#CS Bennett

[jolenes-book-journey]

Putnam County Author CS Bennett

[i-love-books-because-reasons]

"In the Wake of TITANIC" - The Recovery and Burial of the Dead (Halifax, Nova Scotia)

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Six}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Six

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A tense family dinner reveals the fractures in the Mikaelson bond as Elijah’s madness pushes his siblings to the breaking point. In the 13th century, you wake up with a new hunger, your transformation into a vampire marking the beginning of a new and prosperous life. Setting up everything that is to come. And as Elijah meets death itself, love and sacrifice blur into a haunting, unforgivable cost.

8.4k words - Warnings: ANGST, a stressful dinner party, sibling fight, full throttle red door Elijah, talk of suicide, tears, blood and so much pain... a sacrifice, a carved out heart & a resurrection that shatters everything...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

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The first thing Klaus noticed when he returned to the compound was the smell of food cooking. The second thing he noticed was the looks on the faces of his little brother and sister. Kol was carrying a passed-out Bonnie Bennett, shackles around her wrists, and Rebekah looked shaken, her eyes distant, haunted by something she could barely process.

"What happened?" Klaus demanded, brow furrowing, his gaze shifting to Bonnie’s unconscious form. "Is she alive?"

"She's fine," Kol replied, setting her down on the sofa with surprising gentleness. "She… cried herself to sleep on the drive here," he explained, looking down at the young witch, his expression uncharacteristically soft, but shadowed.

"Well, that’s reassuring," Klaus quipped, though his voice held a thread of unease. His eyes flicked over each of them. "And where’s our esteemed brother?"

"Preparing a family dinner for us," Rebekah said bitterly, her voice hollow. "He’s completely off his rocker, he killed both the Salvatore's and now he's acting like everything's fine. It's madness, Klaus, pure madness."

Klaus' eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He looked to Kol, who nodded.

"He did, and he is," Kol added, his brow furrowed.

"How could you let him?" Klaus snapped, his words sharp, though the accusation in his tone was softened by a flash of disbelief.

"Let him?" Kol let out a harsh laugh, his eyes blazing. "Do you honestly think we could have stopped him?"

"You weren't there," Rebekah said quietly, her gaze unfocused, her mind elsewhere. "It happened so fast... How were we supposed to know? He's lost his bloody mind."

Freya entered the room, her brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. "Uh, dinner is ready," she announced, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Elijah wants you all to wear your best, so... go put on something nice," she said, her gaze drifting back to Bonnie. "And he wants her at the table too," she added, nodding toward the unconscious witch.

Kol let out a humorless chuckle, a grim smirk playing on his lips. Rebekah's face was pale, her eyes haunted, her hands trembling slightly as she reached up to touch her necklace.

"I'd rather not," she murmured, her voice soft and small.

"I don't think we have a choice, sweet sister," Kol said, his expression dark. "Unless we want to end up like the Salvatores,"

Klaus sighed, a scowl forming on his face. He glanced at his siblings, noting their unease. Usually he was the cause of it, but this time was different. He didn't know exactly when it happened, but it seemed his role in the family dynamic had changed. It was now his job to be the conciliator, and he hated it.

"It will be fine," he told them, though he wasn't sure he believed his own words. "I'll talk to him."

Kol's eyebrows rose, his eyes flashing with doubt. "I doubt he'll listen to anything you have to say."

"He'll listen to reason," Klaus said, his tone firm, his jaw clenched.

Kol laughed again, but this time it was filled with genuine amusement. "And what reason is that, brother?"

"I'd say it's best not to keep Elijah waiting," Freya sighed, a note of apprehension in her tone.

"Fine," Rebekah said, her gaze flickering to her brothers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go get ready," she muttered, walking away.

Kol and Freya followed her and Klaus stayed behind, his eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening. He could feel the anger rising inside him, but he kept it in check. He had to remain calm. For once, he was the reasonable one, the one in control. He would have to be careful.

Elijah was standing at the head of the table, dressed in his best suit, his face clean-shaven. He was pouring wine for everyone, moving with the unshakable calm of a man who was not currently sane.

"Good evening," he said, a smile tugging at his lips as they all entered the dining room. "I trust you're all well?"

Klaus watched him carefully, his eyes never leaving him as they all sat down. Kol placed Bonnie in the chair next to him, gently propping her up and taking a seat beside her.

"What are you doing?" Rebekah asked, her voice quiet and strained.

"Having dinner," Elijah replied, his voice smooth and calm, as if he hadn't just tortured and killed two people.

"You murdered Damon and Stefan," she accused, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elijah's smile faltered for a moment, a hint of guilt flashing across his face. But then he recovered, his expression becoming neutral again.

"We're here to discuss my wife," he said, his tone clipped, his gaze flicking around the table. "That is all."

"Your dead wife," Kol muttered, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

"My soon to be living wife," Elijah corrected, his tone cool. "With the help of Miss Bennett."

"I don't think it's wise to push the girl," Freya cut in, her voice quiet and hesitant. "And this spell... It’s not a straightforward resurrection spell. It’s a hybrid of rites… a mix of necromancy and invocation. I think it might summon the spirit of the dead back to earth while binding it to life,"

"I don't care what it is," Elijah retorted, his jaw clenched, his gaze steely. "Just make it happen."

"Elijah," Klaus began, his voice low, his gaze focused. "I understand that you're hurting, and I know that this is a difficult time for us all, but torturing and murdering our friends will not bring her back,"

"I recall you tortured Stefan not too long ago," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "And you Rebekah? You carved up Damon like a Thanksgiving turkey… how are my actions any different?"

Rebekah flinched, her shoulders tensing, her jaw clenching. She looked down at her plate, avoiding his gaze.

"First of all, our actions weren't permanent. Second, we acted rashly. You're a better man than us, Elijah. This isn't who you are." Klaus said, his tone even.

Elijah's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing, his gaze sharpening. He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the table, his jaw set, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I'm not," he said, his voice hard, his words clipped. "And I will do whatever is necessary to get my wife back."

"You know as well as I that there’s no such thing as a spell without a price, and this one… this one sounds like it’ll cost us." Klaus stated, his gaze unwavering.

"I don't care what the consequences are," Elijah hissed, his tone venomous, his eyes blazing.

"Even if it means killing more innocent people?" Kol challenged, his voice a low growl.

"I would kill anyone and everyone if it meant bringing her back," Elijah snapped, his eyes wild.

He slammed his hand down on the table, his face flushed with anger. Everyone jumped, startled by his outburst, and for a moment, no one spoke.

The silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating the room. Elijah took a deep breath, his composure returning as quickly as it had slipped.

"Time for the first course," he said, a tight smile tugging at his lips as he straightened up.

A series of waiters came out from the kitchen, each one carrying an empty glass. A young blonde stood next to Klaus. Another young woman with brown hair approaching Kol. And a handsome older gentleman stopped at Rebekah.

"I've procured your favorites, all ab negative, in honor of the occasion," Elijah explained, his voice smooth and even.

He gestured for the three humans to approach the vampires, his gaze locked on his siblings. The trio walked over, their expressions blank, their eyes glassy. They all cut their wrists, pouring their blood into the glasses, not even flinching as their flesh was sliced open.

The siblings looked at one another, usually this would be the part where they would start drinking, but there was no enthusiasm in the air. Only dread and disgust.

"Go ahead," Elijah encouraged, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

They reluctantly grabbed their glasses, taking a few sips. Each sip was like a bitter pill, burning their throats as it went down.

"I want to thank you all for coming," Elijah continued, ignoring their discomfort. "And I want to express how much it means to me to have your support."

Klaus set his glass down, his expression unreadable, his eyes betraying a hint of anger.

"This is quite the pathetic manipulation, brother. Do you think you can convince us with our favorite food? That you haven’t gone completely mad… by bringing us a few snacks?" Klaus asked, his tone icy.

Elijah's eyes grew darker, his jaw tightening, but he remained composed. He walked over to the blonde standing next to Klaus and grabbed her roughly by the hair.

"I recall you enjoying draining the life from a girl like her," Elijah growled, his eyes wild, his voice dangerous. "Perhaps you'd prefer that instead?"

He wrenched her neck to the side, exposing her jugular. The others stared at him, frozen with shock.

"Stop, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice quiet, his gaze sharp.

"Or what?" Elijah sneered, his grip tightening on the girl's throat. "It's not like you haven't done it before. In fact, you enjoy it. You always have."

"Please," the girl whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please don't hurt me."

He leaned in closer, his mouth inches from her ear, his voice barely a whisper. "Tell my family to help me, or I'll dismember you in front of them."

The girl's eyes widened, her breathing quickening. She looked at the vampires, her gaze pleading, her lips trembling.

"Help him," she begged, her voice shaking, tears rolling down her face. "Please, help him."

Rebekah shook her head, her heart racing, a wave of nausea washing over her. Freya watched the exchange, her brow furrowed, a look of uncertainty and fear crossing her features. Kol's expression was a mix of anger and revulsion, his hands balled into fists, his body tense.

Klaus remained motionless, his gaze fixed on his brother, his eyes hard.

Elijah looked at each one of them, his eyes dark and wild, a hint of madness flickering in them.

"I’ve never asked any of you for anything," he said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet desperation. "Not until now. This is my wife. This is my life. I won’t give her up, not again."

The silence was heavy, the tension in the room palpable. None of them knew what to say, and none of them knew what to do. Their brother had lost his mind, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted.

