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skarsgard-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Know Thyself

Description: When Eric invites you to his dungeon, you get more than you bargained for.

Notes: 5,800 words of kinky Eric Northman smut. Reposted because this hellsite reordered several paragraphs for no reason.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, bondage, spanking, orgasm control, forced orgasms

"You're not on the schedule tonight," a familiar voice drawled as you arrived at Fangtasia for your shift. Pam stood in front of the mirror in the break room applying her blood red lipstick with razor thin precision. "Boss's orders," she added, her lips curling with an amusement that was frankly disquieting.

You shoved your purse in your locker anyway and gave Pam a skeptical look. "What are you not telling me?"

Pam slid the gold lid back onto the tube of lipstick with a click. "As much as I would love to stand around and answer stupid questions all night, I still have a job to do," she said. Dark, grungy rock music began to blare in the club proper, signaling that Fangtasia would soon be open. Pam closed your locker in the blink of an eye, a wicked grin spreading across her pink lips. "You’re coming with me," she said. She gave you a little push out of the room and steered you downstairs with a firm grip on your shoulder. It would be pointless to argue, so you stumbled along in front of her as Pam’s dagger-like stilettos echoed in the stairwell.

As far as you knew, the basement of Fangtasia was little more than a crammed storage room filled with excess liquor, Halloween decorations, and old VHS tapes from its heyday as a video rental store before vampires came out of the coffin. A set of keys rattled in Pam's hand and she unlocked a metal door that you had always assumed led to the broom closet. She held it open and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Go on.”

The hard edge in Pam’s voice chilled your blood, but you swallowed your nerves and stepped into a long stone corridor dimly lit with torches. You heard nothing except your own heartbeat and the faint crackling of the torches as you stepped inside. Her hand connected with the small of your back and you both proceeded down the passage, which had several alcoves walled off with iron bars that were so dark you couldn’t tell if they were occupied or not. Pam stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and produced an old-fashioned key that she had tucked into her bodice. She eyed your black Fangtasia t-shirt and pursed her lips.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Pam,” you said nervously, but the rest of your words dried up in your throat as she stared you down. You took off your top and shimmied out of your jeans, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your face.

No matter how many times you undressed in front of Pam, you always felt like a piece of merchandise under her scrupulous gaze. She slid her fingers under the elastic waist of your panties and snapped it against your skin. “And these,” she added. You slipped out of your panties and took off your bra as well, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Pam said in a flat tone that was not even a little bit reassuring as she opened the door and gestured for you to go inside. “You look good enough to eat.”

You crossed the threshold into a spacious stone chamber with vaulted cathedral ceilings and arched doorways leading off in four different directions. But what caught your eye was not the architecture or the flickering candlelight in the rooms beyond. It was the ancient iron maiden that stood in the center of the room, its doors clamped shut and its strange carved face contorted with anguish as it stared wordlessly at the place where you stood.

Behind you, the heavy door creaked shut and you heard the scrape of the bolt sliding back into place, locking you within. Even though you knew this had to be orchestrated by Eric, your veins suddenly iced over with fear. You heard soft footfalls coming from one of the rooms beyond and instinctively took a step back, your heel colliding with the door behind you. A tall figure appeared in the central doorway wearing a wry smile and a plain black tank and jeans.

“Where are your clothes?” Eric asked. You furrowed your brows, realizing that you stripped down in front of Pam for no reason. “Ah,” he said. “Pam.”

“She never misses an opportunity,” you said, embarrassed by your own naiveté.

Eric chuckled and took your hand in his. “I will deal with her later,” he said. “Come with me.”

You followed him into the room to the far left, which reminded you of a Roman bath. A pool of dark water rippled below, its steaming surface scattered with purple flower petals and floating candles. The smell of incense hung in the humid air—something warm and inviting, laced with exotic spices. At the end of the chamber, a reclining skeleton was painted on the wall with two words written in Greek letters below it. Eric retrieved a short silk robe hand painted with peony blossoms from a hook on the wall and held it open while you slid your arms into the sleeves.

"What does that say?" you asked. Eric's lips brushed against your temple as he reached around and tied the robe shut with a decisive motion.

"Know thyself," he said. "It's a replica of the memento mori in the baths of Diocletian in Rome." He kept his arms around your waist and you leaned against him, enjoying how solid he seemed as he held you from behind. It wasn't often you had uninterrupted time alone with your lover. He was always being pulled in one direction or another by whoever was above him in the complicated vampire hierarchy, or he was occupied with the problems his own subordinates brought to him. But tonight you knew you would not be interrupted. You turned in his arms and looked up at Eric, trailing your fingertips over his bare muscled shoulders.

"What do you want to do with me?" you asked with shy smile as Eric inhaled the scent of your hair like a sommelier using all of his senses to sample a fine wine.

"Possess you utterly," Eric murmured. His voice was gravelly and full of desire, and his candor surprised you. He tangled his fingers in your hair and captured your mouth in a languid kiss. You swayed a little, but he held you steady as he tilted your head back and dragged his lips down your throat, savoring your taste. He sucked lightly on your pulse, which seemed to be directly connected to your center. You hummed softly in encouragement and reached for his belt, but he pulled away.

Candlelight reflected in the dark water below, dancing to the syncopated rhythm of your heart. Worry itched at the back of your mind as you watched Eric walk away, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Perhaps you had done something wrong. He retrieved a black gift box from a hammered metal table and stood before you again in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Though Eric seemed to possess an endless store of confidence, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying to be careful, you realized, fearing he might scare you away. You summoned a reassuring smile and traced your fingers along the edge of the box.

“You spoil me.”

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what Pam keeps saying,” Eric said. He took the lid off the box, revealing a solid metal choker. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy, with a small keyhole on the clasp at the back. A delicate spray of flowers and vines swirled across its surface, carved with such care that they created a sense of motion. You lifted it out of the box and studied the pattern quietly, aware that you were being studied as well.

“It’s beautiful,” you said sincerely. You lifted your eyes and offered it back to Eric, gathering your hair away from the nape of your neck. He turned you to face away from him and opened the clasp on the necklace. After a moment, smooth metal circled your throat. It felt cool against your warm skin and fit snugly into place without being too tight. You heard a tiny click at the back of your neck and realized it had locked when he closed it. Your breath hitched in your chest. Eric’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Your mouth felt dry, but you nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers over the floral inlay of the necklace.

“What will you say if it’s not okay?” Eric asked. He placed his large hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him again. You pressed your lips together in thought for a moment. You had never needed a safe word with him before.

“Clementine,” you answered.

“Good.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of your jaw, drawing you closer. “And if you can’t speak, what will you hum?”

Your eyes widened and you forgot every song you’d ever known. “Um...” you said. “Yankee Doodle?”

Eric’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he made no comment about your song choice. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Are you ready, pet?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, but your voice sounded shaky and small. You weren’t sure what lay in the rooms beyond or what he had in store for the night. The torture device in the foyer had frightened you, but you trusted Eric. You chewed on your lip and tried to summon a playful smile. “Are you going to put me on a leash?”

The arched brow on your lover’s face told you he was now considering it. “Would you like me to?” he asked, always willing to up the ante.

“I...” you stammered. The thought filled you with horror and excitement in equal measure, and you weren’t sure how to answer. But Eric’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he approached a mahogany apothecary cabinet and opened one of the drawers.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on that.” He rifled through the drawer for a moment and took out a fine metal chain. “But I can oblige.”

Eric returned to you and attached the chain to the choker around your throat, testing it with a small tug. The solid metal acted as a collar, and you found yourself stumbling forward, forced to follow his lead. A toothy grin spread across Eric’s face. You wanted to be mad at him, but you were breathless with anticipation. He wrapped the chain around his hand and you trailed after him without resistance as he led you from the room.

“I could get used to this,” he quipped, entering the foyer.

“I’m sure you could.”

Your eyes met the gaze of the iron maiden again, and you were relieved when Eric walked past it without a second glance. “What is that for?” you asked.

Eric looked at the torture device. “Pam liberated it from a museum in Spain, but I doubt it was ever used before she got her claws in it,” he said. “It's more ornamental than practical.”

“So, you’ve never used it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eric said with an air of mystery. He tugged on the chain, urging you to follow him into a rounded chamber with a circular dais in the center. Thick shackles hung from the walls on massive chains that looked strong enough to secure a vampire, and several human shaped cages were suspended from the ceiling. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“What are those?” you peeped nervously as Eric removed the chain from your choker and untied your robe. His eyes followed yours toward the ceiling.

“Another of Pam’s acquisitions,” he said, pushing the robe off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet and his gaze swept over your naked flesh approvingly. “The English used to hang the corpses of criminals in them after execution as a warning to others.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you blurted it out anyway. “What does Pam use them for?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t ask.” He took you by the hand and led you to the dais, holding you steady as you stepped onto it. “Stand here,” he said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and watched as Eric circled you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. The surface beneath you was rough and uncomfortable to stand on with bare feet. Something told you that was by design. Eric appeared in front of you again, considering you with a steely gaze.

“Kneel,” he commanded in a firm voice.

You lowered yourself to your knees and realized you were trembling slightly. The uneven surface of the dais below you dug into your knees as you sat back on your heels and cast an uncertain glance at your lover. He had never spoken to you in that tone of voice before, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Eric studied your face with hooded eyes and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You look so lovely on your knees,” he said as though it was a thought he had not intended to say out loud. You tilted your head toward his hand, craving his touch, but he withdrew it and looked at you with a stony expression. “Lift both of your hands as high as you can.”

You did as he instructed and he gave you a small nod of approval. “Good,” he said. “Now, don’t move,” he added. “I will return in a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. You sat alone in the strange circular room with your arms stretched above you and the floor digging painfully into your knees. Though you heard no sound from the other rooms, you had the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. You shifted a little, trying to find a position that was comfortable, but moving only seemed to make your knees hurt even more.

You had no way of knowing how long you waited. Soon the muscles in your shoulders began to ache, but Eric did not return. You wondered if you should call for him. Maybe he had lost track of time.

“Eric?” you called softly. In the empty room, you received no reply. Your knees were stinging now and the muscles in your arms burned with the continued effort to keep them lifted in the air. You knew you would not last much longer. A whimper escaped your lips and you wobbled a little, lowering one of your hands. Eric appeared in front of you instantly, his expression stormy.

“What did I tell you to do?” he asked. His voice was quiet but keen like the blade of a knife.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “Keep my hands in the air,” you said.

“And what did you do?”

“I... I lowered them,” you answered. You furrowed your brows together, feeling it was deeply unfair for him to blame you for something you couldn’t help. “But you weren’t here, and I couldn’t do it any longer.”

Eric’s brow arched in warning and his icy blue eyes hardened. Silence fell over you like a spell and you knew it had been a mistake to argue. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You lowered your gaze to the floor and took several deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

“I know you are,” Eric said. “And I will forgive you after you’ve been punished.”

He grabbed both of your wrists and dragged you to your feet. You wobbled as he pulled you off the dais, hauling you out of the room without giving you a chance to catch your balance.

“Eric!” you yelped, staggering after him through the foyer and into another room. He stopped abruptly in front of a wall where countless whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and riding crops were hung.

“Pick one,” Eric said. He released his grip on your arms and sat on the foot of a black four-poster bed covered with a dark velvet quilt, waiting for you to make your selection.

You stared at the array of instruments before you. Some of them looked like the sort of thing you could pick up at any average sex shop, while others seemed to be custom-made or possibly the real thing. You swallowed your fear and reached for a leather riding crop with a narrow tip and a flexible handle. It seemed small enough that it might not inflict too much damage. You approached the foot of the bed and placed it in Eric’s hands. He whipped his open palm with the riding crop and shook his head.

“This one will sting too much,” he said. “Pick one that’s more rigid.”

He waited with patience while you tested several others in search of one that would meet his specifications. The anger that radiated from him before had now dissipated and he seemed set on administering your punishment based on principle rather than wrath. You had the distinct sense that everything was going exactly as planned—that you had been thrust into a labyrinth of impossible choices, and he was the minotaur that would delight in making you suffer. You had half a mind to throw the riding crop in Eric’s face and tell him you were going home, but you had enough faith in him to trust that he would be good to you.

Eric rose to his feet as you held out another riding crop. He tested it on his hand and nodded in approval. You thought he might draw his hand back and strike you at any moment, but he set it on the bed and picked up a silky blindfold, securing it over your eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” he said in your ear. He grasped the nape of your neck in his hand and guided you down onto the bed so that you were folded over the foot of it with your ass prominently displayed. You turned your head to the side and took a few nervous breaths. The dull ache of desire throbbed in your center even though you had to fight off the urge to bolt. Eric squeezed the rounded flesh of your ass, caressing it appreciatively. “I want you to count for me when I strike you,” he instructed. “I’ll start with my hand, and then switch to the crop. We’ll do five of each.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Do you remember what to say if it’s not okay, pet?”

You considered the possibility of cashing in your get out of jail free card, but his hand slipped between your legs and stroked the length of your slit, offering you the promise of even greater reward if you played his game. A small gasp escaped from your lips and you pressed yourself into his touch, but his hand was gone. “I remember,” you said breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Then count for me,” Eric said. He drew back his open hand and delivered a stinging blow across your ass.

“One,” you managed to say.

“Good girl,” Eric purred. He massaged the sore spot for a moment and then struck you even harder, making you yelp in surprise. Your hips jerked and Eric pressed his left hand into the small of your back, pinning you in place as you gasped for breath. “Count,” he reminded you.

“Two.”

The third blow followed quickly, but Eric’s firm hand held you still. A stinging warmth was spreading over your ass and felt arousal pooling between your legs.

“Three,” you whimpered.

Eric struck you again and kneaded your ass, producing a low moan from your lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his own enjoyment evident in his voice. “What number was that?”

“Four.”

