she was also careful to keep her eyes at the three of them. They were already narrowing their eyes and their expression became darker, “We have had enough.” she added.

Then Marcel whistled, which was a signal for a dozen or two of his best warriors to enter the courtyard. The three of them watches as they all surrounded them, but also keeping their distance from them. Klaus was unimpressed and expected more from Marcel. He through that Marcel would come up with more than a group of vampires, who had no clue how experienced and adept he was in battle.

 - Klaus laughs sarcastically, “So this is it?” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “This is your idea of a hit?” He said as he pointed at the vampires, “I thought you better than this paltry excuse for a take down. You think you can subdue us with this?!”

 - “No.” Marcel said as he shook his head, “But I think I can with this.”

He whistled once more, which brought dozen more vampires into the courtyard, filling the balconies.

 - Marcel glared at them, “Looks like you’re outnumbered.”

Suddenly Natali burst out laugh, breaking the silence that was surrendering them.

They all glanced at her for a moment.

 - Kol knowing why she reacted like that spoke, “The three of us came here alone and you need you pathetic fan club to defend you.” he remarked with a laugh, “You are just as pathetic as they are.” he glared at Marcel with danger in his eyes.

 - Klaus smirked, turning towards Rebekah and Marcel. He spread his arms wide before he spoke, “Let’s end this charade, shall we? Vampires of New Orleans!” He looked around him at all the vampires that surrendered him, “Do recall that me and my brother are Originals, I’m also a hybrid. We cannot be killed. Eternity is an awfully long time. How long do you think Marcel will stay in power?” he paced around, “What if one of you lot were to release us, knowing we would be eternally in your debt? Oh, I would pity those of you who dared to cross me. I can accuse you your ends will be spectacular.” then he turned back to Marcel and took out a large gold coin from his pocket, then raised it up for everyone to see, “To borrow a trick from an old friend, whoever picks up this coin gets to live.” he dropped the coin down on the floor and looked around, “Now, which one of you magnificent bastard wants to join us?”

He didn’t really needed any of Marcel’s vampire to join him, he just wanted to see if anyone will betray Marcel and how many of them are willing to die for him.

 - Marcel stepped forward and glanced around his vampires, “Anyone wants that coin, pledge allegiance to Klaus. Take it now.” He saw no movement so he offered a choice once more, “Go ahead. The choice is yours.”

No one moved, except for Klaus, who was slightly astonished that no one stepped forwards and picked up the coin.

 - Marcel looked at him, proud of the loyalty his minions showed, “Take them!”

 - “Finally. Shall we?” Natali says as she looked at Kol. He nodded, with a maniacal smile appearing on his lips.

Two vampires zoomed towards them, but they easily took them out by ripping their heart out. Both of the bodies with holes in their chest were their hearts used to be landed at Rebekah and Marcel’s feet.

Rebekah seeing an evil grin on Kol’s face as he approached them stepped in front of Marcel thinking that he will try to kill him.

 - “Kol, why are you siding with him?” Rebekah questioned as she glared at her brother, “This is what we wanted in 1914, you asked me to help you two to take him down. Now when we have a chance you made an alliance with him.” she paused for a moment, “I’ve never expected something like this from you.”

 - Kol shook his head down for a moment as he let out a laugh, “But you also remember why it didn’t happened, don’t you?” he said, standing a few inches away from her, “You ratted us out. And I was a fool to trust that you would choose us over this whelp.” he mounted at Marcel who was standing behind her, listening to their conversation, “Thinking that Nik would finally let you be with him, but he didn’t, did he?”

While Kol was busy talking with his sister about old days, few vampires took the chains. Two of them wrapped Klaus' wrists in chains before they pulled him back and he fell on his back. He immediately retaliated when he got on his feet, but was brutally pushed back to the locked main entrance with different blows landing on him from different vampires. They all cheered as they strung up Klaus by his arms and they all continued to beat him with punches, kicks, knives and more.

Natali turned around and as she wanted to step towards them, one vampire wrapped another chain around her throat, pulling her backwards as well. They all looked triumphant for a moment. Natali rose herself on the feet, like she was never even on the ground and locking her fingers around the chains she whispered under her breath, “Vincula, incalescere. Luce igni.”

Kol’s, Rebekah’s and Marcel’s eyes glanced at the two of them, seeing that the vampire that wrapped chains around Natali’s neck burst out in flames, because she made the chains to heat up and when the heat reached him it lightened him up.

Klaus on the other hand was furiously calm, just before he lifted his head from his chest. They saw that his eyes turned into a gold - black color with veins protruding under his eyes. The feral growl that escaped his mouth was heard all around the compound.

Rebekah gasped, she was paralyzed by fear after seeing the anger that was pouring out of the single look that her brother gave her. That was when he began to fight back, breaking through his bonds and viciously biting and killing every vampire he got his hands on.