"Help him," the girl repeated, her voice breaking.

Rebekah rose slowly to her feet, her hands reached out in a calming manner, her eyes meeting Elijah’s, filled with pain. "You know we would do anything for you, Elijah. But this… this is dangerous."

Elijah’s eyes darkened, frustration flaring. "Not any more dangerous than when Klaus became a hybrid, or when Kol was resurrected, or any of the other times we’ve been forced to do the impossible."

Rebekah hesitated, her chest tightening, a knot forming in her stomach. She glanced at Klaus, then at Freya and Kol, her eyes pleading, her throat constricting.

"This is different," Freya interjected, her voice strained. "I can feel it, Elijah. This spell… it wants something in return. It’s alive, in a way."

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, his calm veneer finally cracking. "Why will none of you help me?" he snapped, his voice rising, his temper flaring.

"Because we loved your wife," Klaus retorted, his tone low, his expression fierce. "And because we know that whatever this is, it's going to hurt her. It's going to hurt you. And she wouldn't want that."

"Don't tell me what she wants!" Elijah bellowed, pushing the blonde girl away from him, sending her stumbling towards Klaus. "I am her husband. I'm the one who is supposed to be by her side, not any of you."

"Elijah, please," Rebekah pleaded, her voice cracking, her eyes welling with tears.

"No, you will help me," he commanded, his voice cold, his expression hard.

"Or what?" Klaus challenged, sending the blonde girl scurrying away, his gaze unflinching, his tone firm. "Are you going to hurt us? Your own family?"

Elijah's gaze met Klaus', his eyes blazing, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white. The two brothers stared each other down, a silent battle of wills.

Klaus could feel the anger, the desperation, and the grief rolling off Elijah in waves, but he knew he had to be strong, for his family and for you.

"I will do what is necessary," Elijah growled, his words dripping with malice.

"Then do it," Klaus snarled, he stood up and moved swiftly around the table, grabbing his older brother by the collar, pulling him closer. "Go ahead and rip my heart out, make yourself feel better, but it won't bring her back. And you know that."

"Niklaus," Kol said, his tone warning.

"No," Klaus said, his eyes fixed on Elijah, his grip tightening. "He needs to face reality. I won't let him ruin our lives over his selfish grief."

Elijah's nostrils flared, his hands clenching into fists, he bared his teeth, his fangs elongating, his eyes turning black. "You have no right," he hissed, his voice a low growl.

Before Klaus could react, Elijah struck him, his fist connecting with his jaw. Klaus stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden attack. He recovered quickly, lunging at Elijah, tackling him to the ground. The two brothers wrestled on the floor, fighting viciously, the sound of their grunts and curses echoing throughout the room.

"Stop it!" Rebekah shouted, her voice breaking. "Both of you! This isn't helping,"

She ran over, trying to pull Elijah off of Klaus, but he shrugged her off, sending her flying into the wall. She crashed against it, a pained groan escaping her lips. Freya moved to help her, but Kol held her back, a wary look on his face.

"Stay back," he warned, his voice low, his eyes never leaving the fight. "It's not safe."

Klaus and Elijah continued to grapple, each one gaining the upper hand only to lose it a moment later. Blood stained their faces and clothes, their bodies bruised and battered, but neither one of them was willing to give up.

Rebekah tried to separate them one again, and this time Elijah turned on her, his eyes wild, his movements frenzied. She blocked his blows as best she could, but she was no match for him, his strength overwhelming her. His eyes were completely black, his rage overtaking him, a look of pure madness on his face.

He grabbed Rebekah by the throat, lifting her off the ground. She clawed at his arms, her nails digging into his flesh, but it was no use. He was too strong, his grip too tight.

Klaus yelled, a primal scream tearing from his throat, his anger and desperation fueling him. He launched himself at Elijah, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground.

The impact was enough to break his grip on Rebekah, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The three of them falling into a heap.

"Enough!" Freya shouted, her voice full of fury. She raised her hands, a blast of magic shooting out, hitting Elijah and throwing him against the far wall.

Rebekah clutched her throat, her face pale, her breathing ragged. Klaus crawled over to her, pulling her into his arms.

Freya kept her gaze locked on Elijah, her magic holding him in place. He was yelling and sobbing, thrashing against the wall, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"I can't keep him like this forever," she warned, her voice strained, her eyes full of pain and sorrow.

Elijah could hear you calling his name, his vision swimming. The room around him was fading in and out, the walls bleeding, the shadows stretching. He saw you, standing in the doorway, a look of sadness on your face.

"What have you become?" You whispered, your voice echoing in his mind.

Your words snapped him back to reality. He stopped struggling, his eyes meeting yours.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't leave me."

You looked at him, your expression unreadable, and then you were gone.

Elijah felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, his chest tightening, his breathing growing ragged. He saw Rebekah on the floor, her eyes wide with fear. Fear of him. His baby sister, who looked at him with nothing but love and admiration, now looked at him as if he were a monster.

The guilt and shame overwhelmed him, his eyes filling with tears, his shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Freya's magic faded, and he collapsed to the floor, his body trembling. He curled up into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, his pain and grief consuming him.

His siblings watched him, their hearts breaking for him.

"I see her everywhere," he cried, his voice raw. "She's always there, in my head, in my dreams, in my heart. I can't stop thinking about her, and every day, it just gets worse."

Kol moved closer to him, hesitantly reaching out to comfort him, but he pushed them away.

"Don't," he gasped, his voice strained. "I don't deserve it. I'm a monster. I can't even protect the people I love."

Kol crouched down, his expression filled with sympathy. "She loved you so much Elijah, you know that. Don't let her death destroy you," he said softly, his voice full of understanding.

Elijah met his gaze, his eyes full of anguish.

"If you won't help me, will you kill me?" he asked, his voice breaking. "I can't live like this, not without her."

"Elijah..." Rebekah whispered, her own tears falling.

"Please," he begged, his voice trembling, his eyes filled with pain. "Then I could see her again, and maybe... Maybe she would forgive me."

The silence in the room was deafening, each sibling processing his words. He was a broken man, a shell of the noble, honorable brother they knew and loved. And it was killing them to see him like this.

Klaus slowly approached him, kneeling down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll help you, brother," he said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. "Damn the consequences, we'll help you."

Elijah lifted his head, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath catching in his throat.

"Really?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Yes," Rebekah said, kneeling down on the other side of him. "Whatever it takes."

Elijah looked at his siblings, his gaze filled with hope and gratitude. He reached out, pulling them into a hug, holding onto them as if his life depended on it.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The siblings clung to one another, each of them feeling the weight of their decision, the uncertainty and fear they felt. They knew that whatever they were about to do, it would change all of them forever.

13th century Europe

You woke in an unfamiliar bed, the sheets soft and warm against your skin. You sat up, blinking, disoriented. You looked around the room, taking in the dark walls and mahogany furniture, a large window letting in a sliver of pale moonlight.

The memories came flooding back. The villagers, the pain, the darkness, and then, Elijah.

Panic rose within you, and you flung the covers back, stumbling from the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath your bare feet, and you glanced down, seeing that you were wearing only a nightgown.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering, and padded to the door. As soon as you pulled it open, a rush of sound met your ears.

There was a flurry of activity around you, men from the village were carrying things down the stairs, crates and chests, talking quietly among themselves.

"What's going on?" you asked, confusion clouding your thoughts.

One of the men turned, startled. "We must take everything to the carriage," there was a strange look in his eye, an emptiness, and he hurried away, carrying a crate.

You felt a pair of warm hands on your waist, and whirled around, seeing Elijah. He was dressed in a simple tunic, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair was slightly disheveled.

Your eyes met his, and a mixture of emotions flooded through you. You couldn't quite make sense of it all, the guilt and shame warring with relief and longing. He had the same expression, his gaze intense and unreadable.

He leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and insistent, and you felt yourself melting into him.

"Elijah..." you breathed, pulling away, a million questions burning within you. "What's happening? Why are these men here?"

"We're leaving," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Leaving?" you echoed, your mind reeling.

He nodded, pulling you closer. "We have overstayed our welcome, and it is time to move on."

"Move on?" you repeated, the questions piling up, your thoughts still fuzzy.

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I have taken care of things, my dear. You need not worry."

"But...how? What did you do?"

"Come," he said, ignoring your questions. He took your hand, leading you down the stairs, the men following behind.

Everything was so loud, so chaotic, and you found yourself clinging to Elijah's hand, trying to make sense of it all.

Outside, a horse-drawn carriage was waiting, and the men were loading the last of the crates. Elijah led you over to the carriage, helping you inside.

The interior was richly appointed, with plush velvet seats and elegant carvings. There was a faint, spicy smell, and you settled back, the leather smooth beneath you.

"Stay here, I won't be long. And I'll explain everything when we arrive at our new home," Elijah said, his tone soothing, reassuring.

Before you could say anything else, the carriage door was closed, and you were left alone. Watching the men load more crates, a nagging thought tugged at the edge of your mind.

You could hear their heartbeats, clear as a song bird's call, pumping blood through their veins. Your stomach twisted, the hunger rising inside you and then your feet took over, moving almost of their own volition.

You ran, a burst of speed that took you past the men and straight into the village. You stopped, taking a deep breath, and the familiar smells overwhelmed you, the urge to feed becoming almost unbearable.

You didn't understand how you ended up here so fast, the manor house was nearly a days walk away. You didn't even realize where you were headed, until you heard it.