The fifth blow landed harder than the rest. You forgot to count, but Eric didn’t seem to care. He let you lay there panting softly, trying to catch your breath while he massaged your tender skin and teased you between your legs. The adrenaline in your system dulled the pain until it mingled with the sensation of Eric’s fingers stroking you, making your entire bottom radiate with pleasure. You whined needfully and rolled your hips into his touch.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Eric said. He withdrew his hand and sucked your arousal off his fingers. “Cross your wrists behind you,” he said. “I don’t want your hands to get in the way.”

You wanted to tell him he could punish you any time he liked if he would just fuck you then and there, but you knew you weren’t in a position to negotiate. You closed your mouth instead and did what you were told. Eric wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back. You always knew he was strong, but you were stunned to realize he could immobilize you completely with just one of his hands. The riding crop made a whooshing sound as he swung it in the air experimentally, making you flinch with anticipation.

“Five more,” Eric reminded you. “Count for me.”

The sharp bite of the riding crop against your flesh stole the air from your lungs. The pain was much more concentrated than before, and the shaft of the instrument seemed to gather momentum easier than a bare hand.

“Breathe for me, pet,” you heard Eric saying. “That was one.”

You inhaled and exhaled, speaking in a shaky voice. “One.”

“Very good,” Eric murmured. “Focus on your breathing.”

He struck you again and dragged the tip of the riding crop over your dripping cunt, making you shiver.

“Two,” you moaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Three more.”

Tears began to sting your eyes with the third blow, wetting the silk fabric that covered them.

“Three,” you whimpered.

“That’s right.”

The fourth blow struck even harder, and Eric held you steady as you bucked your hips. You were crying in earnest now, your tears leaking from the blindfold.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he said softly. “Just one more.”

“Okay,” you sobbed.

You cried out when he struck you one last time, but an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body as you realized that was the end. You were shaking all over and you could feel your pulse throbbing between your legs.

“F-five,” you stammered.

Eric released your wrists and trailed his hand over the marks on your ass, massaging it with care. Your hands fell limp at your sides, feeling leaden.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” Eric asked. He swirled his fingers around your swollen clit, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“I promise.”

“Then you are forgiven.” His melodic voice filled you with warmth and a moment later his fingers thrusted inside you. A long, breathy gasp escaped your lips and you felt your insides beginning to clench, but he pulled away.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

“Patience,” Eric said. “The night is young.”

He rolled you over and pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, but he let you lean your full weight against him and bury your face against his chest as he untied the blindfold. It felt good to press yourself against something cool and familiar. A few stray tears leaked from your eyes. Eric wiped them away with the soft pad of his thumb and licked the salty liquid from his finger.

“How are you, pet?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. And it was true. Even though the punishment Eric doled out had been painful, he had helped you through each moment. The fear that coursed through your veins earlier in the evening had been released in a kind of catharsis, and you now felt strangely at ease with whatever might happen next.

“Good,” Eric said. There was a hint of pride in his voice as he stroked your hair. “You’re very brave, for a human.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his throat and felt Eric’s hand tighten in your hair. “You’re very tender, for a vampire.”

“Only with you,” he mused. He took you by the hand and kissed your fingers, leading you out of the room. “Come.”

The last room was outfitted with several strange pieces of furniture that you suspected were part of Pam’s collection of authentic medieval torture devices. You recognized a rack in one corner and a set of stocks in another, but what caught your eye was the wooden frame in the shape of an X in the center of the room. It was covered in soft leather and had thick padded cuffs at the end of each arm.

Before you could ask Eric what it was, he spun you around and pinned you against it with his hips, giving you a bruising kiss. You moaned against his mouth as he secured your wrists to the frame. He kicked your feet apart and trailed his hands over the smooth curves of your body, scratching you lightly with his nails. Then he bound your ankles as well.

Your face felt flushed and your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped back and raked his gaze over your body. You knew you were utterly helpless, and every part of you was on display. Your legs were spread wide and your breasts heaved with each panting breath you took, trying to regain control of yourself. A smirk spread across Eric’s face. This was what he had been waiting for all night.

“In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen something so exquisite as you, pet.” He took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of your hair, kissing your throat as he spoke. “You're beautiful,” he said. “And you're mine.”

His words made your whole body resonate with satisfaction. Eric’s fangs scraped against your throat, but he did not bite you. Not yet. He wanted to savor every inch of you before deciding where to sink his teeth in. His tongue licked your throat while his hands roamed your body, pausing when he felt your heart begin to beat faster to lavish attention on the places where you were sensitive.

He smoothed his hand over your stomach and caught your nipples lightly between his teeth, enjoying each whine and whimper that came from your lips. He teased you with agonizing patience. Your body felt like a spring compressed under an enormous amount of pressure, and you were desperate for release. It would not take much now for you to come undone, but each time you were close, Eric ceased his ministrations.

“No, no, no,” Eric murmured against your breast as he stopped circling your clit with his thumb. “I haven't given you permission to come yet.”

You were about to protest when he took hold of a handle on the side of the X and suddenly rotated it upside down. Blood rushed into your face as you hung from your ankles, your arousal on full display. Eric made a small sound of satisfaction at the sight and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He thrust his fingers inside of you while he drank, stilling his hand whenever he felt your muscles begin to contract.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Eric, I want you to fuck me.”

He withdrew his hand and dragged his tongue along the length of your slit. “Do you?” he asked with a surprised inflection. “Hmmm, I don't remember asking what you want, my love.”

Eric pulled away and righted the X before too much blood could rush to your head. Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing was ragged. You watched his tall form shift out of view and heard him rifling through a drawer to the side as you caught your breath.

“Please,” you whined when he reappeared in front of you. “I need you inside me.”

“I know,” Eric said with mock sympathy. “But it gives me such pleasure to hear you beg.”

You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator before you felt it. Eric pressed the powerful toy against your sensitive mound and produced a low, guttural moan from your throat. “You're not allowed to come yet, sweet girl,” he reminded you.

“You’re gonna make me,” you panted. “Eric, please.”

Eric lubricated the vibrator with your arousal and guided it over your clit. “I’m warning you,” he said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Do not disobey me again.”

“I-I can’t help it,” you whimpered.

He increased the intensity and kissed your throat roughly. “Don’t you dare do it,” he growled in your ear, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You cried out as your release overwhelmed you, sending shockwaves from your head to your toes. Your sensitive nerves were flooded with a blissful warmth, and you fell limp in the restraints after a moment, breathing shallowly. Eric turned off the vibrator and nipped your ear with his teeth.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, you wicked little thing,” he said in your ear. But he let you recover for a moment while he returned to the cabinet against the wall and searched in another drawer.

Soon he stood in front of you again. He grasped your chin and opened your mouth, pushing a rubber ball gag between your teeth. The surprised sound that came from your throat was muffled by its presence as Eric secured it behind your head. He framed your face with his hands and forced you to look into his intense blue eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Remember what I said about humming?”

“Mmhmm,” you managed to hum, but you didn’t want him to stop. You felt perfectly at ease, caught in a strange liminal state between dreaming and waking. Eric stroked your hair and studied your face.

“Good,” he said. And then the tenderness in his voice was replaced with a hard edge as he curled his fingers around your throat. “Now you're going to come until I decide you can stop,” he growled, switching the vibrator to its highest setting and pressing it ruthlessly against the oversensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

The intense vibration sent sharp rippling aftershocks through your body. You moaned into the gag and felt yourself tensing painfully, but you were too weak to struggle. Eric was telling you to relax. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on his words, allowing the tension to melt from your body. Soon you felt yourself building to another climax far more intense than the one before.

“That’s right,” Eric said. “Take it like a good girl. Let’s see how many we can get out of you.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how many times Eric had pushed you over the edge before the vibrator finally switched off. The ball gag was removed from your mouth, but you couldn’t formulate the words to ask for what you wanted. You let out a small needy whine instead, begging for him.

Eric captured your lips in a kiss and thrust his length inside you, filling you with what you needed most. He rolled his hips at a slow pace, making sure you felt every movement as he fucked you. You moaned weakly and soon you were clenching around him, pulling him to the edge with you. “Come for me,” Eric said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now.”

You gave a small cry as you came undone again, soaking his cock with your release. Eric groaned against your neck and followed you swiftly, one hand fisted in your hair and the other clutching the side of your face as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He remained inside you for a few moments as you took a few ragged breaths. Then he reached up and released the restraints circling your wrists. You sagged against him, too exhausted to hold yourself up. Your legs felt like they were made of rubber and your head felt woozy, but you were at ease, knowing he would take care of you.

You were vaguely aware of the warm scent of Eric’s cologne as you pressed your face into his chest. Soothing words poured over your consciousness in a language you didn’t understand. You tasted blood on your lips and felt the bruises on your wrists and backside simply melt away.

When you woke again, you were laying between fresh sheets in your own bed. Your hair was still damp from a bath and your legs were tangled with Eric’s as he slept beside you, one arm outstretched so you could lay your head on his chest. The light tight shutters had been sealed over the windows in your bedroom, blotting out the midday sun. Eric had them installed ages ago, but he still was hesitant to sleep above ground. You trailed your fingers over one of the ancient scars on his bare chest and relished the rare treat of waking up beside him.

The alarm clock rolled over to noon, and something reflective glinted on your nightstand. You stretched out your hand and picked up the elegant metal choker. In the darkness, you ran your thumb over the floral inlay and found that the clasp was open. You had forgotten about it by the time the night was over, but Eric had not. You glanced at your lover’s face. He was always eerily still when he slept. You drew your hair over your shoulder and closed the choker around your throat, listening to the soft click as the lock snapped shut.

You laid back down and tucked your head under Eric’s chin, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat. He stirred slightly, circling his arms around you and drawing you to his chest. His fingertips traveled along your spine and paused when they reached the cool metal at the back of your neck. After a moment, he cradled your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You were so good for me, pet,” he mumbled sleepily.

You hummed in contentment and kissed his chest. “I like being yours,” you whispered.

“That’s good,” Eric said, playing with the ends of your hair. “Because I have no intention of ever giving you up.”

#eric northman #eric northman smut

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mst3kproject · 2 years

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This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse

It's mainly the title that caught my attention, but this is also another lesser sequel to a fairly well-received horror film, the film in question being 1963's At Mightnight I'll Take your Soul. You might never have heard of it, but it did pretty well in Brazil and the main character, Zé do Caixão or “Coffin Joe”, has at least as much cultural purchase in that country as characters like Freddy Krueger do in North America. The sequel, however, has been described as preachy and over-long... so let's have a look.

No, I'm not gonna watch Take Your Soul first. The denizens of the SoL didn't get that luxury with The Robot vs the Aztec Mummy or Creature from the Black Lagoon, so why should I?

So in the last movie, Coffin Joe killed a bunch of people as part of his quest to father the perfect son, and was blinded and driven mad by their ghosts... but socialized health care doesn't make exceptions for supervillains, so he got better. He thus resumes his quest, kidnapping beautiful women and then killing the ones he doesn't think are good enough to swap chromosomes with. After a bit of this, he sets his sights on Laura, the musically talented daughter of a wealthy Colonel, who shares his nihilistic atheism. Her father and brother are determined to save her, but Laura doesn't want to be saved. She wants nothing less than to bear a child for the devil himself!

This movie is hard work, you guys. It is a slog. It reminds me of one of those Escher paintings where the little guys are climbing infinite stairs and ending up back where they started. This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse is a hundred and eight minutes long, when it really didn't need to be any more than two thirds of that. They've got an extra half-hour to kill and they fill it mainly by showing us the same things, over and over again.

Some of this is just Coffin Joe being gratuitously cruel. There's a scene in which he lets a bunch of tarantulas into the room where his captive women are sleeping, and the spiders walk all over them for a while before they wake up and start screaming, whereupon Joe declares them cowards unworthy of his seed. This takes a couple of minutes, which doesn't sound like much but feels like ages. Shortly thereafter comes a bit where he makes out with his chosen bride while the others get strangled by a pit full of snakes. Again, it goes on way too long and it's really little more than extremely softcore torture porn, as the women writhe and scream in a way that's far more about being sexy than about escaping the animals.

At the end of the spider sequence, Joe's hunchback assistant Bruno (obviously a guy like this has a hunchback assistant) picks the spiders off the women's nightgowns and just tosses them in a box, which is a nice demonstration of how docile tarantulas really are.

In other places, the movie fills time by having Coffin Joe make speeches about his personal philosophy. He is very fond of strapping his captives into some sort of extremely low-tech death trap, and then ranting away like a Bond villain. He does not believe in god or in life after death, and says he pities the 'idiots' who do. Since immortality of the soul is impossible, and so is immortality of the body, Joe hopes to achieve immortality of his bloodline, with the perfect son his perfect woman will give him. He sometimes talks about this son being physically immortal, but I'm not sure if this is supposed to be literal or metaphorical.

He gives a speech like this to the women before tossing them in the snake pit, and several to other characters, such as Laura's brother, Laura herself, and sometimes just the audience. The ideas in them never quite make sense, and I wonder if that's because the audience is assumed to be Catholic while I'm an agnostic potato growing on a Protestant vine. Perhaps I don't properly understand what's supposed to be shocking and horrifying about his rants... or maybe they really are just nonsense. Either way, what the movie is primarily interested in is the relationship between Joe's atheism and his evil. It presents the two as inextricably entwined, each unable to exist without the other.

Joe's atheism is a justification for his abhorrent behaviour. Human lives are short and pointless, and people are ignorant and superstitious, and there's no higher force to care if they suffer. Without a divinity to arbitrate good and evil, the only thing that can make a deed worthwhile is the results. Joe's goal is immortality in whatever form is available to him, a personal escape from this brief meaninglessness by stepping outside the endless cycle of it, and so anything he can do to get there is necessary and indeed admirable. Conversely, the behaviour also justifies the atheism. Several times, Joe tells a victim that if god exists, He has the power to save them from whatever death trap they're strapped into. God never intervenes, and so clearly He doesn't exist, and that in turn means what Joe has done is okay.