 - He let out a roar as adrenaline surged through him, “Marcel!” He called out in rage, “Come and finish this.”

 - “Come on coward.” Natali exclaimed as she threw the sternum of one vampire at his feet, “Show that you’re willing to die on behalf of your city.”

 - Marcel desperately wanted to rush towards Klaus, but Rebekah held him back, “No, she is right!” she says frantic, her eyes pleaded with him, “Take the coin!”

- Marcel was shocked by her words, “What?”

 - “He won't stop until everyone is dead.” Rebekah said as she glanced at the havoc Klaus was creating, her breathing was telling at how nervous she was, “And he will kill you too. End this. Pick up the coin!”

 - Marcel considered her suggestion for a long moment before lunging forward, “Enough!” he yelled just a moment after Kol rip out a heart of a vampire that wanted to lunge towards his darling.

The room falls absolutely silent and the fighting stopped at Marcel’s command. He kneels down on one knee and picked up the coin. He holds it up and looks up at his sire, as he approached him.

 - Klaus looked more than amused, “Well, well, well.” he stopped in front of the kneeling Marcel, “The great Marcel, self-proclaimed king of New Orleans, bowing before me.”

 - “There.” Marcel threw the coin at Klaus’ feet, “I hereby pledge my allegiance to you. You have the keys to my kingdom. It's yours.” Klaus smirked gleefully as he carefuly listening to his words.

 - “Well this was easy.” Natali remarked, “I actually thought you would put up a more fight for your so called city. I guess it isn’t that much important to you, after all.”

Marcel give her a death glare that she didn’t liked at all.

 - “It was futile to even think about going against the three of you.” Rebekah spoke as she stepped closer to them, “Is that what you want to hear?”

 - “Don’t be so grumpy sister.” Kol told her with a smirk.

Marcel lifted himself up and stood next to Rebekah.

 - Klaus looked up at his sister, “Rebekah, you do realize now you should have been on the winning side all along? And from the beginning you knew you wouldn’t win.” he told her with amusement in his voice.

 - “We’ll see how long this brotherly connection between the two of you is going to last.” Rebekah snapped at her brothers.

 - “Come on guys, leave her alone.” Natali told them cheerfully, “She will realize she made a mistake eventually.” she stated looking at Rebekah who huffed. Then Natali continued speaking, “But seriously Rebekah you should find some other lover.” she gave her advice, not caring that Marcel was still standing in front of her, “If he loves you he would look for you or say that he is alive for that matter.”

 - “I’m sick of yours and Kol’s advices.” Rebekah snarled, “I feel like you’ve two gone mad even more after he was undaggered in Mystic Falls.”

 - “When you’re already mentioned that place.” Natali remarked, “What about that boy, Matt? Even I think he is way better than this one.” she bluntly gestured towards Marcel.

 - “We’re over.” Rebekah simply replied.

 - “So you take him to travel all over the world and now you two are over?” Natali questioned and shakes her head, “That sounds like he used you.”

 - “No.” Rebekah replied quickly, “He is human it would never work out. You two were right, happy now?”

 - “Here, I can meet you with a guy.” Natali suggested, “Eric. Great in bed.” she said to her, but when she saw the look Kol was giving her she quickly added, “Or so did I’ve heard.”

 - Rebekah rolled her eyes, “I don’t need your help.” she says and turns to walk away, but then she sees Elijah entering the compound.

His eyes wandered over all the dead bodies on the ground, before his eyes caught a glance of the people he was looking for.

 - “When you decide that you do, you know where to find me.” Natali tells her, turning herself around.

 - “You’ve missed all the fun Elijah.” Kol spoke as he saw his brother.

 - “What happened here?” Elijah breathed out and looked at Klaus, “Niklaus, care to explain?”

 - Klaus smirks at him, “I wanted our home back. Now I have it. With a help of two people I thought I would never make alliance with.” he told him, the anger could be heard in his voice, “While you two chose to stand against me, to side with my enemies.”

 - Rebekah let out an audible scuff, “That’s because I finally had a chance again to choose between mine happiness and you, and I’m done with making wrong decisions that I was making for a thousand years.”

 - Klaus points his finger at her, “I’ve looked the other way, sister, while you repeat the same cycle with Marcel. Falling again for a man you shouldn't be with, while he controlled the empire that we built! That he took!” he exclaimed, there could be heard a crack in his voice. He was deeply hurt by decisions that Rebekah and Elijah made, especially her decision. He really did have faith that they would believe in him, but they didn’t, “Now, I'm going to live here. And the two of you.. you can stay in the old house together and rot.”

Guilt was written all over hers and Elijah’s face, they knew that they’ve made a mistake by not being on Klaus’ side. Rebekah was fooled by love once again and Elijah didn’t wanted to participate in war.

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MASTERLIST

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