The beating.

A steady, rhythmic thumping, a heartbeat, and a familiar scent, sweet and tempting. You moved silently, almost instinctively, creeping through the shadows until you found her.

Sister Margaret.

Her habit was discarded, a pile of black fabric, and she was kneeling in front of an altar, a silver cross hanging from the wall, flickering candlelight surrounding her.

The sound of her heart was almost deafening, and the bloodlust consumed you, driving away all reason. You crept closer, the darkness concealing you, and before you knew what you were doing, your fangs had pierced her neck, the taste of her blood exploding in your mouth.

It was sweet and intoxicating, and you couldn't stop, even as the tears ran down her face, her body convulsing, her life ebbing away.

When the blood flow slowed, and the heartbeat stopped, you withdrew, looking at her with a detached curiosity. Her eyes were empty, the color gone from her face, and a wave of nausea washed over you.

"No," you whispered, stumbling back, your hand pressed to your mouth, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The realization hit, a jarring, gut-wrenching understanding. You were a monster, a demon, a creature of the night. You had taken a life, without a second thought, the need for blood consuming you.

A scream from behind tore you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Mother Mathilde standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

"No, this cannot be," she whispered, her voice shaking.

In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of her, the hunger still burning within you. She stepped back, her face twisted in fear.

"O Lord Almighty, God of Hosts, we humbly beseech Thee to drive out this unclean spirit, this deceiver, this enemy of the faithfu-"

Anger flared within you. You could still feel the stones slamming into you, the pain, the betrayal, and a growl escaped your lips. You wanted to rip her heart out, to make her pay for what she had done, for all the pain she had caused. You lunged at her, the bloodlust driving you.

Your fangs sunk deep into her throat, and her blood filled your mouth, thick and bitter. You drained her dry, and it was the first time you felt true power. A rush of deep satisfaction flowed through you, the heady taste of vengeance.

"What a delicious sight," Elijah's voice came from behind, and you whirled around, seeing him leaning against the doorway.

He was staring at you with a mix of admiration and desire, and something about it made you blush.

You glanced down, seeing the blood dripping from your hands, and the reality of what you had done hit you. You let her lifeless body fall, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"What have I become? A demon, a monster," you whispered, the shame washing over you, threatening to drown you.

Elijah crossed the distance between you in a flash, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes met yours, his voice soft and soothing. "Don't be afraid, love. This is a gift, a new beginning, a chance to truly live."

"Live?" you echoed, the word heavy with meaning.

"Yes, to live," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "To see the world, and all its wonders. To experience every sensation, and explore every possibility."

His words were intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the truth. Something was changing within you, a spark of life, a hunger for more.

"Where do we go from here?" you asked, a flutter of anticipation rising in your chest.

"Anywhere you want," he said, his voice laced with promise.

"Show me," you whispered, and a wicked smile spread across his face.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "With pleasure,"

Elijah stood at the stop of the old stone steps leading to the cellar, his face grim, his heart heavy. The only light in the room came from the torches on the wall, casting his face in shadow.

He hadn't been down there since the day you died. Your coffin still lay on the table, its lid closed, the silence in the air suffocating.

He walked over, placing his hand on the smooth surface. His throat tightened, his breath catching in his chest as he thought of you, your lifeless body, your empty eyes, gray skin. He would never see you smile, or hear your laughter again, and the grief was a raw wound that refused to heal.

He knew it was madness, he knew that the odds of this working were slim, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his only chance. He had lost so much, sacrificed everything. He couldn't lose you too.

He told himself it was all justified as he removed the lid from your coffin. You deserved the chance to come back, to be happy.

He would do anything for you.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He laid a blanket out, then gently lifted you out of the coffin, holding you tightly against him. Your body was cold, stiff, and lifeless, but he held you close, as if willing his life into yours.

"It'll be alright," he murmured, tears stinging his eyes, his throat aching.

He had to believe that, no matter what the cost.

As the darkness surrounded him, the silence was deafening. He placed you on the blanket, his fingers lingering on your cheek, wrapping the blanket around you, his face lined with sorrow.

He lifted you, his arms wrapped protectively around your body, carrying you up the stairs. Every step felt heavier, and by the time he reached the courtyard, his entire body ached, his mind swimming with grief and guilt.

Bonnie stood in the center of the courtyard, still handcuffed and surrounded by the Original siblings, her face pale, her eyes dark and wary.

"I don't want any part of this," Bonnie said, her voice low and shaking.

Elijah gently placed your body on the ground, his hands lingering for a moment before he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"If you want to walk out of here alive, you'll do this," Elijah's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on her, dark and dangerous.

Bonnie swallowed, her face twisting in disgust, her mind reeling with the memories of Damon and Stefan's deaths, the sound of their bodies hitting the ground, their lifeless faces.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, her throat constricting as she fought back the tears.

Freya looked at her, her voice gentle but urgent. "You're the only one who can do this, Bonnie. It has to be you."

"Fine," Bonnie snapped, her gaze hardening. "But I'll only do it once, and I won't have any part of whatever else happens after."

Elijah nodded. "That's all I ask."

Freya stepped forward, the spell book in her hand, and placed it in Bonnie's. She unshackled her wrists, and Bonnie rubbed them, trying to relieve the aching pressure, glaring at her captors.

Elijah nodded to his siblings, and they formed a circle around the witch and the body, a solemn hush falling over the courtyard.

Elijah got to his knees, looking up at Bonnie with a pleading, almost desperate expression. "Do it," he ordered, his voice hoarse.

She hesitated, her eyes searching his, then nodded, her eyes growing cold as she reached out her hand to Freya. "Knife," she said.

Freya hesitated, "I was going to-"

Bonnie gave her a cold stare, cutting her off.

Freya's brow furrowed, but she handed Bonnie a small, ornate dagger.

Bonnie gave a slight smirk as she took it, then looked at Elijah. 

"Tenebrae animarum, viam aperite (Shadows of souls, open the way)"

Her words echoed through the courtyard, the wind picking up as the clouds parted, the moonlight spilling onto the courtyard, bathing it in an ethereal glow.

Bonnie raised the dagger, looking down at Elijah, and brought the blade down, the tip of the blade resting just above his heart. 

"I'm going to make sure this hurts," she hissed, her voice dripping with malice.

She plunged the dagger into his heart, a look of pleasure spreading across her face as his body jerked and his face twisted in pain. She wasn't gentle, or precise when carving out the organ, her movements jagged and rough.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scream, his vision blurring as blood flowed from the gaping wound, soaking the ground.

Bonnie dropped the dagger, her hands stained red, and reached inside the open wound, her eyes gleaming as she pulled out his still-beating heart.

She held it in her hands, the organ pulsing, the blood flowing down her arms, the moonlight glinting off the crimson liquid. Elijah's body collapsed next to yours, his eyes staring sightlessly into the sky.

Bonnie closed her eyes, the wind swirling around her, the moon shining brighter. Her hands glowed with power as she began the spell.

Rebekah looked away, her stomach churning as Bonnie dropped the heart into the bowl, the blood pooling inside.

"Ex corde sacrificium, dilectionis vinculum. (From the heart, a sacrifice, bound by love.)"

Kol's jaw clenched, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bloody heart in the bowl. While Klaus stood stone-faced, the muscles in his jaw tightening, a glimmer of unease in his eyes.

Freya stood next to Bonnie, her expression focused as she chanted, her hands clasped in front of her.

Even though his siblings knew he would rise again, the sight of Elijah's body was still unsettling, the gravity of what they were doing finally sinking in.

Bonnie handed the knife to Klaus, the blade stained red, and he took it, his eyes narrowing.

She held out the bowl to him, her expression blank, devoid of emotion. "We need enough blood to submerge the heart," she explained.

Klaus nodded, his jaw clenched, his gaze never leaving hers. He took the knife, slicing his wrist open, his blood dripping into the bowl.

He handed the blade to Rebekah, and she repeated the gesture, her face pale. Followed by Kol, who did the same.

Freya took the bowl once there was enough blood and dipped the heart into it, the blood soaking into the flesh.

"Sanguine renascitur, vita et mors iunguntur. (By blood reborn, life and death are joined.)"

She knelt next to you and Elijah's body, placing his heart on your chest. She glanced up at Bonnie, a look of apprehension on her face, and the witch nodded, her expression grim.

Freya closed her eyes, and placed her hands over the heart, pressing down gently, her brow furrowing in concentration.

Bonnie's face twisted with strain, sweat beading on her forehead as she chanted.

"Corpus recipiat cor, anima revocetur. (Let the body receive the heart, let the soul return.)"

Freya's voice rose, and she felt the magic building inside her, swirling like a hurricane. Her hands began to shake, her fingers trembling as she felt the spell reaching its climax.

"In nomine dilectionis, viam ingredere. (In the name of love, cross the path.)"

Bonnie's voice shook, the words almost impossible to understand, her body shaking as the magic surged through her.

Freya's eyes flew open, her hands gripping the heart tightly, her eyes wild. With all her strength she picked up the heart, as though it weighed a thousand pounds, and placed it back into Elijah's chest.

The wind whipped around them, howling like wolves, and thunder rolled across the sky, lightning illuminating the courtyard.

Freya placed her hand over the wound, pouring all her magic into it, and the air was filled with tingling, sparks dancing along their skin.

"Animam caram reducite, ad vitam resurgite. (Bring back the cherished soul, rise again to life.)"