In order to be sure that his child will inherit perfect, rational genes, one of the criteria Joe insists on in his mate is 'godlessness' – the women he kidnaps are all atheists or at least agnostics. It seems, however, that at least two don't quite meet this requirement. One clearly believes in some kind of supernatural power, because as she is strangled by the snakes she uses her last breath to place a curse on Joe, telling him he will never have the son he wants and that she will have her revenge from beyond the grave (she is the one who speaks the title). Another, Marcia, is an agnostic, and she almost becomes his chosen babymama before rejecting him on account of his cruelty. Joe then simply lets her go, confident that she will not go to the police because she has no conscience.

Marcia does have a conscience, however, and her conscience is a major factor in Joe's undoing. After witnessing five murders and being an accessory to another, she poisons herself and confesses the truth on her death bed. Upon hearing this, the already restless villagers finally break out that torch-and-pitchfork mob they've been keeping in their back pockets this whole time and hunt him down. What's more surprising is that it turns out Joe himself also has a conscience, and how that conscience manifests is what's really gonna make you hate this movie.

See, Joe has no problem with the fact that he killed the women... they were useless, brainwashed cowards. What upsets him is to learn later that one of them was actually pregnant at the time of her death, meaning he also murdered her child. For some reason this sets him off (insert snide comment about conservative politician of choice), and he has a nightmare in which he is bodily dragged to hell, the movie suddenly changes to colour, and he gets to see the devil zapping people with cartoon lightning from his fingers! I think this is supposed to suggest that despite his explicit rejection of Christian teachings Joe really does believe deep down, and that is why things like the death of the fetus bother him (even if the murders of actual grown-up human beings evidently don't). In the end his atheism is mere stubbornness, as he demands a sign from god and then, when a tree is struck by lightning and falls on him, he declares it a coincidence!

The sequence of hell is not very impressive and consists mostly of naked, genital-less demons whipping people who are stuck in the walls and making halfhearted moaning noises. I wonder if that's the audio that gets passed off as the time Soviet scientists accidentally drilled through to hell.

At the very end of the movie, Joe finally admits he believes and begs for forgiveness as the skeletons of his victims rise out of a swamp to drag him to his death. The priest then nods in satisfaction because it means Joe's soul has been saved... but why should it be? He's a horrible person, a selfish murderer, liar, and rapist! We don't want to see him saved, we want to see him get what he damned well deserves! Him getting drowned by skeletons is great, but knowing he'll go to heaven afterwards is distasteful. I don't wanna share heaven with Coffin Joe, especially when he's never even apologized for all the horrible shit he did.

If you actually watch the movie (which if you do, I want you to remember that I warned you it was long), you will probably come away with a list of things you're surprised I didn't mention in this review, like how Laura agrees that the baby's life is more important than hers, the fact that the devil has Coffin Joe's face, the movie's rather strange definition of 'love', or even just the fact that Joe’s fingernails are like five inches long. To that I can only say that I wish I had the space for it. I try to keep these reviews to not much more than two pages of single-spaced Times New Roman, or around 1500-1800 words, so I stuck to what seemed most relevant to the film's obsession with atheism and morality.

Religious people seem to think these two concepts are inherently at odds. They're not, really... atheist morality is very simple. If there's no afterlife and all we get is a few fleeting moments of consciousness in the uncaring void, then nobody should have to spend that brief existence in pain. Be nice to people. Enjoy yourself. In the words of the prophets: be excellent to each other and party on, dudes.

#mst3k #episodes that never were #reviews #this night i'll possess your corpse #tw: rape #60s

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thewritingstar · 3 years

Text

The Sun Sets With You

Pairing: Blossutch

Fandom: Powerpuff Girls

Rating: T

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Major Character Death.

Note: I am so excited to finish this fic! Thank you so much to @creativecilla for commissioning time and time again. She asked for a sad and angsty fic so I hope I delivered! (She also asked for a happy fic so dont worry that's coming soon)

Don't worry there will be a little bonus after this so don't come for my throat too hard.

Anyways, I hope that you enjoy this because I had the time of my life writing it while crying.

Thanks for reading <3

(the italicized is flashbacks just in case ya confused :)

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“Your love is like a sunset, the longer I wait, it slowly fades into the sea, making a beautiful distraction, As loneliness and despair creep from behind like the shadow of the night.” -Albion Gremory

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The gate waits patiently for her to cross. It's black and shiny as if it were polished just for her. She has been here for almost an hour and yet she hasn't moved an inch. The bouquet of flowers she spent just as long picking out are starting to get annoyed by her lack of movement and although they don’t have a voice or emotions, she can tell they are growing weary too.

She doesn’t understand. Why couldn’t she simply walk forward and make this easy? She was a trained assassin, a spy at the very core where nothing could challenge her except for this field of grass. Grass that is bright green and thriving yet underneath its healthy roots, is a minefield of bodies. It's odd to think about. The care and water used to make sure that the green is at its brightest and the stone looks nice but in reality, it won’t matter.

Nothing matters anymore.

Her grip tightens on the poor flowers. A frail red ribbon holds them together instead of being wrapped in her ginger hair where it belongs. The last time she wore it was the day...it's been a while.

The cemetery has a familiar feel to it. She’s been here before. She has been here many times and has even memorized the grounds. However, this time is much more...intimate. A much more personal experience.

It was never personal because in her line of work, this was normal and happened often. You would come into the office and hear about the poor sucker that got shot, stabbed or blown to bits, grab a hopefully fresh cup of coffee and make sure that you don’t end up the same as them. It was all a part of the job to join the unavoidable circle of life.

Before it was just people whose identities changed day in and day out to avoid this particular outcome. To avoid becoming worm food and having fresh flowers at the bottom of your name. Death never meant anything to her but an end we all have to face. It never meant to stop and think about your life because she didn’t have one to live.

There was no glory waiting for her back home as she finished another mission. There was no dream to achieve because she plagued those of her mind years ago. Warmth and desire from others could not be tolerated. It was dangerous to have anyone close to you but hurt even more when they were gone.

Her dreams had been swept into the night and burned like a fallen star. They were meant for rare quiet days where she could close her eyes and have a glimpse of another chance at life and then it would be over and she couldn’t allow anyone to hold her back. But just as there are dreams, nightmares will surface too.

This was a nightmare only for her eyes. It was common for members of their work to come and pay respects if they got time but for this, she asked that she would be the first. And only then was anyone else allowed.

The months that ate away at her aching heart caused her to be the opposite. She said she had gone, said her dues and the rest followed. Her lies now corrupted her normal life, if you could even call it normal.

So she became the last person and perhaps that's for the best. Even in death, she keeps him waiting. But unlike the other times, he couldn’t leave or say anything about it. The silence of the coffin was enough for her to know that she might get the last words like always but she doesn’t want them.

She would rather keep her words to herself, her mouth stapled shut than utter the last words. She also knew that he would rather listen to her all day than have a moment of silence.

So here she is. A little black dress that poofs out gently at the bottom just above her knees. It was the same dress she had worn on their mission in Italy years ago. It had ended up on the hotel bathroom floor much sooner than expected, however this time the smell of sandalwood and pine had been washed out.

She feels like a housewife ready to see her lost husband coming back from the war in the form of a corpse. The only difference is her vision won’t include the golden bands. Her thumb grazes her ring finger feeling nothing but bare skin and it pains her to think that she was so close. So close to a dream.

She inhales and exhales. Her ability to control her emotions is unlike anyone else. If she chooses to be a stone wall, then nothing will make her crumble. For years she had seen bloodshed and violence. Encountered dangerous people and never once had a hard time sleeping.

Steps take her closer and she feels herself start to decay brick by brick.

Every breath comes out colder and slower and she doesn’t have to look to know she's right in front of it because all the oxygen surrounding her has left and replaced with a frosted void she's grown used to over these past few months.

“Hello.” Her voice is firm and polite.

Formal. She’s too formal and she can practically feel him rolling in his grave to tell her to die it down. Die it down. She hums at that thought and complies with the request that wasn’t even asked but she knows him.

Her feet slip out of her heels, the ones he had bought randomly. The ones she had danced in as he spun her slowly. Her toes feel the dew on the grass. She hates the feeling, her exposed skin starts to itch and irritate her but that just reminds her of her beating heart. So she forces herself to rest on her knees but keeps her eyes shut. Bravery was never something she lacked.

But being brave with her vulnerable emotions had never come easy.

“Just open them.” She scolds herself. No one is around but she feels like the entire world is staring at her.

This isn't work.

This isn’t a mission.

This is him.

Slowly her eyes flutter open to reveal the truth she tried to conceal. The wall inside of her has fallen. There's a suffocating way about this all. She's a woman of logic, a see it before believe it kind-of-person. It's a crumbling mess that turns her into ruins.

And that's when it hits her.

Like the fall of Rome, there are no survivors. There is no happy ending here. Everything leads to Rome...everything leads to heartbreak eventually.

Tears overwhelm everything else. Blossom Utonium has cried for a fallen coworker but never once had she had to grieve and take in the burden of her heart growing dark and heavy.

Her fingers clench the soil. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to sob, not at the risk of seeming weak, but to actually force herself to come to terms with it. To see it written in stone as literal as it comes.

Butch Jojo is dead.

There’s no other way to put it. No soft angle to come at. No lessening the blow because she was there and saw it with her own eyes. No one had to tell her because she relieved it every time her eyes closed.

How was she supposed to go on? He was the piece of her puzzle that fit so neatly and perfectly. She didn’t realize that the picture became indecipherable the moment he was removed. She clawed at that table trying to put back all the pieces. Trying to figure out where they all go but she's left with segments that don’t seem to fit any longer.

He was her sun and moon, the day and night and every other cliche slapped onto an overpriced Hallmark card. He was it all, and now he is gone. Gone too soon and she barely had him in the first place.

The gravestone itself is simple. It's the only one on the lot that isn't decorated by a three foot high statue or a giant cross. It's as basic as they come yet the man it was for was far from it. There was no luxury of filling the coffin with a body. So every bit of him was taken physically and metaphorically from her.

His name is in an elegant cursive and his birth name. Something most people didn’t know. Usually spies and assassins change up their name to make their identity untraceable. She had known him as many different names, but Butch was the only one who she cared about. The only one to ever make her feel like herself.

Her fingers hover above the engraving before setting on the coldness and tracing it with the tip of her index finger. It takes her breath away like an old candle finally burning out.

She wonders if a cruel joke is being played on her as she stares at the curls of the cursive. It was the same font she had chosen for their makeshift wedding invitations the moment she realized that he was the one. Of course he would have had comic sans or some heavy metal font on his tombstone if he was given the chance just to spite everything and everyone.

She's sure that this was already made far before his death. In fact, she's convinced that everyone already has a grave with their name stored somewhere in the back for fast and easy access. Hers is probably waiting and collecting dust.

“Hi.” She utters, less formal than the first time and that felt like ages ago. “For the first time, I’m speechless.” She confesses. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

For days she sat underneath her flickering desk light writing a speech for a funeral that no one would attend.

The words never came into place even though she deemed herself a thoughtful writer. But what do you say when the person who gave you a reason to speak is gone? Was there anything worth uttering when she couldn’t bring herself to do it?

But she wrote. She wrote everything she had felt and ended with a flood of pages on her desk. Pens with tired ink cartridges littered her desk and endless chicken scratched papers were tossed away. It needed to be thoughtful and inviting but in reality, it just needed to be the words she never said.

The moment she finished writing them, she threw them into a box to never see the light of day. But when she finally had the courage to come and pay her respects, she became drawn to them. Her mind fought with her hands to take them even if she decided to keep them in her purse.

Her purse opens and she takes out a few pages. The ones that made her heart ache the most and that are decorated with stains of dried tears. She clears her throat. “The first time I met you, I thought nothing of it. It was in front of the coffee maker at work, you had just joined our firm and you walked by, glanced at me and then you were gone into the other room. That was it. That's what we were meant to be. A simple meeting of the eyes and then we don’t interact again.”

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The coffee drips way too slow, she thinks. A state of the art facility full of lasers, guns and cars and they couldn’t be bothered to get something just slightly better. The mug finishes filling just in time for her patience to run out. She grabs it and turns to look out towards the rows of cubicles that make it seem like a simple office.

Instead of a bored coworker looking tired at a computer, she's met with green eyes and an emotionless face. For a second she saw his lips turn into a smirk. It's quick. A match striking the box with a flame igniting on impact. And then it’s dropped in water and out just as fast. He's gone by the time she blinks next and even though it was nothing, those eyes fueled a fire she wasn’t sure she had.

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“But then I kept seeing more and more of you.”

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“You clean up nice.” Blossom turned to see a guy. She recognized him from last week, a new transfer who she only caught a glance at. He was in a highly expensive tux and was adjusting the equally priced watch on his wrist.

“I assume you must be my new partner.” She said as she mentally analyzed him slowly. Slicked black hair, looks as if he goes to the gym quite often, hands looks steady for a firearm. Green. Forest green eyes.

He smiled. “Must be.”

“You can call me Amanda.” Her fake name suited her fine as she checked the time. “I hope that you read over the files of our mission.”

“I tend to skim and wing it.” He winked and that irked her. “Matts fine for the evening.”

Blossom, or Amanda for now, kept her eyes from rolling and walked to him and wrapped her arm around his. “You might be my husband for this mission but if you fuck up, you better be thankful this isn’t legally bounded.” She finished with a flutter of her eyelashes and a smile before pulling him along.

She didn’t get too far before he pulled her back and her bright pink eyes met deep green ones closely. “I take my job very seriously. But I wouldn’t dream of making you mad at me. But on the other hand, I admire strong women.”

She didn’t know why she didn’t smack him in the face. Usually every partner who has tried to flirt or mess with her learned the hard way that is a no no. Yet, even after moments of knowing him, there was something genuine about him that she couldn’t quite understand but became interested in.

“Glad to see we are on the same page Matt.”

“Of course Amanda.” Butch replied and held out his hand. “After you.”