Bonnie's words echoed through the air, the power flowing from her into the spell, her body trembling, her mind filled with the rush of magic, the smell of rain, the roar of the storm.

And then, there was silence. The wind stopped, the clouds drifted apart, and the moonlight bathed the courtyard once again.

Rebekah's eyes widened, and she rushed over, kneeling next to her brother. Freya looked up, her face drawn, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Did it work?" Rebekah whispered.

"I don't know," Freya replied, her voice shaky.

Rebekah touched his shoulder gently. "Elijah?"

Elijah's body was motionless, the wound on his chest beginning to heal.

"He's gone to fetch her," Kol said, his voice quiet.

Freya stood, breathless and pale, her gaze fixed on Elijah. “He’s crossed over. Now we wait.”

As the living world faded, Elijah felt the pull of an unseen force, and a swirling mist began to envelop him. He felt like he was falling through clouds, the darkness closing in around him, until finally, he came to a stop, his feet touching solid ground.

His footsteps echoing as he moved through the dense, ghostly fog. Shadows whispered, and time seemed to fold around him, twisting and bending as he descended further, guided only by an instinct that he couldn’t name.

Through the mist, a faint light glimmered, soft and warm. He made his way toward it, the shadows fading, the light growing brighter, until he reached the edge of the fog.

Before him was a garden, lush and green, filled with the scent of flowers and grass, and the sound of birdsong. The sun shone, its warmth caressing his skin, and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

As Elijah walked through the garden, his eyes adjusting to the light, he saw you. The real you. He knew it instantly.

There you were, sitting on a stone bench, wearing a white sundress, your hair falling in soft waves. You looked like an angel, and his heart swelled, a knot forming in his throat.

He stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the grass, and you turned, a smile spreading across your face, your eyes bright and shining. You leapt up, throwing your arms around him, and he held you close, breathing in the scent of your hair, savoring the feel of your skin.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

"I'm here to bring you home," he murmured, pulling away, taking your hands in his.

"But I am home," you said, confusion coloring your tone.

"Not yet," he replied, his expression pained, his heart aching. "But soon."

You pulled back from him, cupping his face, your brow furrowed. "Elijah, what's wrong?"

He couldn't answer, his throat tightening. There were so many things wrong, confessions that needed to be made, a pain that had no end.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong, not anymore," he managed, his voice choked.

"Elijah," you said softly, concern flashing in your eyes.

He couldn't bear it any longer, couldn't hide the anguish that had been eating him alive, the pain of losing you. He kissed you, his lips capturing yours, the warmth of your mouth, the taste of you, filling him with a longing so powerful that it threatened to tear him apart.

"Come home," he whispered against your lips. "Come back to me."

Your eyes searched his, your brow furrowing, but he leaned in, kissing you again, his hands gripping your waist. You kissed him back, the desperation in his touch, the ache in his voice, sending a stab of worry through you.

"Oh my love. My sweet Eli. What have you done?" you asked, tears welling in your eyes.

He smiled softly, brushing the tears away, his gaze filled with an unspoken promise. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright."

"Do you feel this place?" You asked, gesturing around. "This peace, this warmth? We can stay here, forever."

Elijah's expression grew pained. "I'm not meant for peace, my love," he said softly.

Your hands slipped around his neck, fingers playing with his hair, and you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closing.

"Why do you think that? That you are undeserving," you whispered.

Elijah didn't speak, his gaze locked with yours, and you could see the pain, the anguish, the guilt.

"I've done terrible things," he whispered, his voice strained. "Things that I'm ashamed of, things that would make you think less of me,"

"No," you murmured, leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Yes," he replied, his voice hoarse.

He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently, before bringing it up to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles.

"I'm not a good man, and I never will be. But you… you are the best part of me," he murmured. "The only light I've ever known."

Your eyes met his, filled with sorrow, and your heart ached for him. "I love you, Elijah. All of you. Even the parts you don't want me to see," you said softly.

His face contorted with grief, his throat tightening, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "How can you?"

You leaned in, your lips grazing his, before resting your forehead against his. "Are souls are one, from the moment we met. We've always been connected, and nothing will change that."

"I failed you," he said, his voice strained, his heart heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I couldn't even avenge your death."

You brushed the tears away from his face, kissing the corner of his mouth, before pulling back to meet his eyes. "You didn't fail me, Elijah. You never could."

He held you close, his hands trembling, his body shuddering with the intensity of his grief. "Please," he whispered, his voice choked. "Don't leave me again,"

His arms tightened around you, his breath catching in his throat, and he pressed his face into the curve of your neck, his shoulders shaking.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, stroking his hair. Your own eyes stung with tears, the knowledge of what was coming weighing on your heart, the sadness and regret threatening to swallow you whole.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, muffled against your skin. "More than anything."

"I love you too," you whispered.

He kissed you, his hands cradling your face, his mouth urgent and hungry. His fingers trailed over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone, the curve of your neck, as if committing it to memory, and your heart broke at the thought.

You smiled, a faint hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have to let me go Eli, I belong here."

He shook his head, his gaze sharp, determined. "No. No, you don't," he said. "And I won't lose you again. Not for anything."

"Elijah-"

"Don't argue," he interrupted, his voice firm.

Your smile faltered, the look in his eyes, the pain and longing, stirring a sense of unease inside you.

"You are not going to let me choose are you?" You asked softly.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. "Not this time."

"Don't worry," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening. "It will be okay,"

"No, it won't," you insisted, your voice shaking, tears stinging your eyes. "You don't understand."

"I understand that I can't live without you," he replied, his voice firm, his eyes dark.

You could see the resolve in his face, the determination in his gaze, and your heart sank. He lifted you up, his arms wrapping around you, and you clung to him, burying your face in his chest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not as he carried you out of the garden, the warmth of the sun fading, the light dimming, the air growing colder. You didn't want to see the shadows, the darkness, the pain that you knew awaited.

"Please, don't do this," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Shh," he soothed, his voice low, his arms tightening around you.

"Don't make me go back," you pleaded, the tears sliding down your cheeks, your voice breaking.

"Don't ask me to let you go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"You have to," you insisted, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Fear, panic, and desperation rose, the memories swirling like a storm in your mind. Elijah’s hand pressed against your back, his touch steady, calming, though his own heart was pounding.

The wind howled, darkness pressed in, the cold seeped into your bones, and the air grew heavy with foreboding. Elijah’s arms tightened around you as your warmth began to fade, and his heart clenched, realizing he was losing you again.

Suddenly, from the mist, a voice echoed, slicing through the silence: "Cursed child."

The voice surrounded them, growing louder, the darkness thickening. Then a figure emerged from the fog. An indistinct, a shadowy form. Its tone was almost affectionate as it called out to him again, "there you are, my cursed child."

Elijah’s arms tightened around you as he faced the shadowy figure, his heart pounding wildly. He could feel your warmth slipping away, and he refused to let go.

“Do you think you could just steal from me?” the figure mocked, as though speaking to a child.

“She is mine,” Elijah’s voice was hoarse but unwavering, his gaze fierce as he held you protectively.

The figure tilted its head, a glimmer of amusement flickering in its hollow eyes. “Is she?” it whispered, almost tenderly.

Elijah felt a chill creep into his veins, the weight of its gaze bearing down on him like lead.

“What are you?” he demanded, his voice taut, trying to hold his resolve.

The figure stepped closer, its features emerging from the shadows. Possessing a woman’s face, ageless and haunting, with eyes that seemed to pierce into his very soul. “I am the keeper of what you seek to steal back,” she said, her voice both gentle and unyielding.

Elijah’s grip tightened around you. “I’m not giving her to you.”

The figure’s lips twisted into a faint smile. “Then perhaps you would trade, Elijah Mikaelson?”

Elijah’s brows drew together, his heart stuttering as he understood. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, desperation lacing his words.

The figure’s eyes glimmered, savoring his question. “I want you.”

Elijah’s pulse quickened, dread pooling in his gut as he felt your heartbeat slow in his arms, your warmth fading. Time was running out.

“Why?” he whispered.

“I gave you to Time long ago, binding you to a restless eternity,” the figure murmured, almost nostalgic. “It was a good deal, for me and your family. You alone have ushered thousands of souls into my void."

Elijah stared at her, his mouth dry.

"And yet," the figure murmured, her eyes gleaming with a dark hunger, "I long for your old soul…all the suffering, the pain, the blood on your hands. So many lives claimed by your own choices." Her voice was like a song, beautiful and chilling.

Elijah swallowed hard. "What do you want me for?"

"To be my shepherd," the figure whispered. "You will guide my souls into the dark."

A chill swept through him as the meaning sank in. She was asking him to forfeit everything: his family, his redemption, his freedom. He looked down at you, feeling your heart’s weak, faltering beat and watching the faint rise and fall of your breath. Desperation surged through him. He could not. Would not. Lose you again.

"Will she live?" he asked, his voice a tremor of vulnerability.

The figure’s eyes glimmered. "Of course… a fair trade, don’t you think?”

Elijah closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead. After all that he had done. The countless unforgivable sins he had committed. He didn't do it all just to have you return to the living, he did it to have you. To be with you again. He was done trying to negotiate what he wanted, done pretending his intentions were anything other than selfish. He had no regrets, except perhaps the ones that were still to come.

The thought of leaving you, of leaving his family, it wasn't an option. He thought of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up, the way your voice softened when you spoke his name.

How could he let go of that?