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The trees nearby moved in the breeze without a care in the world. They had nothing to care for except for their leaves changing in the fall and losing them in the winter. But leaves always came back, they always blossomed and started a new life and were the same tree no matter how many times the seasons passed.

She wondered if those trees ever felt heartbreak or if it was easier to lose something when you know it will come back to you with time. She envied those trees. Envied the way that they can continue their lives just growing and flourishing and it felt like her leaves were turning to dust as she was being cut down.

From her purse she pulled out a thermos and two plastic cups. She nestled one into the ground as she poured the wine into the cup and then one into hers.

“I never cared for this brand of wine before I met you.” She smiled softly and took a sip. “Never cared for a lot of things. Yet this was your favorite and everytime we had a mission, I could always find you relaxing with a glass. I guess it became an acquired taste over time. You became my taste.”

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“Care for a glass?” He asked her as she sat in front of the fireplace.

Due to them working together for more than a year, the agency decided that personal rooms weren’t necessary and if anyone were to see them leave together and follow, it would fit with their stories.

Blossom looked up from the book she just pulled out. A dissatisfying glare focused on the bottle in his hand. “No thanks, that stuff is garbage.”

Butch, or well, Sebastian for the evening, scoffed. “Garbage?” He exclaimed dramatically. “This is some of the finest wine in the world.”

“I’ve had better.”

“It's from Italy!”

“I prefer local or even cheap box wine to that.” Blossom scanned her book.

Butch only huffed again but still proceeded to pour two glasses and joined her on the floor.

“I said I didn’t want any.”

“I think you just haven’t had it with the right company.” He smirked and offered her the glass.

She rolled her eyes and took the glass, her book forgotten now. Blossom brought the glass to her lips, took a sip and tried her best to hold back a grimace. “It's fine.”

He only shook his head and drank his own glass, the small smile on his lips never leaving. “Butch.”

She turned the glass in her hand then glanced at him. “What?”

“Butch. That's my name, my real name.”

Her heart started beating quicker. “Why are you telling me this? You shouldn’t be.”

It was a common understanding. You might know the face of your partner or colleagues but a name and identity was off the table. The only thing anyone needed to track down someone was a name. And the moment it's out there, you can start counting your days.

Butch shurgged and downed the rest of his wine. “Not sure. Never told anyone before. Well anyone who I didn't know beforehand. But there's something about you. I don’t think you fully trust me. I get it of course. I don’t trust people at all.”

“So why tell me?” She questioned.

His eyes met hers. Seriousness washed across his face and any hint of amusement was gone. “I have no one in my life who knows me as Butch anymore. Only myself and my thoughts. And after years in this shit business-you’re the only partner I’ve had that I trust with my life.”

Her fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. Her poor heart is beating much faster; she's sure he can hear it. She’s never had a partner like him. Never met a person who she blindly trusted like this.

“Blossom.” She blurts out. “My name is Blossom.”

And that smirk returns and his eyes soften. She's seen him kill a man before and yet he looks so incredibly soft and honest.

“That's a pretty unique name.”

“My father told me it was because of cherry blossom trees.” She smiles at the memory. She reaches and takes the brown contact from her eyes. Her main defying feature that no one but the higher ups knew about.

Her eyelashes flutter as she places them in the contacts case. She looks back at Butch and prepares for the intergation look.

It never comes.

Instead he's looking at her as if she's the most interesting thing in the world. Pastel pink eyes greet his own and he's taken back and tries to keep these emotions down.

“Its weird I know-

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.” He interrupts. “And I swear I’m not drunk.

That flicker resurfaced. The match struck the box but the flame was held much longer this time. Her reaction surprised the both of them as she laughed and her smile reached her eyes, something they haven’t done naturally in years.

She controlled her laugh and hummed bringing the glass to her lips and taking another sip. It wasn’t as bad as the first. “And you are very-”

“Charming? Irresistible?”

“Interesting.” She finished.

The bottle poured more wine into his glass and he tapped it to hers. “I’ll take it for now.” He winked.

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Her glass is empty now. She pours the glass for him into the soil, hoping to give him one last taste of what he loved.

“Over the years I forgot myself, you have to.” Blossom tells him. “I forgot my passions and hobbies. The simple pleasures of life were taken from me when I joined this path.”

The books on her shelf at home had collected dust over the years. The pages stuck as the days passed but only recently did she find herself opening them, even to just a random page and basking in the tiny shred of warmth it gave her.

“I felt those pleasures rise with you. Even buying a simple candle because you said you liked the scent brought me a joy I hadn’t noticed was missing. I was missing everything in life because I didn’t have a light to guide me.”

She bites her lips hoping to stop another sob. How many tears can a person shed in a short amount of time? When do they stop and allow the body to rest?

“That first time you kissed me.” Her voice cracks. “That's when I started believing that life could be more than what we were conditioned to do.”

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Her feet ached. Her heels were in her hands and she was tired from another successful work day. After six months of locating and sniffing out an underground drug market, they finally caught the group of men.

She glanced at her shoes and dress, irritated that the blood ruined another perfectly good outfit. She wanted to just get into her room, take a bath and pass out on her bed and to not be distrubed for at least seventy two hours.

She got to her hotel door and started to search for her key.

“Oh shit.” She grumbled. Her purse was nowhere in sight.

“Here.”

Blossom turned to see Butch holding the desginer bag.

A sigh of relief left her lips as she took it and fished out the key card. He leaned against the wall, clearly tired and wanting to rest like her. Two years they had been partners. The longest partnership she’s had and she wasn’t complaining. Usually they shared a room on missions but they had separate rooms this time.

“Tired?” She glanced at him.

“No, I'm fully awake.” He said sarcastically. “I feel like I got hit by a freight train.”

“I’m sure those guys thought they did too when you punched them.” Her door clicked open but she didn’t move.

“Oh please, you did most of the heavy lifting. I mean who takes down a giant dude with a high kick in heels.” He was practically beaming with pride from the memory. “Badass stuff Bloss.”

She was sure there was a blush on her cheeks. Shaking those thoughts from her head she smiled and opened the door. “Goodnight Butch.”

“Night.”

…

“Isn’t this the part where you walk into your room?” He raises a bow that is answering the silent question she asked.

She straightens her back. “Shouldn’t you be walking to yours?”

He moves closer to her. Brushing the hair on her shoulders off and there's a buzz throughout her as his fingers graze her shoulders.

He's closer now. Their lips only inches apart and although her body is killing her and aching, she can’t help but let her mind wander.

“I prefer the view right here.” He says in almost a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “And possibly even the taste.”

His lips press against hers. They have kissed many times in front of people on missions but it's never been like this. Never a sign that everything she had been feeling, wanting could be hers for the taking.

It's not fast and heated. It's slow as if he's testing out the waters that he can glady swim in. It's a sign that they know they shouldn’t be doing this but for once, she's playing by a different set of rules.

They break apart. The kiss wasn’t very long but the sparks linger and scorch through her body. She's afraid to look at him now. Afraid that rejection and everything she had told herself not to want, can’t be hers. The ground should just swallow her whole now.

She feels a hand softly touch her cheek and she looks up at him. This look on his face, she can't describe it. She can see the gears turning in his head, wondering if this was a mistake just as she thought.

But rejection never comes. He doesn’t pull or push away.

Instead his lips turn slightly up. “I know we fight for the greater good, but I’m starting to think I have a different purpose.”

“What?” She questions.

“You.”

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She could have sworn it's only been a few minutes but the sky’s blue had morphed into a dusty pink. A wonderful sunset that she is surprised she can still find beauty in. She knows she’ll have to leave soon. She is afraid that when she does, she might not come back.

One of the final happy moments with him was weeks before his death. Five years they had known each other and it was all washed down the drain.

Her head turns towards the sky as she basks in the sunset. “I hope that wherever you are there are still skies like these.”

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Sunsets in Hawaii were much better in person than any photo could capture.

“Another successful mission.” Blossom giggles as she takes a sip of her mai tai. Her feet are swaying above the water and the breeze flows through her hair. She hasn’t remembered being this peaceful but she could get used to it.

“Yeah.” Butch says as he downs his drink.

Five years she's known him. Every action and mannerism he's done is burned in her memory. It's the most priceless information she has, the most important because it's all hers.

He seems calm, she admits. But something is on his mind. He's not thriving in the glory of another mission or running around crazy and jumping into the ocean like the days before. He seems to be in deep thought. Something she's not quite sure she likes.

The horizon catches her eyes. “The sky is pretty.” She adds.

“Runaway with me.”

The movement of the waves stops. The breeze halts and her eyes widen.

“What?” She turns towards him. “Runaway?”

He nods. “Runaway from this place and all its madness. We could get married, travel the world, anything you want.” He took her hand. “I don’t care where we go. I just want to be with you.”

“With me?” She's practically speechless.

Butch cracks a smile. “Only you. Imagine this.” He scoots closer to her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. “A house on private property, hell maybe even a beachfront. You have your own little library and I’ll even get you a nice espresso machine. A garden with all the flowers you could imagine and even a baby grand piano since I know how much you love to play.”

The images flood her mind. “That sounds lovely.”

“And you wanna know the best part?” He asks.

She nods her head. “Tell me.”

“I would get to wake up each morning with you in my arms.” He smirks and kisses her softly.

“That would be the best part.” She hums against his lips. Her stomach then drops. “But we can’t.”

“Three good reasons.”

She tried to think. How could she leave the agency she's been in since she was a kid? How could she throw everything away? These feelings she had were all muddled into a mess that she didn’t know how to get out of. That vision he told her sounded like a dream.

That's what this was. A dream. Something she wasn’t allowed to have. But she wanted it.

Butch sighed. “I guess it's easier for me cause I’m selfish.” He smiled softly at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever choice you make, as long as I can still be by your side, is fine by me.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Blossom looks at the notes in her hands then back to the stone.

“I’m sorry Butch.” She cries and crumples them. Tears overwhelm her once again but she doesn’t wipe them or try to stop it. She is a dam that's been holding it all for too long. Holding her emotions for years and she was tired.

“Everyone told me to come here to get closure, but I don't want that. I want to feel the emptiness and shallowness. I want to cry myself to sleep and wish I could hold you again. It's torturous and cruel to think like that but it means that it was real. And that it was mine. This-” She beats her fingers against her chest, against her heart. “This is yours.”

“I am sorry Butch. I vowed to never let my heart act over my head. And that is something I regret deeply. You were right. You always have been. You wanted me without hesitation and I’m sorry I was guarded. But I swear when I was with you I wasn’t.”

The laughter and joy he brought her. She felt like she was breathing for the first time around him and even in the most serious situations there was still an element of peace.

“I had hoped that I would never have to say this. Never had to face this reality because it's too painful. I tried to deny it all, even though I watched it happen. Maybe if I had never let myself be charmed by you, I could avoid all these feelings but we both know that you were just so-’ She bites a laugh. “Irresistible.”

Her voice got louder as her sobs grew. “Every single moment was worth it. Your eyes and your smile. The way you knew what I was thinking even though no one else could ever know. I treated it like our job but the truth is, I wanted you to figure me out so I could finally tell myself it's okay to be happy. That's what you were Butch. My happiness.”

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

This can’t be happening, she thought. Never in her entire career had she been kidnapped and captured. She was careful and guarded but they got the best of them this time.

The gag in her mouth was doing its job and her wrists were bound behind her back. The cold chill ran up her spine as she watched the men drag him in front of her. He was a few feet away and his face was covered in blood and bruises.

“Only one of you makes it out alive.” The man said.

She tried to pull against the restraints but felt the cool metal touch the back of her head.

“No moving sweetheart.” She heard behind her.

She watched as they removed Butch’s gag and he choked on the air before his hair was pulled and he was forced to look at her.

Those dark green eyes met with frightened brown but he knew that below the color was a brilliance of magenta that he adored.

He should be scared and terrified. And he was. But looking at her even in this state, he felt a sense of happiness wash over him. Everything he never thought he could have was right there in front of him.

Tears fell from her eyes as she watched the man stab him in the stomach. The knife plunged into his flesh and Butch let out a horrifc cry as she screamed into the gag.

“Dying words buddy?” The man laughed as he pulled out a gun and held it up to head.

Even through the pain shooting through his body, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

His lips turned into a smile, even with blood coating his teeth. “Blossom-” He coughed.

No.

Please No!

She wanted to scream and tell him that she takes it all back. She wanted her dress and the ring. She wanted their own house and a piano where she could play for him.

Everything. She wanted everything.

She wanted him.

“I love you.” He says.

BAM!

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Her breath catches in her throat as she sees it. The blood and the life leaving his eyes. It replays and she tries to stop the memory.

“Could you ever forgive me?” She sobs. “Forgive me for not telling you?”

Her hand presses against the gravestone. She's not sure what she's hoping for but it's cold.

“You said it moments before your death and I couldn’t even let you die with that. Yet through that you smiled at me. You fucking smiled as death was taking you faster than I could realize because you knew. I couldn’t say it. No matter how much I wanted to tell you, I was afraid that the moment I did, this would happen. I wasn’t prepared to lose you. I wasn’t ready to face a life where I would spend every waking moment wondering if waking up next to you was truly real or a dream.”

Anger rises in her. Anger at the world and the men who killed him. Angry at the agency who turned the other eye when he died. There was nothing for her there anymore. She realized it way too late that she was robbed of everything from this life. Robbed of having him because she was afraid.

“I don't get it. How did you make me want that so bad? How you took my heart and made it beat faster than ever before. You told me to be selfish so here it is. I want you. I want you back and alive so that I can go and buy that white dress. I want everything you said.”

The anger bubbling shifts. It lingers but she takes a deep breath. It won’t help her to be angry or to bring him back. That sorrow takes its hold over her again. It's sad but calming as she tries to reason with herself that he is gone. She knows closure won’t come but she's okay with that.

“But that's not the reality anymore. I can’t change the past but I won’t change the future either. I am deeply and madly in love with you Butch. You gave me a glimpse of what a normal and fulfilling life could be and I thank you for that. Thank you for giving me slices of happiness and making me feel like I was worth loving.”