"No," he said, his voice steady as steel, his grip tightening. "We are both leaving. Together. You'll have to kill me before I give her up."

The figure tilted its head, studying him, her expression almost curious. Then, her lips twisted into a sinister smile.

"I cannot stop you, Mr. Mikaelson."

In an instant, her form blurred, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. The ground trembled as a bitter, mocking laugh echoed around him, and the world twisted into darkness. Elijah felt an icy grip tighten around his heart, searing pain slicing through his chest. The shadows pressed in, colder, denser, the voices of the dead shrieking in his ears.

His entire body convulsed as the pain became unbearable, a scream tearing from his throat, reverberating through the void. He clutched you closer, his voice becoming a raw cry in the darkness, his vision fading.

Then, slowly, the agony ebbed, and he found himself on solid ground. He sat up, gasping, surrounded by the anxious faces of his siblings, but his eyes were fixed on you.

Your heart was beating, color had returned to your cheeks, and your eyes were beginning to flutter open. Rebekah knelt beside him, her voice a whisper filled with awe. “You did it.”

Elijah cradled you in his arms, a smile breaking through the tear-streaked relief on his face. "We did it."

He glanced up at his family, quiet joy spreading as they shared a look of silent victory. For a fleeting moment, peace settled over them.

But then, as he gazed down, you opened your eyes and looked up at him… Alive, yet with a distant, empty gaze.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft and confused. “What's happening?”

Elijah’s smile vanished, his world tipping into silence. Panic flashed across his face as he gripped your hands, clinging to the familiar warmth, willing recognition back into your gaze.

"It's me," he murmured, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "It’s Elijah."

You searched his face, puzzled, your brow furrowing. "I’m sorry," you said, softly shaking your head, "but I don’t know who you are."

The world stilled, his heartbeat slowing as a cold ache settled into his chest, something hollow and irreparable. It was a wound that would not heal, a love now held in silence.

Death is merciful. Death is simple. A quiet release into the vastness of time.

But for those who have loved across centuries, who have woven their souls through lifetimes, death becomes something else. It becomes a relentless keeper of memories, a silent warden of all they cherished and all they have sacrificed.

To let go would be a mercy, but for the ones who cannot. Who cling to love even as it decays. Time warps into something dark and unyielding. Every lost moment, every choice twisted by grief, binds them tighter to shadows of who they once were. And as they descend deeper into that darkness, the memories, both beautiful and bitter, become chains that will never release them.

The cost of refusing to let go is an eternity haunted, a soul consumed by the ghosts of everything that was, and everything that will never be again.

For death is kind. It is love that is cruel.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}

XOXOXO Thank you for reading! & I'm only a little sorry.... Here is a sad song that inspired this whole fic (aka more pain)~

[prettyyprxincess]

(CS) Cutie Pose Pack 1 ♥

DOWNLOAD HERE  A pose pack inspired by 5 photos I saw online, I'm still new to pose making so please be kind and any feedback would be great :))

 You will need:

Tongue: Tongue 02 - Sims 4 Accessories

Starbucks drinks: Mel Bennett: Sims 4 Starbucks Fall Drinks Collection

iPhone : (right) https://www.simsfinds.com/downloads/268339/iphone-12-pro-max-case-add-on-sims4?suggestions=1613861901000

I hope you enjoy my poses please tag me @colettessims on Tiktok, Facebook and Instagram if you use my poses as I'd love to see your photos <3

@ts4-poses

[blueiscoool]

A Gold Watch That Survived the Titanic Sells for $1.5 Million

The gold watch worn by the Titanic’s richest passenger, John Jacob Astor, has set an auction record as the most expensive item of Titanic memorabilia.

A private collector in the U.S. paid $1.5 million for the 14-carat gold Waltham pocket watch engraved with the initials J.J.A. The item was part of the “Titanic, White Star and Transport Memorabilia” sale held by British auction house Aldridge & Son on April 27. The watch was one of around 250 items and easily surpassed its high estimate of $150,000.

Astor, a real estate developer and member of the New York dynastic family made rich by fur trading in the 18th and 19th centuries, died at the age of 47 when the ship sank in 1912. Astor had sparked scandal by marrying a woman nearly 30 years his junior and was returning to New York following a protracted honeymoon to Europe and Egypt designed to quell the gossip.

He was last seen smoking a cigarette with the author Jacques Futrelle after escorting his wife, Madeleine Talmadge Force, and friend Margaret Brown safely into lifeboat four. Both women survived.

Astor’s body was found on April 22 by CS MacKay-Bennett, a cable laying steamer that was repurposed as a recovery ship by the White Star Line, the Titanic’s operator. In addition to the pocket watch, his cuff links, diamond ring, golden pencil, and pocketbook, along with money in various currencies, were recovered.

The possessions were returned to Astor’s son, Vincent, who restored the pocket watch before gifting it to his father’s long-serving secretary William Dobbyn in 1935. The Dobbyn family kept the item until sending it to auction in the late 1990s.

By Richard Whiddington.

[nebris]

On April 23, 1912, the recovery efforts in the aftermath of the Titanic disaster reached a somber milestone as the CS Mackay-Bennett, a cable-laying ship, retrieved 128 victims from the cold waters of the Atlantic. The ship had been dispatched just days after the Titanic sank on April 15, and it was one of the first to arrive at the disaster site. The crew, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the loss, began the grim task of collecting the bodies from the sea. With over 1,500 passengers and crew lost, the Mackay-Bennett's undertaker, John Snow, worked tirelessly to catalog and identify the bodies, though many would remain unidentified for years. The ship’s arrival marked the beginning of a painstaking recovery operation that would last weeks.

The ship carried only enough embalming supplies for 70 bodies, a stark reminder of how unprepared the recovery operation had been for the scale of the disaster. To help address this shortage, additional embalming supplies were sourced from the Sardinian, another vessel involved in the effort. The emotional toll on the crew was immense as they carefully handled the bodies, many of which were in an advanced state of decomposition due to exposure to the freezing waters. Some bodies were only partially recovered, and many were never fully identified. This grim task became one of the most harrowing aspects of the post-disaster recovery process, as the ship’s crew struggled with both the physical and emotional weight of their duties.

By the time the Mackay-Bennett returned to Halifax on April 30, the city was already beginning to grapple with the staggering loss. As the recovery continued, the tragedy of the Titanic resonated deeply with the people of Halifax, many of whom had family members involved in the disaster. The efforts of the Mackay-Bennett became a defining chapter in the Titanic's legacy, as the bodies it recovered were a stark reminder of the human cost behind the catastrophe. The day of April 23 marked a pivotal moment in the history of the disaster, underscoring the profound grief and devastation felt by all those connected to the Titanic tragedy.

[chinadroll]

people to know better

tagged by @distressednoise - hello and thank you! I haven't seen one of these in a while!

Last Song I Listened to: One For My Baby (And One More For The Road) - the Tony Bennett and John Mayer duet version. Because I woke up to it playing on my Echo this morning, having never even been aware that such a thing existed, and wanted to see if there was an official video for it on youtube just now. And there was! Context: I saw John Mayer in concert last month and have been listening to his music nonstop ever since (hence Alexa throwing that random Tony Bennett duet at me after presumably streaming everything else all night long).

Currently Watching: I'm in the middle of about a million shows, but the only thing I am actually actively seeking out right now is Leafs related playoffs content on youtube. Because I hate myself?

Sweet/Savoury/Spicy? All at once, ideally, in the form of Walkers Sensations Thai Sweet Chilli crisps. But savoury>sweet>spicy, and crunchy savoury is the king of them all.

Relationship Status? Vehemently opposed. Just ... who has the time?! And it's so much effort.

Current Obsession? See above wrt Leafs. Also John Mayer. But, also, CS Harris' Sebastian St Cyr Mysteries. Have just read book 11, and need to slow down bwdore I catch up with publication and have to waaaaaaait for new books in the series.

No pressure tags, just for fun: @sweetfirebird @derryderrydown @faraige @elreinodelpurgatorio @thecrankyagnes

[cybilbennettgf]

Ok another one for funsies since you said you don't rly go to RE we will visit the source of your url for the ask game: Silent Hill!!

the first character i fell in love with: miss cybil bennett i literally nuked my old blog just to change my url to cybilbennettgf she is my everything

the character i never expected to love as much as i do now: fucking james sunderland but i SHOULD have expected it cs he is the most pathetic wet beast EVER and of course. that’s unfortunately my type of guy

the character everyone else loves that i don’t: there isn’t a character i dislike i think yay

the character i love that everyone else hates: i’m gonna take this opportunity to call out the dudebros who had some bullshit to say abt angela in the remake fuck em i love her look

the character i used to love but don’t any longer: nobody i luv them all xoxo

the character i would totally smooch: lisa is just thee most smoochable she’s so so cute, but also cybil cs i’m in love w her idk

the character i’d want to be like: mira the dog :3 and also cheryl she slays she’s a girlboss she kills god

the character i’d slap: pyramidhead in the hopes that he brat tames me

a pairing that i love: harry/cybil raising cheryl together 😌 and i am also partial to a lil james/harry moment

a pairing that i despise: is james/mary cheating SJNFSJND

[malkaleh]

I got inspired by @bessemerprocess or show/fancasting casting my The Horse And His Boy (CS Lewis I Have Notes Edition).