She reaches into her purse one last time and pulls out a letter and a box. “I resigned and I bought myself a ring.” She opens it and slips on the silver band with a small opal. “It's silly I know, not even a wedding ring. I hope you don’t mind. I stole one of the gems from your watch to make it.” She cries.

“They took all your stuff you know.” Her hands quiver as she stares at her ring. “They took every part of you like it was nothing, like you didn’t exist at all. The watch was all I could get.”

The sun is now setting and the breeze picks up. She's not cold anymore, and can't feel anything.

“They’ll kill me, I'm sure of it. That's what happens when you leave. And when they do, I better see you on the other side. A place where we can watch the sunset and have our little home. A place where this emptiness inside me can be whole again. I just want a place where I can love you.”

The glasses and letters go back into her purse. The flowers lay with her ribbon at the base as she stands and dusts off her dress.

She finally wipes her tears and forces a wonderful soft smile. “You were the most charming and wonderful man I have ever had the honor of working with. But most importantly, you were proof that dreams could come true.”

She touches the stone one last time. Feels the coolness but it's not as frightening. She's not afraid anymore. Blossom takes a step back and her eyes dance over his name one last time. She slips on her heels and grabs her purse.

“Goodbye my love.” She says and makes her way across the grass to the black gate.

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

I hope you enjoyed!

#blossutch #blossom x butch #ppg fic #angst #blossutch fic #thewritingstar

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treatian · 3 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 60: Not Part of the Plan

He didn't go back to the shop after claiming the egg for himself. He couldn't. He had a gun, but he didn't have magic, and that meant that at the end of the day, Emma and Regina were still faster than he was. The elevator wouldn't hold Emma up for long. She'd climb out, she'd free Regina, and they'd come looking for him, for the egg. The first place they'd look would inevitably be the shop. And so that was undoubtedly the one place he could not go.

The trouble was that he needed to go into the shop. He hadn't planned as well as he thought he had. And he realized it too late.

In a perfect world, he would have removed the potion and gone up into the woods with it right then and there, avoiding Emma and Regina, keeping them firmly one step behind him. But in his planning, he'd forgotten something important. The key. He knew where it was in the shop, but before he'd left for the library he'd been so concerned, worrying about his plan to get the egg that he hadn't worried so much about what he'd do after getting it. He hadn't thought this through well enough. If he could go back, he would have thought to slip the damn thing into his pocket before going to the library, but there was no use whining over his own mistakes, not when he was closer than he'd ever been in his life. A small delay in his morning hike wouldn't be a terrible thing. In fact, it might even be helpful. The sun beginning to rise reminded him that he hadn't thought to bring a flashlight with him when he'd left either. At least this way, by the time he finally got back into the shop and got the egg open, it would be morning.

So, instead of going into the shop to fetch the key, he hid himself. In the alley on the other side of the shop, close to the back door, he stood, and he waited with the understanding that if he could manage to avoid the women when they searched the premises, then the second they were done, he could go back inside and finish what he'd started. But in the gray morning light, as he carefully concealed himself in the alley with his prize, he watched from a distance as something unexpected happened.

Emma and Regina left the library together. But they didn't cross the street to his shop. Instead, he watched as they hurried away, down the road, toward Granny's. He waited where he was, not daring to move even a little bit closer for fear it was some kind of trick. And then he saw Emma's yellow bug speed down the street away from him and his house and any inkling they might have of where he'd be.

That was unexpected.

Completely.

Egg in hand, he let himself sneak away from the back of the alley and slowly approached the street. When he looked down, Emma's bug continued to speed quickly out of view, but he was able to make out that both women were in the car. They were going in the direction of the hospital. He glanced down at the egg in his hand, took a breath, and then nodded to himself in determination.

He didn't know what was going on, but he knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Speeding away like that gave him at least a few minutes to get into the shop, get the key, check the potion and go. Sooner was better than later. He had to take his chance.

Inside the shop, he hobbled quickly into the back room. The sun had risen, letting bright light into the room, but he still turned on his overhead light and set the egg down on a clean velvet mat to examine it like he might any valuable antique. It was untouched. Unbreeched. Which meant that if he opened it up…

He swallowed as he reached over into a small tool kit he kept on the table. Inside one of the top draws, the golden key gleamed. A key he'd kept for twenty-eight years because Mr. Gold had always worried the moment he threw it away, its lock would reappear. Funny, it was almost as if the Curse wanted to be broken. He tried to remain calm, to still his racing heart as he inserted the key perfectly into the lock then gave it a few twists until he felt the mechanism inside click. And then he opened it…

It was perfect.

The bottle, the potion, even the felted protective covering. Everything was just as he remembered putting it in decades ago, years before Emma had ever been born, all for this moment. He could have wept with joy.

Ever so carefully, with hands as steady as he could make them, he removed the bottle from its home for these past many years and examined what was left.

It wasn't much. As he held it up to the light, he realized that was perhaps the only difference. The Curse, it seemed, had gotten to some of it, been able to use some of it as its battery, but not all of it. There wasn't a lot of it left, barely a single swallow, but if he could put it in the right place, it wouldn't matter. It was the most powerful potion in the world. It would do its job.

He flinched at the sound of the bell ringing in the front of the shop. Then paused for a second, certain that if Emma and Regina had come back, they would have called out his name. No name meant it might not be them, but there was no promise of that. Quickly he swallowed, pocketed the potion for safety, then turned his back to hide the egg and the key in a small trunk he had on the table behind him. If it was Emma and Regina, they might see him get away without the egg and search for it. That might buy him some time to-

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?"

He sighed in relief. It was neither Emma nor Regina's voice. Probably just some stranger out for some early shopping who hadn't taken note of the "closed" sign on his door. He probably should have locked himself in when he arrived. That was his own fault. He'd lock it on the way out.

"Yes, I am. But I'm afraid the shop's…closed…"

He turned.

The world stopped.

Heartbeat.

Breath.

Time.

Pawnshop.

Everything was gone. Obliterated.

It was gone because what he was seeing couldn't possibly be real.

"I was uh…I was told to…to find you and…tell you that Regina locked me up," the girl stuttered awkwardly with an accent and voice his ears recognized but hadn't heard in decades. His blood had chilled in his veins, and his fingers and toes were numb as he took her in. The last time he'd seen her…it had been longer than the potion had been around. Her hair was unkempt. She wore some awful hospital gown and sneakers that had to be too big for her, a coat that reeked so badly of mothballs he could smell it even from this distance.

But it didn't matter. None of those things mattered.

She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld in his very long life.

"Does…does that mean anything to you?" she questioned hopefully.

Belle.

His Belle.

But...how?

He stared at her slack-jawed, feeling slowly returning to his body. It was only then that he realized he was moving, step by step closer to where the person stood.

It was a trick. It had to be. What he was seeing wasn't real. It was magic. To see her again, like this or not, was magical, so there was no other explanation besides magic.

Except for the problem that magic still wasn't in Storybrooke. To create an illusion like that…that would require great magic. Magic this world didn't have, magic that this Curse would have swallowed up to keep itself running. If not magic, then…hallucination? A ghost?

He swallowed hard. He hesitated. His hand was shaking as he hadn't allowed it to when he uncovered the potion, and his mouth was dry. But finally, he forced himself to reach out his hand and grasp her shoulder.

He was worried, half expected that his hand would go straight through her; that he'd find she was a ghost or a trick, a person in very convincing make-up. He was afraid she'd disappear again.

But no matter how hard he squeezed, she remained in front of him, a solid, living being, looking nearly as baffled as he felt.

He felt dizzy. There was no explanation.

Except…

"You're real…"

It had to be real.

She was real.

He didn't have his magic yet to try and sense any kind of Dark Magic on her, something that would have been necessary to create what a trick as convincing as she was, but he already knew that she wasn't a lie or a trick. There was no Dark Magic this strong available during the Curse that would conjure her.

She was real. She had to be.

"You're alive."

There was no explanation for it outside of her being here, alive, living and breathing in front of him.

She wasn't a hallucination. If she were, she would have appeared before him as he knew her to be, in a blue dress with a beautiful smile and perfectly groomed hair.

She wasn't a magical illusion. If she were, then he wouldn't have been able to touch her, to squeeze her shoulder as he had.

She wasn't made of magic. There wasn't enough magic in the town, to begin with, and there also was only one person in the town that knew about her and could have had the power to conjure her. That was Regina.

But he knew it wasn't Regina.

First of all, when Belle appeared, he'd just seen Regina drive off with Emma in the opposite direction. There wouldn't have been time to access her magic and create this. Second of all…there was what she'd said. "Are you Mr. Gold," no mention of his true name. "Regina locked me up. Does that mean anything to you" because it meant nothing to her.

If Regina was going to create her from magic to torment him, there was no reason to dress her as she was and leave her with no memories of him, not a clue who he was or where she was, in a clearly Cursed state. And then there was the implication of the words she'd said. "I was told…" She'd been told to find him. Told her to tell him that Regina had locked her up. That was the nail in the coffin, though, wasn't it? She wasn't a lie or a trick. Someone had released her to get revenge. Someone had released her from someplace she'd been where she'd been…what? A chess piece? A card to play?

He didn't know who had released her, but he knew who had kept her like this all these years.

Regina.

"She did this to you?"

Regina had her. How could he have not known? How could he have been so stupid! It was Regina who had told him that she'd died all those years ago knowing he wouldn't explore it; knowing he'd believe her father was as awful as he believed; knowing that he wouldn't find her because the very woman who had told him all that was the very woman who had her locked away. From him! Probably ever since she'd left.

Where?

How?

All questions he didn't have answers to yet. She'd kept her locked up, probably in the hospital from the looks of it, after the Curse had taken effect, waiting for the right moment to play this card. But someone had gotten to her first. Who had freed her, who had told her to say that Regina had her, that he'd protect her…he didn't know. Judging by the state of her, they'd done her a great favor.

They'd done him a great favor.

He wanted to know everything.

"I was told you'd protect me…"

Her hesitant words forced him out of his brain and back into what was right in front of him.

Right in front of him…

Just as she'd been once before! Before he'd…

Oh, he'd had the opportunity to prevent this, to protect her once before. He'd given it up, and now this…this was all his fault.

Not again. Never again.

"Oh, yes," he choked. And without giving himself permission, he did the one thing he'd never done in their time together. He flung himself at her, pulled her into his arms, and held her against his chest. "Yes, I'll protect you!"

He wept with overwhelming joy. Because she was real. Because she was alive. Because she was here. He'd never let anything happen to her again!

This time he wasn't going to let her go.

But suddenly, he felt her go stiff against him, felt her push and step away, not out of his grasp but just enough to break his embrace.

"I'm…I'm sorry. Do…do I know you?" she questioned, squinting at him confused and hopefully all at once again.

Suddenly he recognized what had just happened in a most uncomfortable way. They'd been here before, several times, when the tables had been turned. How many times had she hugged him in the Enchanted Forest? How many times had she reached out in joy and thrown her arms around him? And how often had he stood there stiff as a board? Uncomfortable? Unsure of where to put his hands or how to respond because he didn't know what she was to him?

Every time.

He'd denied her every single fucking time.

He had to fix it. He had to fix it now, and it all started with the potion in his pocket.

"No," he whispered, trying to give her a gentle and reassuring smile. Everything she knew about him was based on these moments. For now. "But you will."

He wanted to know everything. He wanted her to know everything. He wanted to stay and hold her, stare at her, memorize the features he hadn't seen in decades, have a moment he'd only dreamed about. But not now. His heart had stopped when he'd seen her, but he was suddenly ever aware of a clock ticking behind him. Time had started again.

Regina and Emma had driven away, but he had no assurance they wouldn't come back. He wanted to be long gone by the time that happened.

He brushed his hand over his pocket again, making sure he had what he needed. Then on instinct reached for her hand to guide her out with him.

But she pulled it free. She dug her heels in, stubborn as ever, just as he remembered her.

"Come with me," he muttered before placing a hand on her back instead. She obeyed his touch and followed him back out into the shop. "There's something we have to do, but everything…everything will be clear soon enough. I promise, I'll answer all your questions soon."

It was unfair of him to ask that he trust her so soon. But it had to be done. They had to go. He was so close to succeeding. He could make this work. He could protect her and finish this plan.

He had to.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Regina Mills #Evil Queen #Emma Swan #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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mxliv-oftheendless · 4 years

Text

Nice Try (Dark KISSteria)

Well well well, look what’s back! It’s another Dark KISSteria story! I was thinking yesterday about Dark!StarDahlia’s weird friendship that they have in this AU, as @cosmicrealmofkissteria will know because we keep talking about it lol. And long story short, this little baby was born! I finished writing it earlier today, so I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starchild was fuming. Damn the Council. Damn his mother though damn her less than the Council. The Council, who always told him he should take a “fine KISSterian woman” as his Queen so he could successfully take the throne after the Elder without much fuss.

And he would have agreed… except for the fact that he absolutely could not stand all of their choices. They blushed too much, giggled too much, hell sometimes spoke too much. It did give him some joy to turn them down, and see their faces crumble when they realized they wouldn’t be marrying the Star Prince. That was what mattered, of course; they would have been marrying the most eligible man in KISSteria, would have been Queen of KISSteria. And to watch them as he destroyed that dream… it was very satisfying indeed.

All of them had been predictable… that is until Black Dahlia.

The Council had suggested her as his next potential wife, as it would strengthen the alliance between the throne and the Sisterhood of the Natural Order. She was a plain looking woman, once you disregarded the purple of her hair. It was a darker purple, like wine. Black and purple was what it was. She wore black robes, and had small dark purple flowers running down the side of her face. It was striking.

But her face being striking didn’t make Starchild any more intrigued by her. It was her manner towards him. She was silent, almost defiantly so, and when she spoke it was intelligently. He had heard rumors about her, of course, of her experiments with death, how death had followed her like a second shadow all her life. A potential Necromancer within the Sisterhood had clearly made the Council incredibly nervous.

And while he was amused by anything that unnerved the Council… he still despised the fact that he would have to marry this woman. And they would be expected to consummate the marriage at some point. Disgusting…

Just thinking about it as he headed down the hallway towards his bedroom made him want to hit something. At least it was nighttime. He didn’t have to converse with anyone, especially not—

“Excuse me, Prince Starchild,”

Gods damn it all.

He looked over his shoulder to see Black Dahlia herself standing behind him. He put on an impassive look. “Good evening, Black Dahlia. Is there anything you need?” Like manners?

“Yes. I was hoping you could remind me of the way to the guest wing. I seem to have lost my way.”

Ugh of course she did. And hoping? What was he, a map? Nonetheless, it would be rude to not respond. “Go back the way you came, and when you come to the staircase turn right. The guest wing will be that way.”

“Thank you. Forgive me, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but my mind has been… out of sorts lately.”

“Really?” I could care less.

“Yes. Perhaps it is because I am living here now. The mind is powerful, but it can also be delicate. And with such immense change in my life… one could go mad with the pressure.” Black Dahlia gave him a slight smile and curtsied. “But I suppose you don’t care for what I say at the moment. Thank you for the directions. Have a good night.”

Starchild gave her a nod, and as she disappeared down the corner a slow smile crept onto his face. Her words had given him an idea…

-KISSTERIA-

Starchild lay down in his bed and closed his eyes. He felt a shifting sensation in his body, and when he opened his eyes he was floating above his body on the bed. He flew out of his bedroom, through his door and down the hallway. Lights blew out as he flew past, causing the confusion of a few servants, but he paid them no mind as he headed for the guest wing of the castle.

Finally he came to the room he knew Black Dahlia was staying in, and flew inside. He saw her form on her bed, lying on her back with her hands folded, and looking like a corpse in a coffin. He couldn’t help but snort a bit; what a fitting pose, considering her reputation.

Now, to enter her mind…

“Black Dahlia…” he whispered, making his voice as sensual as possible. Black Dahlia’s head turned to the side, but other than that she gave no response. He lowered himself down and placed his hands on her waist. “Black Dahlia… won’t you open your pretty eyes for me?”

“Mmph…”

“Come now, I know you want to. Why resist?” Starchild let his lips fall just above the skin of her neck, and when he spoke his lips barely grazed the skin. “You really are such a beautiful woman… Won’t you open your eyes for me?”

Black Dahlia sighed quietly, and her eyes slowly opened. There; that was his opening. “Why don’t you take me into your mind… I want to see what happens in your pretty head.”

“Yes…” Black Dahlia breathed out. Starchild kept moving his hands up her waist, while projecting his mind into hers.

It was dark, though it was lit up by candles. There were shelves and shelves of ancient tomes, and skulls all around. He couldn’t help an intrigued hum as he kept seducing Black Dahlia. “Just what happens in this lovely mind of yours?” He almost didn’t want to damage this mind. It was fascinating… But of course there was still that “almost”.

Black Dahlia sighed as he pressed his lips to her neck in a slow kiss. “So many things… Not all of them for the faint of heart.”

“A person could go mad, couldn’t they?” Starchild hummed as he slowly kissed down her neck. “If they knew what you could do, or if they knew what happens here.”

“Yes… It’s a pity you’ll never find out.”

Starchild tensed as all the candles suddenly were snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. Black Dahlia suddenly vanished, leaving him alone in an empty void. He looked around in shock. “What…”

He suddenly felt a presence behind him and turned. There was Black Dahlia, floating behind him, with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. “Nice try, Prince Starchild. But I think it’s time you went back to bed.”

She shot forward and pushed her hand against Starchild’s forehead. There was a rushing feeling all around him as he was forced out and away… then he woke up back in his own body with a gasp.

He sat up, breathing heavily. Had he just… Had Black Dahlia just forced him out??? While she was being seduced by him, no less???

His hands curled into fists as shock slowly turned into rage.

From her bedroom, Black Dahlia lay fast asleep. Then she suddenly heard an indignant scream come from somewhere, whether it was in the castle or in her mind. A triumphant smile crossed her face; this round went to her.

-KISSTERIA-

The next morning, Starchild went down to breakfast in a dark mood. Black Dahlia… He still couldn’t believe that woman had been able to not just resist him, but throw him out of her mind so easily. He hated it.

“Prince Starchild,”

He swore under his breath and fought the urge to commit murder right then and there. He turned around and put on a coolly polite smile. “Black Dahlia. Good morning. How was your sleep last night?” The last bit was said through clenched teeth.

Black Dahlia seemed very unruffled as she smiled and curtsied. There was something almost mocking about it. “I slept very well. I had a lovely dream. In fact I think you were in it.”

“Unsurprising. I am in many dreams.” He offered his arm to her. “If you spend more time with me I may appear in your dreams again.”

Black Dahlia linked her arm through his. “I look forward to it,”

As they went down the hallway to breakfast, she said in a low voice, “Do you make it a habit of invading peoples’ minds?”

Starchild’s expression darkened somewhat. “Only when they annoy me or show offense, or have something I want.”

“And which category do I fall under?”

Starchild had to keep his hand from tightening around her arm. “You will have to invade my mind to learn that.”

“All right. It should be easy enough, considering how easy it was to force you out of my mind last night.”

Starchild finally stopped dead and turned to give her a fierce glare. “I hate you,” he growled out.

“I’ll get over it,” Black Dahlia shot back. “In the meantime, let’s get breakfast and pretend we are happy to be getting married to each other. And perhaps later on I can teach you how to invade someone’s mind and not be forced out so easily.”

He took a moment to consider her words, and finally ground out, “Fine.” He offered her his arm again.

As they headed down the hallway to breakfast, Starchild couldn’t help what he said next. “Perhaps if you don’t annoy me unnecessarily, I could learn to like you.”

Black Dahlia smiled slightly. “Same here. You can be an insufferable peacock, but I surprisingly find myself enjoying some of your company.”

Starchild nodded. “So we are both in agreement.”

“Yes, we are,”

“Good.” He gave her a sickly sweet smile. “Because if you push me too far I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Black Dahlia returned the sickly sweet smile. “Same here, Prince Starchild.”

#Shandi's KISSteriaverse #Dark KISSteria #stardahlia broship #i love exploring the dark versions of these two #like could you imagine them waltzing at a masquerade ball and casually discussing the best way to murder the host???? because i can #''these are two messed up weirdos who have found each other and it's almost a shockingly beautiful love story.''#quote from mr shane madej that sums them up perfectly lol #how fitting that toxic by britney spears is playing as i write this #but anyway #hope you enjoyed!#kiss au writing #my writing #fanfiction #writeblr #thanks for reading!

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

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Rock/Queentober 2020, Oct. 9th: Sepulcher*

*synonym for mausoleum, or any other similar stone-based burial chamber. But it’s a pretty word, so I went with that one in particular lol.

Randomly assigned lad for this prompt: Freddie

Synopsis: Freddie and Jim, the attempted saving of a kitten in the neighborhood, life, and death.

TW: animal death (no gore or major details), and discussions of AIDS treatment (mention of AZT.)

While I do mention their diagnoses, this is set in an AU I’ve informally deemed the Healthy 90s (aka the meds are working, and will keep working, and while treatment might be a bumpy road, everyone is staying alive.)

Ngl, I did nearly make myself cry writing this, as a warning lol.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“It’s ready,” Jim stood in the back doorway, work gloves still on and bits of dirt on his jeans. “I can carry him out, if-”

“No,” Freddie interrupted gently. “I’ve got him.”

The kitten was small. Probably the runt of his litter, wherever they were. They had finally caught him after days of trying to watch over him, give him food, as he darted and hid by parked cars on the street.

The vet had reminded them that all of this was a factor in his not surviving. Who knew how long he had been wandering alone, after all. It was no one’s fault (except perhaps that of the original owner, for not keeping the kitten safe.) They’d done everything they could, and had done it all right.

Sometimes, all the good and right effort in the world wasn’t enough.

They’d been lucky enough not to have lost any cats since they’d been together, until now, of course. But that meant they hadn’t any sort of plan as to how to deal with the situation.

The conclusion was quickly reached that they would allot a corner of the back garden as a cat cemetery, with a cat-sized mausoleum (with room for more than just the kitten, though neither of them liked thinking about that eventual day when it might be filled with any other occupants.)

Freddie would have been fine with contracting the construction of the mausoleum out, so as not to add any extra work for Jim in the garden.

But he was much happier when Jim not only volunteered, but insisted on building it himself. It would be a task, but then again, how often did most people learn stone-working for the sole purpose of constructing a cat mausoleum?

As they stepped out into the garden, the kitten safe in a tiny metal and wooden reinforced coffin (also built by Jim, who had based it off of designs for human coffins that were meant specifically for mausoleums), it was clear Jim had been the only man for this job.

The mausoleum was just big enough for both of them to kneel in, if necessary, but it wasn’t overly obtrusive to the rest of the garden. Carefully and painstakingly carved cat paws decorated the top and bottom edges of it, with hearts in between them.

“It’s beautiful,” Freddie said softly, and gave Jim a quick kiss. Later, after they were both a bit less emotional, he would compliment him even more.

Because he really did deserve every kind word Freddie could offer in regards to it. The granite they’d bought was no easy material to work with, under a time crunch, but Jim hadn’t been one bit bothered, and had made an absolute work of art.

The kitten had been kept in a freezer installed outside the very day he’d passed, but they were mindful of time now, and kept on to the mausoleum.

Inside it, Freddie nearly asked which ledge was meant for the kitten.

Then he saw it. A tiny, polished golden nameplate on one ledge that simply read ‘Dear Kitten’ since he hadn’t lived long enough to be named by them definitively.

That was the final thing that broke him into tears, even as he set the coffin down on the ledge, crawled back out, and let Jim close and lock the small iron-barred door of the mausoleum.

It was done, over. But neither of them were ready to go back inside just yet.

“There was nothing else we could have done for him,” Jim said, but his voice cracked on the last word, and he let Freddie pull him close as he sat beside him on the grass.

“I know,” Freddie said, brushing aside tears. “It was his time. Nothing more could or should have been done about it. God, or whoever is out there, wanted him more than we did.”

The echoing of his mother’s words in regards to death and Zoroastrian belief was bittersweet. True as the words might have been, they made it no easier to put aside the sound of the kitten’s final breath, that had been on repeat in both of their minds for days.

“Whenever we go,” Freddie said, after a few moments of only crying and sniffling from both of them. “I say we plan to look after any cats there. In whatever or wherever the afterlife ends up being.”

“That’s the only bit of planning about death I think I can look forward to,” Jim said. “But we aren’t going anywhere, not anytime soon. Our kitten friend will have to wait for us.”

Their victory for their health thus far was an uneasy one. They weren’t well, exactly, or back to what they had been pre-symptoms of the disease. But the AZT regimen, along with some other drugs, seemed to be working for now at least.

And maybe, somehow, their own positivity could help a little.

“You’re right,” Freddie said. “I think it’ll be a long wait for him. But cats don’t mind things like that. He’ll nap and play, and be ready to greet us when we finally make it out there.”

A soft thunk at one of the back windows caught their attention.

There, stood up against the glass, was Delilah. She pawed at it, her mouth open in an inaudible but clearly impatient meow.

“Well. Most cats don’t mind waiting,” Freddie amended with small smile. “Should probably go back in, before they learn how to lock us out of the house.”

They walked hand-in-hand back to the house, giggling as they opened the back door to Delilah’s now-audible and very loud mews, that seemed to be asking so clearly why they had been outside without her or any of the other cats for such a terribly long fifteen minutes.

Death, or whatever gods were out there, would simply have to wait for them. There was too much life to live yet.

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic #freddie mercury x jim hutton #Lee's Rock/Queentober 2020

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theimpossiblescheme · 5 years

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to burn the castle down before the princess is awake

Here is my (somewhat late) first entry to the Van Helsing installment of @peters-pumpkin-day--I hope everyone enjoys!

“You’re sure you saw her there? Alone?” Abraham Van Helsing pressed, withdrawing a plate of biscuits like a sharp reflex as his face clouded over. Marianne knew that look—it was the same look he’d given her when she’d told him of… of her first engagement. When he’d learned she’d been kissed by a vampire. It had unsettled her then, almost scared her—that certain sign that something was wrong. Maybe it should scare her now… maybe if she weren’t still so numb.

The Sexton sitting across the parlor from them nodded grimly. “She looked exactly the same as she had at the funeral. Same nightgown, same curls… except her eyes were red. Poor child looked as though she’d been either bleeding or crying.” He pushed away his plate, mouth contorting as if he’d suddenly lost his appetite, and dabbed at his limp grey mustache with a napkin. “I can only imagine what Gina’s family would think if they could see her now…”

“I hope they will not have to.” Marianne hadn’t even realized she’d said it out loud until Abraham and the Sexton turned to look at her, Abraham out of concern, the Sexton out of shock. She paid them no mind or at least tried to, her cheeks burning as she wrung her hands into her skirt. “It would break their hearts.” It had been so long, so many years ago that she felt safe putting it all behind her. Now, for a terrible moment, all she could see was the funeral. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it… the weeping family in quiet denial, the confused students begging for answers, the ensuing chaos as it looked like she was about to lose her place in the school forever… as everything seemed to fall apart… and there was Gina, so peaceful in her coffin, wreathed in flowers. Completely unaware.

The touch of Abraham’s hand slipping into hers eased her back to the present, and she squeezed it as he turned back to the Sexton. “And you don’t think she’ll be compelled to leave?”

“I can’t imagine she would. As soon as we caught wind of her presence, I had the Sisters bar the windows and doors and station a cross in front of them. Unless she takes it into her head to scratch her way out with her fingernails, she isn’t going anywhere.” She saw his head tilt for a moment towards her as if to ask something before deciding against it. “The only trouble will be what to do for service in the morning—”

“You won’t have to worry about that, Sexton.” Extracting his hand from Marianne’s, Abraham stood up from the sofa and authoritatively drew himself up to his full height. “If you’ll take me to the chapel, I’ll make sure she never troubles your parishioners or anyone else ever again.”