Queen Susan (Sai Bennett)

King Edmund (Ethan Peck)

King Lune (Payman Maadi)

Empress/Queen Hadassah

Prince Rahim(Amir El-Masry)

Shasta/Cor (Ali Hadji-Heshmati)

Aravis (Naomi Scott)

[arpstail]

2 DAYS

Until castle swimmer returns!!!

i didnt really have anything planned for day 2 since im still working on day 1 and Saturday..

so

WHAT GENSHIN CHARACTERS WOULD CS CHARACTERS MAIN? AND WHY

Siren: Arataki Itto, diona(c6), any other supporting character (specifically for co-op) ; i feel like he would be the healer or defense unit and wouldn’t care about damage.

He’d has like incredible luck and hasnt lost a single 50/50

(He’d also find itto HILARIOUS and main him just because)

Kappa: YOIMIYA, furina, xiao; for no reason other than I HAVE A FEELING. (Likes them either emo or really energetic)

Nethimir: ei,rosaria, arlecchino; would say shes in it for the damage (she just thinks the characters look really cool)

Mono: ayaka, nahida, lynette; polite and gentle characters (she goes by aesthetic and doesnt care about dmg)

Mucku: every single character c6 r5, you cant tell me she wouldnt be a total whale (she shares her account with everyone)

And clorinde when she comes out probs

Galoo: sayu, ganyu, mona; (she focuses on exploration and quests. Aka, a lore player)

Nee: ALSO A WHALE BUT GOES BY AESTHETIC! Would adore furina though

Pagoon: bennett, kokomi, Barbara(he some how managed to make kokomi and Barbara his dps)

Pim: pays for it

Fuck it

Arp: Amber, Klee, bennett

Alright guys stay tuned <33

[controlledvolatility]

— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: nathaniel jacobs

name meaning: God has given

aliases/nicknames: nate, shyguy118, playboy, asshole, tyler

ethnicity: american

one picture you like of your chara:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

nate can't get off without mixing sex with some form of control

his truck is like his second bedroom, but it's inexplicably clean to the point of obsession, inside and out

nate has never respected, loathed, idolized and hated someone as much as his father.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

driving around

working out

having sex

eight people your character likes / loves:

in no particular order!

maddy perez

cassie howard

caroline forbes

jules vaughn

chris mckay

harrison morgan

rue bennett

two things your character regrets:

choking maddy

pissing off lexi

two phobia fears your character has:

cal jacobs

being alone and unloved

Tagged by: i stole it from myself Tagging: everyone who hasn't done this

[cassiemfowler]

April 17, 1912, Hired by White Star Line, the ship CS Mackay-Bennett leaves Halifax to search for bodies at RMS Titanic disaster site and return them to New York.

[quillsandcravats]

Who are your favorite characters from literature

oh I love this question! this was so hard for me to narrow down, i tried to focus on characters who would fit the definition of ‘literary’!

jo march - little women by louisa may alcott

lizzie bennett - pride & prejudice by jane austen

aslan - the chronicles of narnia by cs lewis

scarlett o’hara - gone with the wind

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} In the present day, Cami takes matters into her own hands by going to the police, urging detectives to search for your killer. Meanwhile, Rebekah and Kol return to Mystic Falls to seek Bonnie Bennett’s help...and run into an old friend. In the past, your church has a watchful eye on your every move as fear of demons brew among the villagers, risking your exposure and ruin.

5.4k words - Warnings: so much angst, Cami trying her best, Kol and Rebekah being an iconic duo in Mystic Falls, murder investigations, pain with a sprinkle of more pain on top, hallucinations, demons and Klaus having a little treat...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

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@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

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Cami sat nervously in the waiting area of the police department, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. What was she going to say? That she knew a vampire that was murdered? They would want details she couldn’t give… like, where’s the body? How does she know there was a murder?

She could already hear them laughing her out of the office.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was the right thing to do. She had a hunch, and it was her job to follow through.

A door opened, and a tall, no-nonsense detective stepped out, scanning the room until his gaze landed on her. With a slight nod, he motioned for her to follow him, leading her to a small, windowless room.

“How can I help you, Miss O'Connell?” he asked, settling into a chair across from her.

Cami took a breath, the uncertainty bubbling up again. “I… I have a friend who went missing, and I was hoping the police could help me find her.”

“Missing?” The detective’s brow lifted, his expression shifting to mild skepticism.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. She’s been missing for several months…” Cami replied, realizing too late how wrong that sounded.

“Months?” His skepticism deepened, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she repeated, trying to sound more confident.

“Miss O'Connell,” he said, softening his tone just slightly, “you’re aware that most missing persons cases aren’t solved. Many aren’t even reported until it’s too late.”

“I understand,” she replied, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

The detective sighed, studying her closely. “Do you have any evidence of foul play?”

Cami’s mind raced. “No… I don’t have evidence, but I know something is wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Let’s start with her name and tell me what she looks like.”

Cami swallowed again, steadying herself as she described you: the color of your hair, the shade of your eyes, the way you always wore that silver bracelet. She felt the lump in her throat grow as she spoke, picturing you more vividly with each word.

The detective listened, his expression hardening slightly. “Did she have any enemies?”

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “She… well, she had a lot of enemies,” she admitted, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, jotting something down. “Enemies?”

“Yes, but she was… a private person. I don’t really know who they were,” she said, guilt pricking at her as she lied.

The detective’s patience began to wear thin. “Miss O'Connell, if I’m going to help, you need to be honest. What aren’t you telling me?”

Cami hesitated, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. She glanced down, trying to find the words. “It’s a long story,” she managed, her voice small.

“We have time.”

“It’s a very long story,” she repeated, almost pleading.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I have several open murder cases on my desk. I’m not going to spend hours on a missing person unless you can give me a reason to. So if you have something to tell me, spit it out. Otherwise, we’re done here.”

“Right, sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks burning. “It’s just… my friend was married into a very powerful family of vampires, and she is one herself. And she was murdered, I know where and when, so I need your help collecting forensic evidence.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” she said softly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Please leave.”

“But-”

“Miss O'Connell, unless you want me to throw you in jail for wasting police time, I suggest you leave now,” he said, his tone cold.

Cami rose, shame washing over her. “I’m sorry. I was just hoping-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his expression hardening.

She hurried out, her heart pounding, a mix of anger and humiliation clouding her mind. She had been foolish to think the police would help. As she walked down the hallway, she caught sight of a bulletin board covered in photographs and reports. Missing people. Her heart sank as she stared at the faces.

“Hey!” she called out as a young officer passed by.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this for?” she asked, nodding to the board.

“Murder victims, same motive. Possible serial killer,” he said.

A chill ran down her spine. “Can I look at the case file?”

The officer raised an eyebrow, giving her a wary look. “Sorry, ma’am, but those files are confidential.”

“Right. Thanks.” She forced a polite smile, walking quickly out of the building. Once outside, she pulled out her phone and dialed Klaus’s number.

“Cami?” Klaus answered, his tone warm.

“I’m at the police station. They’ve got a case on a possible serial killer,” she said, her words spilling out. “All the victims… Klaus, they look just like her.”

There was a long, tense pause on the line.

“Stay where you are,” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “I’ll be there in minutes.”

Relief washed over her as she hung up, the weight of fear lessened. Maybe, just maybe, they were onto something real.

“Rebekah, darling, be a dear and pass me that bottle,” Kol gestured lazily toward the expensive bourbon behind the bar.

She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on getting wasted? We’ve got work to do, Kol.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” he replied, grabbing the bottle as soon as it was in reach. He poured himself a generous amount, then one for her. “I died in this town. I’m entitled to a drink.”

Rebekah sighed but accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “Technically, we both did. Though, you managed to do it twice.”

Kol smirked, savoring his drink. “Ah, yes. I nearly forgot how much fun it was the first time.”

He turned, leaning back against the bar, surveying the Mystic Grill’s bustling crowd. Music hummed in the background, laughter and chatter filling the air along with the scent of alcohol. The place had changed, yet a strange sense of familiarity lingered.

“This place brings back memories,” Kol mused, his tone light. “There was a lovely little spot nearby where I’d... relieve myself. Quiet, private.”

Rebekah grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

"What? Like you didn't have your spots, Rebekahhh," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I liked the view, nothing makes the bowels move quite like the morning sunrise,"

She let out a sound of disgust, and tossed back her drink, setting her glass down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Not much has changed about this place, still a glorious shit hole," He quipped, taking another gulp of his drink.

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter and scanning the crowd. Her eyes landed on a familiar face sitting in a booth, and she smirked. "You can't be serious,"

"What?" He asked, arching an eyebrow, turning to look at where she was staring. "Oh, for fucks sake,"

Stefan Salvatore was sitting in a booth, alone, sipping on his drink. He was watching them, his expression carefully neutral, his body tense.

"I'll deal with him," Kol muttered, standing up.

"Kol, behave," Rebekah warned, elbowing him.

"When have I ever not behaved?" He shot back, smirking.

"Do you want a list?" She snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "We are here to convince that Bennett witch to help us, not cause trouble."

"I'm just going to say hi," he defended, holding his hands up. "If anything happens, it will be entirely his fault,"

She rolled her eyes and released his arm, giving him a pointed look.

He winked at her and strode towards Stefan, a grin spreading across his face, sliding into the seat across from him. "Well, well, if it isn't the famous Ripper of Monterey. Seems you have a new hobby of stalking people,"

Stefan smiled faintly, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "I'm just enjoying a drink at my local bar,"

Kol chuckled, shaking his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "How long have you been following us, hm?"