The Sexton blanched a bit as the offer sank in. “You—You mean you’ll—?”

“It’s all the peace I can give the poor girl, and all the promise I can give you that this contagion can be stamped out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Marianne spoke up, standing in turn and causing both men to look at her again with the same expressions. She had expected them to protest, but it didn’t matter. This was her Gigi, her student, her confidante. Even if her husband would remind her otherwise now, tell her not to waste her tears on some… she couldn’t even bear to think it. She simply couldn’t stay here and do nothing.

As expected, the Sexton immediately raised a hand as if to placate her, his mustache bristling in quiet disbelief. “Oh, I don’t think—this isn’t exactly women’s work—”

“Marianne knows better than most what suffering the undead can both experience and bring about,” Abraham cut him off, his voice mild, but holding no room for debate. “I trust her with my life.”

A muscle was still twitching in the Sexton’s jaw, but he said nothing this time, drawing his coat further around him and readjusting his scarf. “In that case, I’ll… I’ll bring the cab back around and wait for you.” He started for the door before turning around and giving Abraham a wry face. “It’s such a nasty business, isn’t it? Vampires and all that…?”

“It’s not a business I relish, but it is a necessary one. We’ll be with you in a few minutes, Sexton.” And with that, Abraham closed the door behind him, leaving silence in the house once more. Marianne busied herself with the abandoned dishes—it was something to do with her hands—while her husband remained frozen at the door for a moment. Even without seeing his face, she could feel the change coming over him, like a cool breeze in late summer. It was another face she knew very well now, even with his back to her. His shoulders drooped a bit, but seemed to harden at the same time, and as he stepped away, there was a weary resoluteness in his stride. A soldier off to battle. He crossed the sitting room into his tiny study, reached under his desk, and pulled out his weapon—a small leather satchel—before returning and setting it down on the end table to take inventory.

She could finish the dishes later. Reaching for her coat and hurriedly shrugging it on, Marianne peered into the satchel and picked over a few of the small items: vials of silver and hawthorn shavings, a bottle of Holy Water not disguised in an ordinary drinking flash, a wooden cross that fit perfectly into her hand… “You will not mind if I take a few of these?” she inquired, tucking them into her coat pocket. “I don’t want to go into the chapel unarmed—I hate feeling so useless against these things.”

“Please do.” Upon hearing his wife’s self-deprecation, he looked up at her, and his face softened the tiniest bit. “You are far from useless, darling, I promise you. In fact, I’m glad you’re coming with me. Gina knows you. She once loved and admired you—she can listen to you. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to stay here by yourself.” When she drew a tiny silver crucifix on a delicate chain from one of the satchel’s inside pockets, he motioned for her to turn around with a finger and threaded it under her hair, clasping it at the nape of her neck. His hands were warm and dry, almost cracked in places from years of callouses, so different from the cold, soft hands of her former fiance… stop thinking about him, Marianne. He isn’t here now—he is just ash now, he can’t hurt you… still, she resolved to keep this crucifx on indefinitely. Just in case. Perhaps it, too, would come in handy tonight… God, wasn’t that also a terrible thought? Using something so beautiful against someone she once called friend…

“…I think she was jealous of me.”

“How’s that?” came Abraham’s voice over her shoulder.

“Of me and the Baron.” Letting her hair fall back over her shoulder, she turned back around to face him. “I told her about our engagement the night he asked me. I was… so happy.” It seemed so long ago and so far away… like it had happened to someone entirely different. She could remember the ghost of a smile on her face as she shared the secret that night, but it was a hollow thing… no remembered emotion attached to it. Sometimes her skin tingled where he’d kissed her, but painfully, like a burn that never fully scarred over. “And she acted as though she was, too. She was smiling and cheerful and asked me all sorts of questions about him, but… I can’t say how, but it—none of it seemed quite real. As if she was trying to be happy just because I was happy.” That was painful, too, in retrospect—the idea that the last conversation she’d ever had with her friend, Gina had not been honest with her. “And when the Baron found her…” She swallowed thickly, throat suddenly burning now. “I cannot imagine what she thought then. Or what he thought…”

Abraham’s eyes held that same weariness as he nodded, his voice holding a note of pity as he spoke again. “He thought of her only as an easy prize to win—someone he could make false promises to and then humiliate.”

“But what about her?” Marianne pressed on desperately. “Do you think… do you think Gina loved him? Even if he did not—could not love her?”

“I can’t say.” But why not, Marianne was about to ask. Help me make sense of this—tell me why Gina would do this, why he would do this, why I had to lose my only friend here, please, love, tell me… but an gently upraised hand quieted her thoughts for a moment. “I do know that Meinster’s brand of evil can be very seductive. There’s a promise of freedom in it—freedom to love, freedom to do as one pleases… freedom from consequences. I can imagine that was very attractive to a poor girl like Gina.”

That did make some sense… but Marianne knew the Baron, knew his smiling condescension toward the other girls. Knew even his condescension toward her, the foolish woman who rescued him, the foreigner who still struggled with English and couldn’t possibly understand. She was a silly girl, and Gina would have seemed even sillier to him… he could do so much worse than humiliate her. Precious Gina, with all her hopes and dreams… “When I found her that night in the stables… she greeted me like an old friend. She called me her darling, asked me to kiss her… all with that terrible smile on her face and those horrible teeth…” She’d seen that same taunting smile on more than one face now. “I wonder if she learned that from him.”

This time Abraham looked a bit alarmed as he pulled down his coat and shrugged it on, an expression of regret warring in his features as if he wished he could have been there sooner to spare her… Marianne clung to that look. It meant she wasn’t crazy, that he wouldn’t dismiss it as a nightmare… that she might not have been alone, even as she stood there feeling that night’s freezing wind through the slats in the stable walls and glancing back at her friend’s glinting fangs. “I would not be surprised, darling.”

“And then she—she asked me to forgive her. For letting him love her. What—What should I have forgiven her for?” What had he done to her to make her believe such a thing? He’d already taken her soul, twisted her body into something evil and perverse like his—what else could he possibly take from her? Tears actually stung at Marianne’s eyes now, and a hot well of shame rose in her chest. “What did he do to her that I should have forgiven?” He’d never go away, he’d never leave her, that terrible man… even dead, he’d taken so much from them both. Poor Gina, weeping and defiled, alone on ground that burned her feet. This is all my fault, Marianne thought bitterly, pressing her hand hard to her mouth, trying to keep the tears away. This was all her fault… she could have spared Gina this fate. She should have gone with the Baron, should have agreed to marry him. Better her soul than Gina’s. Better for her to have accepted it. “If I had been there when it happened—if—if I would never have freed him—” The well in her chest burst, and her words were lost to helpless sobbing.

In a moment, Abraham’s arms were around her, holding her close against the warmth of his coat as she cried. “It wasn’t your fault, Marianne. None of it was your fault…”

“What—Wh-What will she say now? Now that the B-Baron is gone—now that he’s been… been taken away from her… now that we… she wanted me to forgive her…”

“Is that what you fear?”

She shook her head, burrowing against his fur collar

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid… that Gina w-will still hate me so much for it that—that no matter what you do to free her soul… that h-hatred will still…”

“Will keep her from Heaven?”

Hearing it out loud wrenched a new flood of tears from her. She is going to hell, your friend will be sent to hell… dear, sweet, supportive Gina, who never deserved it. And the Baron would be waiting for her to torment her again… there was a very small part of her mind that knew such a thought was ridiculous, that knew she had no way to know for sure, but the fear was still there. The fear and the strangling guilt.

“I’m afraid I can promise very little in that respect,” Abraham said softly after a moment. “What she still feels once her soul is at rest is between her and God.” Marianne felt his arms withdraw and she tried to cling on, just for that fleeting safety, but to her relief he only pulled far enough away to hold her loosely at arm’s length. “But I can promise she won’t be suffering any longer, and you will be there to bear witness and help her to the other side. Besides… our God is a forgiving God. No matter what she thinks in her final moments, He will see that she was an innocent and accept her regardless.”

She tried to nod, tried to believe him… and she so badly wanted to. But that outcome still seemed so far away. They had to find Gina first… had to rid her of his contagion. Abraham had defined vampires as plague-carriers to her once, and it felt easier to think that way. That Gina was merely sick beyond cure… not that that was any more comforting. “She—She will not be awake when you…” She trailed off and nodded suggestively over at his bag, still unable to say the words.

“Not if I can help it,” Abraham replied, shaking his head. “If possible, I’ll wait until she goes to sleep before dawn. And if not… I promise I will still try to make it as painless as I can.”

…That, at least, she could live with. For the moment. For Gina’s sake. “I’m glad for that. I don’t… I don’t want her to suffer any more than she has…”

“I know, darling. And she won’t.” He didn’t have to repeat himself, but the steadfast and solemn warmth in his eyes said, I promise you.

In that moment, the words thank you seemed inadequate, so she leaned forward to kiss him, letting that warmth comfort her all over again. They would have all night to deal with cold, dead things. Let her have this now before going to war against them. Abraham’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, caressing her hair even as she pulled away and was ashamed to feel tears clinging to her lashes again. Less out of fear this time and more out of sheer relief… the fear was still there, but it was duller now. “I’m so sorry for—for falling to pieces like this.” She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It’s so embarrassing…”

“Don’t apologize, my love.” His answering smile was thin and tired, but no less sincere. “Thank you for telling me. It will help us both tonight.”

The whickering of horses outside the window gave Marianne a start, prompting a wet laugh out of her before composing herself. “We should not keep the Sexton waiting,” she said, buttoning her coat and patting down her pockets to make sure her borrowed supplies were still there. “He’s probably wondering what is taking us so long.” Taking a deep breath and laying a hand over the cross at her throat for a moment, she nodded again to Abraham, who opened the door to the cold black night. Where lay so many of her nightmares newly formed… but this one would fade before morning. And just this once, she would be safe. One small victory in their war against the darkness. Lifting her skirts as the dead leaves wafted by across the threshold, Marianne took a step.

#peters-pumpkin-day #professor van helsing #marianne danielle #the brides of dracula #hammer horror #my fanfic

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ohgoddard · 5 years

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What’s Faster? My Heart or Light Speed? Chapter 2

Space is the truest representation of space between atoms, the astounding nothing that exists is truly mindboggling. While billions of miles away I can see the shimmering lights of stars and the swirling masses of gas clouds and galaxies, I still find myself surrounded by nothing. An apt representation indeed.

Except I’m not truly alone. Mere days ago I was expecting my slow and uneventful death to occur, where I was then saved by the( and I sound like a school girl when I say this) illustrious Dr.O’Reilly, who has yet to tell me her first name. She and I spend a lot of time together right now, being the only ones awake on the ship. But, its mostly been my laying down on a bed due to my not eating and dehydration affecting my abilities to move. But that hasn’t stopped me from struggling around the ship when she’s not around (doing literally God knows what, there is no one else on this ship).

The ship seems to be made for so much more life, and I guess that makes sense. It would serve as our base when we got to the new planet. The good Doctor has a room to herself on this ship, one reserved for the Captain. She told me that he wouldn’t be using it for a few hundred more years, so he wouldn’t mind.

A few hundred more years. That is how much time was left in this little expedition we were on. I wouldn’t even eclipse one of those hundred years, let alone the other five or six. I tried to ask the Doctor about what we’re going to do for the rest of our lives here, but she just kinda smiled and said “Don’t you worry, i’ll think of something.” And let me tell you, right there no solar flare could match the level of heat that rose in my face when she gave me that smile. Could she have been flirting with me there? That little smile? Usually I talk to someone about this kind of stuff, but...no one appears to be here.

In a way I could say i’m trapped again, but this time its far worse. No, it is truly the worst. I am trapped by myself this time. Not in the “I am trapped and alone”, no no. Me myself is trapping me. Which sounds really dumb but i’m panicking ok?! What am I supposed to do when a VERY beautiful woman looks my way and gives me a sly smirk and potentially flirtatious sentence? I need to clear my head.

I,very slowly, throw the covers off of me and (once again) very slowly move myself onto the crutches I've been provided. My ‘”room” was no more than a bed and dresser. A small TV screen hung over me, having the entirety of Earth’s media lexicon (how they got those companies to agree to put everything together a feat more impressive than space travel). Other than that, barren. I hobble over to my dresser to change out, and I sigh as I pull out an almost identical colorless white and blue streaked suit to the one I wore in my “coffin”.

It was a struggle to get on, what with the pain and general reluctance to leave my room at all. A trait I carried on from my childhood I guess. Eventually I do get everything on and I hobble outside my room to the communal area that was intended for far more people than who is currently using it. I.e. Me. And, surprisingly today, Dr. O’Reilly. If one could stumble awkwardly in crutches as I could, then I would like to see them. It was like a new born deer. The doctor today was dressed in a yellow sweater, her usual lab coat,and Jack Skellington pajama pants. Her fluffy bunny slippers were as red as her hair, and i’m thinking my face as well. Her freckles mirrored the stars outside, her eyes like two planets obscuring them. I could get lost staring at her, and I would’ve had she not looked up from the book she was reading and cocked her head at me, her glasses slipping down her nose as she did so.

Now, I was never good around those I had a crush on. I act pretty much that same every time. This lead to my perpetual singularity. It comes in stages, whenever I talk to someone I’m interested in.

“G-good morning Doctor! Y-you’re here , why’re you here?”

First I stutter and try and be casual, which never happens.

She smirks (AHHHHH) and gets up from the lounge chair she was sitting in. “Ms. Derringer, are you having a cold? Your face is heating up and you’re shaking quite a bit.” Yeah there’s the second part, the shaking.”Now, this absolutely cannot go on. Go back in your room and I will take care of you.”