"Since you showed up," Stefan answered, taking a sip of his drink. "I thought you and your family moved on to New Orleans."

"Oh, we did," Kol grinned, tilting his head. "But, we've always had a fondness for this place. We are sentimental like that,"

"So this is just a vacation then?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"In a sense," Kol shrugged. "Family business, you know how it is,"

Stefan hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with the death of your sister-in-law?"

"Oh, you're a busy little birdie," Kol drawled, his smile widening. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's not everyday that a Mikaelson dies," Stefan replied, his tone light. "That kind of news gets around."

"Ah, yes, the supernatural grapevine," Kol sighed, rolling his eyes. "A dreadful thing. So, have you heard anything useful?"

Stefan stared at him, his jaw clenching, Kol could tell he was afraid, even though he made great efforts to hide it. "Like I said, just rumors."

Kol laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Stef. You're safe, Rebekah would have my head if I killed you."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that would stop you,"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Kol scoffed, tilting his head. "Your neck is intact, isn't it?"

"Why are you really here, Kol?" Stefan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Looking for a friend of yours, perhaps you could help me," Kol replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "We need to speak to a young Miss. Bennett."

Stefan frowned, his eyes darkening. "What do you want with her?"

"Relax, Stefan," Kol sighed, shaking his head. "We're not planning on harming her. We just need her help, that's all."

Stefan leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering to Rebekah who was walking towards them. "And if she says no?"

Kol's smile widened, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Then we'll convince her otherwise,"

Stefan tensed, his expression hardening, his hand tightening around his glass. "Is that a threat?"

Rebekah let out an annoyed sigh and leaned over the table, pinching Kol’s arm. "Stop being an ass."

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his arm. "You're supposed to be helping,"

She glared at him, then looked at Stefan. "Don't mind my brother, he was dropped on his head when he was a baby,"

"I was not," Kol protested, frowning.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to Stefan, placing her hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Tell me, what is Bonnie up to these days?"

"Bonnie isn't going to help you," Stefan answered, his voice hard. "She's not exactly a fan of your family,"

"We aren't looking to be friends," Rebekah said, shaking her head. "All we need is a little help,"

"Help with what, exactly?" Stefan pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Kol and Rebekah exchanged a glance, and Rebekah gave him a nod.

"The death of my sister-in-law was a bit unexpected," Kol explained, his voice low, his smile fading. "We want to fix that, bring her back,"

Stefan let out a dark chuckle, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head. "So it's true? Elijah has gone off the deep end?"

"You are hardly one to judge, darling," Rebekah remarked, glaring at him.

"Look, I have no interest in being dragged into Mikaelson family drama," Stefan replied, his voice tight. "And neither will Bonnie,"

Rebekah let out a soft sigh, and glanced at her brother, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Brother, will you get me a drink?"

"Sure, Bex," he said, giving her a wide smile before heading up and walking to the bar.

Rebekah leaned in, her voice lowering. "I think you have misunderstood us, this isn't a request. We are asking politely for you to tell us where Bonnie is... Or I will force the answer out of you,"

"I would like to see you try," Stefan replied, his words laced with challenge.

"I'm stronger than I look," she murmured, her gaze lingering on him, her smile turning sly. "You of all people should know that."

Stefan stared at her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes.

Kol returned and set a glass of whiskey down in front of her, sliding back into his seat, sipping on his own drink.

"One last chance, love," Rebekah purred, taking a small sip, her gaze locked on Stefan's. "Tell us where to find Bonnie, or things will get ugly."

"You can do whatever you need to do to me. I'm not giving up my friends," Stefan said, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing.

Rebekah let out a long sigh, and reached over, her fingers trailing along his jaw, tilting his head to the side.

"Look around Stef, all the people in this bar, they have interesting looking drinks in front of them, don't they?" She asked, her voice soft.

Stefan stiffened, his brow furrowing, his gaze sweeping over the bar. All the glasses in front of the patrons seemed to be filled with a bright blue liquid.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice strained.

"Those drinks aren't exactly... safe," Kol chimed in, his tone full of amusement. "It's absolutely horrid what antifreeze can do to a human's internal organs."

"Antifreeze?" Stefan repeated, his eyes widening, a hint of fear flashing across his face.

"Mhm, it's actually a rather effective poison," Kol added, grinning.

"To Stefan Salvatore," Rebekah said, raising her glass, her gaze locking with his.

Stefan watched in horror as all the patrons raised their glasses with her, some holding their cups to their lips, poised to drink. She had compelled the whole bar, and it was a terrifying sight.

"Wait, stop," he stammered, panic rising in his chest.

Rebekah smiled and put her glass down, everyone else doing the same. "Where is Bonnie?"

"Fine," he said, swallowing hard, his pulse racing. "I'll give you her address,"

"Good boy," she said, her smile widening, patting him on the cheek.

"You're psychotic," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Oh, darling, I'm a Mikaelson, this is just a Tuesday for us," she replied, winking at him. "Write down the address,"

Stefan glared at her, but obliged, quickly scribbling down the address on a napkin.

She snatched it from him, and tucked it into her purse, before getting to her feet. Her blonde hair swayed behind her as she turned and headed towards the exit, not looking back.

"Lovely seeing you again, Stef," Kol called out, smirking. He got up and followed her, leaving a defeated Stefan sitting alone.

13th century Europe

Evening mass was almost over, and you were growing more and more bored, wishing you were anywhere else. Your attention was drawn to the window, the full moon hanging low in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, reminding you of your night with Elijah, and the promise he had made. You smiled faintly, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You could feel Mother Mathilde's stern gaze fixed on you, and you tried to look serious, straightening in the pew. But the thoughts wouldn't leave your mind. You wondered if he would ask you to marry him, if he would take you away from the convent. A strange sort of longing gripped your heart, and you realized, more than anything, you wanted to be his wife. You wanted to live by his side, grow old with him, share his bed, have his children. The realization surprised you, a wave of panic rising within you, and you swallowed hard, trying to calm yourself.

As the priest finished his final prayer, you joined the others, standing and reciting the closing hymn. Your voice faltered as Mother Mathilde stood, moving to the altar, her expression unreadable. She nodded to the priest and turned to face the congregation.

"There has been some troubling news," she announced, her voice loud and clear, filling the sanctuary.

Your brow furrowed, and you listened, waiting for her to continue.

"There is reason to believe demons may be among us," she continued, her eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Murmurs erupted from the congregation, and you felt a chill run down your spine, your stomach twisting into knots.

"Two of our children were nearly attacked last night in the forest," Mother Mathilde's voice rose, silencing the crowd. "We must be vigilant and pray that God will protect us from this evil."

Your heart was pounding, and you were certain that you had heard her correctly. In the woods? Was it near the same place you had spent the night with Elijah? 

"Be wary of those who tempt you into sin," Mother Mathilde's gaze swept over the room, her eyes stopping on you. "Be mindful of those who wish to lead you astray,”

Your stomach sank, and you felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden urge to run out of the chapel. You stared at the ground, heat rising in your cheeks, shame burning within you.

"Have any of you been tempted? Speak now so we can root out this evil," the priest called out, his eyes searching the crowd.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down, your heart racing. You knew it was a trap, and yet, you couldn't resist the urge to look at her. You raised your head, catching her gaze, and immediately regretted it. She was staring at you, her expression full of judgment. You felt like a child being scolded, your eyes falling back to the floor, unable to look at her anymore.

"For those who lay with demons are anointed by evil, and must be cleansed," she declared, her voice full of conviction. “We must prevent this sickness from spreading by all means that we possess,”

You couldn't move, frozen in place, panic rising within you. You didn't know what to do, or where to go, so you sat there, waiting, hoping she wouldn't come for you.

The priest began speaking again, and the rest of the congregation joined in, reciting a prayer. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the words, but it was useless. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears, the sound of your heart pounding. You were terrified, and all you could think about was running.

Suddenly, there was a commotion behind you, and the chapel door swung open. Several of the nuns rushed in, their faces pale, their eyes wide. They were carrying a limp body between them, and as they laid it on the ground, you realized with horror, that it was Sister Claire.

The other nuns gasped, and several cried out, crossing themselves. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the gruesome scene. Her throat had been torn out, and her blood was everywhere, pooling on the stone floor, staining the white robes of the nuns.

"Dear God," Mother Mathilde exclaimed, her eyes wide, her face ashen.

The priest crossed himself, his voice shaky. "It seems the demons have claimed their first victim."

Elijah was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection. His hair was damp and tousled, his cheeks smooth, his chin freshly shaven. His deep, dark brown eyes, full of secrets and sadness. He could see the weight of his years etched in the lines on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes that refused to fade.

He could feel the ghost of your hands wrapping around his shoulders, see your smiling reflection in the mirror as you gazed at him, your face radiant with happiness. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing himself the dangerous comfort of imagining your touch. It was like being caressed by a shadow… your fingers tracing the contours of his body, exploring the planes and ridges. Your voice echoed softly, teasing and affectionate, calling his name as if you were still there.

"It’s okay to be sad, Eli," you had once told him, pressing a kiss to his neck, your fingers resting over his heartbeat. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and swallowed hard, forcing the memory back. He had been vulnerable enough already, and he couldn’t afford to give in further. Opening his eyes, he steadied his gaze in the mirror, his grip on the sink tightening until his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched. He had promised to always protect you, and yet, here he was. A failure. The ache in his chest spread, crushing, unrelenting, leaving him feeling like a ship adrift, helpless in the abyss.

He avoided looking at the wedding ring on his finger, a sharp reminder of what he had lost. It felt wrong to take it off, yet the temptation to cast it aside was almost overwhelming.

Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed a towel, drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist. Returning to the bedroom, he saw you. Your phantom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"You know it's your fault, right?" you teased, tilting your head. "If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened."

"I didn’t have a choice," he replied, his voice hoarse, tight with emotion. "I loved you. I couldn’t let you go."

"Liar," you laughed, shaking your head. "You didn’t love me. You wanted to own me, possess me."

"No, I-" he started, but the words caught in his throat.

"You turned me into a monster, corrupted my soul," you hissed, your eyes flashing, a cruel smile tugging at your lips. "You destroyed me, Elijah."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away, unable to look at this twisted version of you. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

"Pathetic," you sneered, contempt dripping from your voice.

He couldn’t bear it anymore, his heart breaking all over again. Retreating to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it as he took a shuddering breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Go away," he whispered, his voice strained.

"No," your voice answered, the doorknob rattling, the door shaking as if it would break under your rage. "You promised to love me, to protect me."

"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with grief and regret. "I know."

"You lied," you spat, the doorknob rattling harder, the door creaking and straining against its hinges.

"Please," he begged, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Open the door," the voice hissed, rattling the knob with renewed violence, the door cracking under the pressure.

"Go away," he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, every muscle tensed.

And then, abruptly, there was silence. The only sound was his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears, drowning out everything else.

He stayed still, afraid to move, unsure of what might happen if he did. His entire body felt frozen, rooted to the spot, waiting.

From downstairs, he heard the sounds of Cami, Klaus, and Marcel entering the compound, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t let them see hin so weak and broken. He knew he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

"Elijah?" Klaus’s voice echoed through the compound, laced with worry.

Clearing his throat, Elijah steadied himself and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, the ghost of you nowhere in sight. He let out a long, uneven sigh, then went down to the courtyard, where Klaus, Cami, and Marcel waited for him.

On the table were at least forty photographs, each one of a different woman. They all looked hauntingly like you.

Elijah frowned, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over the pictures, brow furrowing as he took in each face.

"What’s this?" he asked, his voice low.

"It’s the list," Klaus answered, his tone grave.

"Of what?" Elijah asked, his confusion mounting.

"Victims," Marcel explained, watching Elijah closely. "Louisiana has a serial killer."

Elijah stiffened, his eyes darkening as he picked up one of the photos, staring at it, his stomach twisting. It was an image of a woman lying in the woods, stab wounds in her hands and feet, her face pale and ashen. She had the same hair as you, the same shape of your mouth. He swallowed hard, anger rising in his chest.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked, his voice strained.

"We think there might be a connection to your wife’s death," Cami said softly, her eyes full of sympathy.

"This has nothing to do with her," he growled, his fingers gripping the picture.

"They all look just like her, brother," Klaus pointed out, his brow furrowed. "It’s hard to ignore."

"No," Elijah muttered, shaking his head, refusing to accept the implication. "You’re wrong."

"Look at the pictures," Klaus insisted, his voice firm. "It’s too much of a coincidence."

Elijah’s gaze dropped back to the photos, the truth sinking in. It felt like looking at countless versions of you. And yet, none of them were truly you.

"The killer has been operating in Louisiana for years," Cami continued, her voice gentle. "No one has ever gotten close enough to identify the suspect, much less stop them."

"There was a pattern to the murders, at least until recently," Marcel added. "They were all killed in or around churches,"

"My wife wasn't murdered in a church," Elijah said, his voice hard.

"As far as we know," Klaus argued, his eyes flashing. "You found her body in the streets, but it doesn't mean she was killed there."

Elijah let out a frustrated sigh, his jaw clenching. He knew his brother was right, and the thought made his blood boil.

"Whoever did this is a sick bastard," Marcel said, his voice edged with anger. "They take their time, torture their victims for days, even weeks before they kill them."

Elijah's stomach churned, and he set the photo down, his eyes closing, a wave of nausea hitting him. The thought of you suffering like that made his skin crawl, his heart ache.

"I compelled a very friendly detective to let me borrow his files," Klaus said, smirking. "The last crime scene was not too far from here,"

Elijah's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with his brother's.

"We could take a look," Klaus suggested, his tone cautious. "Maybe there's something there we can use,"

"I'll get my coat," Elijah said, his voice flat.

Klaus nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips.

Cami sighed, her shoulders sagging, worry etched on her features. Marcel squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his expression solemn.

"Let's go," Elijah muttered, moving past them, his thoughts racing.

There was no way this was connected to your death, it couldn't be. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chance. He didn't know what he would do if it was true.

13th century Europe Since the announcement of demons in the village, Mother Mathilde had increased her scrutiny over the sisters. You knew she was watching you, waiting for you to slip up, hoping to catch you in the act of sin. But you were careful, keeping your distance, staying out of her way. Still, she found excuses to punish you, giving you extra chores and longer hours.

"She's going to work you until your fingers bleed," Sister Margaret said, her voice hushed.

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though you felt anything but. "It's nothing I can't handle,"

Sister Margaret looked at you, her eyes full of concern. "Still, it isn't right. You haven't done anything wrong."

You swallowed, thinking of the night you spent with Elijah, the promises he made. Had you been foolish? Had you led him to Sister Claire, causing her death? A wave of guilt washed over you, and you shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, forcing a smile.

"If you say so," Sister Margaret sighed, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

You worked in silence, scrubbing the floors, your thoughts drifting. You couldn't stop thinking about Elijah, the way he held you, the promises he made. A part of you feared him, what temptation he had brought into your life. Another part was drawn to him, the desire still lingering within you.

You felt tainted, dirty, knowing that he was a demon. Still, there was a part of you that longed for him, the desire pulsing deep within you. You couldn't explain it, the way he made you feel, the way he changed your life. It was like a force of nature, powerful and all-consuming.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up, surprised to see Sister Margaret rushing towards it.

"I'll get it," she called, hurrying to the front of the convent.

You continued working, but your curiosity was piqued, wondering who had come to the door. You heard the muffled voices of Sister Margaret and the visitor, but you couldn't make out what they were saying.

"She's here, she'll see you," Sister Margaret said, her voice sounding surprised.

You straightened, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering who the visitor was.

Sister Margaret returned, her eyes wide, a hint of panic in her voice. "There is a nobleman here to see you... Lord Mikaelson,"

You swallowed, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement. What was he doing here? Why did he want to see you?

"Tell him I'm not available," you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Sister Margaret frowned, studying you. "Is something wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet her eyes. "No, everything is fine, I just... I don't feel well. Tell him I can't see him,"

She hesitated, her eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, but he's very insistent. He says it's urgent."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "Fine, I'll speak with him. Just give me a moment."

Sister Margaret nodded and turned, leaving you alone. You took a few moments to compose yourself, knowing that whatever Elijah had come for, it wouldn't be good. You smoothed your hair, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You walked down the corridor, stepping into the reception room. The space was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs and a small table. The walls were bare, save for a cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary.

You could see Elijah standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out of place, dressed in a fine tunic and cloak, the sunlight casting a glow on his pale skin.

You stood in the doorway, unable to move, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.

"You shouldn't be here," you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned, his gaze locking on yours. "Neither should you,"

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need to speak with you, in private," he replied, his voice low.

You glanced around, looking for Sister Margaret, but she was nowhere in sight. "This isn't the place," you said, shaking your head.

He approached, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Please, just give me a moment of your time."

You hesitated, your mind racing. You knew you should send him away, but your gaze dropped to his lips, remembering the way he had kissed you, the way he had touched you.

"Tonight, in the place we went before," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt a flush of heat, the memory of that night washing over you. "I can't,"

"You have to," he said, his voice urgent. "Meet me there."

You bit your lip, torn between fear and desire. Finally, you nodded, unable to deny the pull he had on you.

"Tonight," he repeated, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He turned, walking towards the door, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting."

You stood rooted to the spot, watching as he disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"What did he want?" Sister Margaret asked, startling you from your thoughts.

"I'm not sure," you lied, swallowing hard.

"Well, he seemed upset," she said, her voice full of concern. "Perhaps you should talk to Mother Mathilde."

You shook your head, the thought making your stomach churn. "No, it's not necessary."

Sister Margaret studied you for a moment, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Don't stray from His light, sister," she warned, before turning and walking away.

You watched her go, her words echoing in your mind. You had already strayed, you thought, a wave of guilt washing over you. But what choice did you have? Your heart was drawn to Elijah, despite the danger, despite the consequences. He had stolen your heart, and you knew there was no going back.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[southernsense]

Annie Ubelis, host and producer with cohost, Curtis “CS” Bennett interview guests: Mark Tapscott, Senior DC Correspondent for The Epoch Times and Heritage Foundation, Jack Fitzhenry, the Senior Fellow at the Edmond Meese III Center.

They cover current budget debate, illegal immigration and Second Amendment rights, as well as government censorship with Mark Tapscott. They further delve into the issues of government intimidation and bullying of Big Tech to create political censorship with Jack Fitzhenry.

Show Dedication: Police Officer Darrin McMichael, Arlington Police Department, TX, End Of Watch: Thursday, September 21, 2023

[jolenes-book-journey]

FCRW - CS Bennett's Contribution to the Autumn Embrace Anthology is The ...