“W-wait im fine really. I-i’m not sick!” “I will not take no for an answer on this one, I am the doctor after all!” . She physically picks me up and turns me around. Which, left me in quite a bit of shock on a number of things. 1. The doctor was WAY stronger than I originally thought.I guess when you’re alone a ship what’re you to do? 2. I didn’t know I’d lost that much weight, but pretty happy I cut that down a bit not gonna lie. 3. AHHHHH THE DOCTOR TOUCHED ME, WHAT .

“Come on now, lets get back to bed. I’ll be right back.” She guided me back to my bed and laid me back down. She placed her hand on my head after wrapping me up. “Wow, you’re burning up! I think I was right on the money. I will be right back with something to help with this.” She was so close to me. I could smell the vanilla perfume she used. I think this is a kind of torture in countries, to be this socially awkward around someone who you absolutely cannot stop thinking about. Except its worse for me, because she is literally the only other person on this ship and I can’t help but think of her. Her being drop dead gorgeous is NOT helping me either.

A few minutes pass, me lying in my bed slowly dying of embarrassment. The door opens once again and the doctor is is back. And she is carrying a small tray. On it is a bowl and a water bottle. “ We’re going to give you the good old-fashioned medicine. Rest, soup, and hydration. And, company! I don’t believe you’ll get me sick, so i’ll spend some time with you today!” She closes her eyes and gives a huge smile. I’m reminded of my 8th grade literature class, saying that starting a war over one girl because of something as dumb as beauty.

I wish I could eat my own words.

I was never much to be attracted to anyone, mostly because they never were back. However, now I find myself absolutely head over heels. A million reasons race in my head. Could it be because she saved my life and im just really thankful? Is it because she is the only one on the ship and we’d just naturally gravitate towards each other? Or do I truly feel these feelings for her.

“Oh! Let me bring in a chair so I can sit with you. And put on something cool! Like Firefly.”

“What’s Firefly?” I ask. She stops in the doorway and turns around with an incredulous look on her face. “ Something that we’re going to watch immediately. We have all the time in the world, so you’re going to learn about the best shows to ever exist.” And as she left, I sat there in a state of utter...joy? It was in this minute that I knew I truly did like the doctor that way. Perhaps this could be the start of our relationship?

She came back in with one of the lounge chairs and pulled it up to my bed. As the show started, some scifi cowboy thing, I turned to her.

“Doctor, I..I dont believe I got your name?”

She smiles.”Leah. And don’t worry, I already know yours.”

#scifi #scifi romance #writers #creative writing #writing community #original story #romance story #stories #lovestory #love story #lgbt story #chapter 2

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lizzysas · 6 years

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An Ode to Klaus Mikaelson

Before I go on this crazy journey of breaking down my thoughts from the last two weeks I have to admit that I've not been here from the beginning. I only started TVD two weeks ago and fell instantly inlove with this character. Call it sadism, call it a hero-complex of wanting to save him, call it projection. Whatever it is, I've felt quite some things since learning that he died in TO. I stopped watching TVD four seasons in because really, what was the point?! Anyway, I digress:

THE SOURCE MATERIAL

We all know that TVD was loosely based on the books who by their own right is a bunch of trash once the original author got fired. But it should be known that Klaus Mikaelson was the bad guy. Not "the guy to be redeemed", not "the guy who falls inlove", not "the guy who becomes a parent". HE WAS THE BAD GUY, AND THE BAD GUY WHO DIED!

So he's development as a character was all because of the sheer power and charisma with which Joseph Morgan plays him. Even the foreshadowing of the character prior to his physical introduction alluded to a dark, paranoid and isolated character. Honestly I was expecting a brooding Bruce Wayne type. So I imagine that when JM got in front of the camera and showed the writers his portrayal, a lot of his character arc changed. Suddenly he wasn't the biggest bad of S3 anymore. They had to come up with something else to continue JM's sheer brilliance.

HIS HUMANITY

Now, many says that Klaus's humanity switch was off before he met Caroline and there's plenty merit to this. He's relentless in his pursuit of starting the ritual to make himself the ultimate hybrid. The ritual itself attests to that. He kills Jenna and Elena without a second thought. Even after witnessing all the love that Elena has in her life. And I imagine he killed hundreds more in his quest for hybrid supremacy so what was one more?

He then starts making hybrids. The proudest of which he is of, is Tyler. After 1000 years though in pursuit of his goal and achieving it, he becomes mildly interested in the attachment Tyler has to Caroline. He even calls it an experiment. But then Caroline is bitten. And although he doesn't know her, he jumps at the opportunity to have the Town's sheriff beholden to him for saving her. But our ancient one doesn't quite predict the effect she has on him. Here's an innocent being, full of life, that doesn't want to die. And I imagine, in Klaus's 1000 years, he's rarely come across a vampire that WANTED to be and stay a Vampire. AND THAT IS WHY HE SAVES HER!

HIS AMUSEMENT AND INFATUATION

Now this as we all know can be broken down in multiple facets but the gist of it is... He's drawn to her light. He's drawn to her innocence, her honesty. And Caroline? She's drawn to the evil creature she's been programmed into hating. But he's not quite so evil, is he. Atleast not with her. He shows her his art, he tells her his inner-most feelings. He breaks down his fears. And for the fact that she accepts all this vulnerability, Klaus falls inlove with her. And not once... Not once does she ask him to change. Why? Because Klaus knows he'll never be worthy of her if he doesn't prove it. And she knows, as the time passes on that what he feels for her will sufficiently motivate him to change. So he ends their relationship with the most powerful promise ever to grace our television screens..."I INTEND TO BE YOUR LAST, HOWEVER LONG IT TAKES"

THE UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

Now, here's where I may stand fully corrected on most things because I haven't watched beyond TVD S4 or TO, but I've read sufficiently and seen enough videos to last me a bit. But we all know (those of us who are parents) what a child brings to our lives. They change us. Suddenly we're no longer selfish, suddenly we'd die for someone else, suddenly their well-being and safety means more to us than anything else. Even if that means that we have to remove ourselves from their lives. This is what Klaus does. But he cannot resist the pull the child has on his heart and soul. He cannot help himself but want to give her anything she wants, teach her his art, teach her how to be a wolf (it still peevs me a bit that we only ever see him shift once), watch her grow. But he knows about all the monsters in the world who would want to hurt her. The biggest of which is him. So he goes about trying to make a monster-free world for her, starting with himself. And along the way, some significant relationships evolve for him

CAMILLE

I've seen enough of this relationship to know what it was. A stepping stone. And quite frankly the writers could have actually just put Klaus on a couch like Tony Soprano and it would've had more of an impact. Her entire story arc revolved around him. No personal growth, no self-preservation, no survival instinct. He hurt her, he compelled her against her will, he dissapointed her. If she honestly meant that much to him, he would have never dreamt of doing any of that. But what Klaus got out of it was again... Another experiment. What is the boundaries with this copy? What will break her? What will infuriate her to the point she walks away? What will it take to have her stick around. What can I take out of this and use to my atvantage with the original? Alright, hypothesis proven?! Time to move on.

ELIJAH

This character reminded me so much of Angel from BTVS. He's so tragic and forlorn but for some or other reason, always hopeful. Much like our other Hero from this Universe, Stefan. And he's relationship with his brother is the most tragic of all. It's his Baby Brother. He promised to protect him all those years ago and never did. Perhaps that of which contributed to Klaus's downward spiral into madness and lonliness. Mikael would not have been around had Elijah fulfilled his promise centuries ago. Klaus may have lived his life differently. But for the way it turns out, Elijah will forever have lived with this guilt. Which is why he dies along with his brother. He's entire purpose in life was his brother's redemption and he may have achieved it when Klaus did the most natural and selfless act known. Sacrificed his own life to save his daughters'. Klaus however counted on his brother to always have his back. Even when it meant Elijah pulling him back from the pits of hell he so often loved to go to. And he trusted his brother to do so above all else. Perhaps why Elijah was the only not to be carted around in a coffin for decades or centuries. So it only made sense for these two to have died with each other.

THE ORIGINAL SIBLINGS

Each and every one of them had a unique bond with Klaus. From Rebekah down to Kol. With Rebekah, Klaus has always wanted to protect his little sister from her lonely heart. Granted he went about it all wrong for centuries, even up until the last moments with Marcel. But he did what any big brother did. With Freya, I suspect their was a huge amount of respect for each other. I've not seen enough this relationship to form any other opinion. Kol and Klaus though? What a pair?! They are so volatile around one another. Great when getting along, sheer destructive when not. Then again, so are most siblings.

What Klaus's family was to him though was his centre. You see it in the final season of TO... The season where Klaus redeems himself.

CAROLINE REUNION AND REVELATIONS

How tragic is it, that after all Klaus's development as a character, that he was still so vulnerable around her? His reactions to her affirmations of how he matters. His reactions to learning that she cares. That she came looking for him. After all these years, Klaus Mikaelson still did not believe he was worthy of her. And when she told him he was? He was floored. And he was devasted. Because suddenly he could see it. He could see the future they could have. He could see himself showing her the world, the beauty, all the experiences of life he promised her. Except this future was blurred out and fading fast... Just as his time.

THE END OF KLAUS

He didn't get his happily ever after. He didn't get to watch his daughter grow. He didn't get to be with the woman he loved. He did however get his redemption...

In the eyes of his daughter, his friends, his family and his love. His brother.

And so ended the life of a powerful 1000 year old vampire/werewolf hybrid who started out as the devil and ended as the fallen angel.

I understand the ending of this character. I understand his tragedies, his highs and lows, his loves and hates. I also understand why he ended the way he did. Because anyone, anyone evil capable of love, deserves to be redeemed...

Here's to you Klaus... I will never forget you

#klaus mikaelson #klaroline #the originals #the vampire diaries

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sweetpea-cc · 7 years

Text

Who Are You? Part V

Pairing: Reader x the Mikaelson clan

Warnings: None really

Word Count: 4,621

If there is anything that people should know about the supernatural world, it's that nothing stays dead. At least, not permanently because we always find a way to come back.

Of course, something you never knew was that Circe, many years before her ultimate death, decided to enchant her blood, it was still your weakness, and it would still kill you but once you were dead, your blood would regenerate and hers would dominate yours until not a single drop existed. However, there is always downside and unfortunately for you, it would take months or years for your body to completely 'regenerate'.

Of course, something you never knew was that Circe, many years before her ultimate death, decided to enchant her blood, it was still your weakness, and it would still kill you but once you were dead, your blood would regenerate and dominate hers until not a single drop existed. However, there is always downside and unfortunately for you, it would take months or years for your body to completely 'regenerate'.

When you finally woke up, the world was dark and you were confused, gasping for breath. Slowly, you start to come to and realize where you are you, or rather, what you're in. "Comfy coffin." you thought to yourself as you feel for the opening side of the casket. Using your strength, you pushed the lid open and sat up. You could tell that you were in a tomb of some sort, due to the dusty scent in the air. Swinging your legs to the right, you jump out of the casket, loosing your balance momentarily but quickly corrected yourself. Guess not using your legs after a while makes them nearly useless, you laugh to yourself.

Looking around, you find the exist, your heart beating with excitement. Upon exiting, you hiss at the blinding sun sinking down, but you cherished it, cherished the warming feeling and breathed in deeply. It didn't take long for the sky to turn dark, bringing in a chilly feeling. You'd forgotten how much you took being alive for granted. This time around, things would be different, and this you knew to the very core of your being. You felt lighter, stronger, faster, and more dangerous than ever. Sure, your original purpose was to be a peace maker between the species. Perhaps that could still happen, but until then, you were going to just embrace the fact that you were breathing again.

You stepped out of tomb, and immediately knew where you were- The Lafayette Cemetery No.1. How cute, Klaus kept you nearby but that thought didn't prevent you from scowling at the fact that you met your previous demise in the same place.

To your right, you saw a cluster of flowers, all in different stages of dying. It was nice to know that someone still visited your grave. Among that, you noticed the poor disarrayed cemetery. Crypts were destroyed and plants growing through the cracks. The moon was shining strong and brightly and there was gentle chill in the air, cold weather was your favorite but right now, you were craving warmth and sunlight.

Your stomach growls as you lick your lips, the hunger you felt was stronger than ever, which told you either you'd been dead for a long time, or something was going to go terrible wrong. You were hoping for the latter.

From a far distance, you can hear to boisterous and lively chatter and beautiful music of New Orleans. You decided to follow the sounds, feeling light on your feet, also like you could fly. A bright smile formed upon your face as you thought about seeing Klaus again, seeing Hope and Freya, Elijah and Rebekah. Of course, that didn't fool you into think Klaus would rush into your arms as if the two of you were long lost lovers. As far as you knew, he would still be angry with you.

One moment you were walking and then the next, you were pulled into an alley, a hand plunged into your chest. You gasp sharply, so that's how it felt. Your grimace, struggling against your assailant, "When are you witches going to stop wearing her damn face. It's gotten rather old by now, darling." You recognized that voice, low and full of secrets. You force yourself to stop struggling and focus on the face in front of you.

"Kol- Kol, it's me, it's Y/N!" You gasp, struggling for air. By the terrifying grin and dangerous look on him face, you knew he didn't believe a damn word coming out of your mouth. Frantically you search your mind for something about him that only the two of you knew, and you had to be quick because Kol looked more than ready to rip your throat out.

"Don't you remember? When Klaus daggered you and Davina couldn't get near you, so I did it for her and when you woke up, you had to feed a-and you immediately grabbed my wrist? And then I got a cold shoulder from Klaus for like two weeks." You were rambling on, hoping he would believe what you were saying. Slowly, you see his eyes soften as he releases his hold on you. Letting out a small cry of relief, you sink to the ground and Kol follows suit.

"How?" Was all he asked, and you just shrug "Honestly, I don't know but I'm guessing it has something to do with Circe. She was a sly devil, you know?" Your head leans against the brick wall as you let the feeling of sadness wash over you and disappear just as quick. "Ahh, who the hell is Circe?"

"Oh- right, right. Umm, she's the one who created me." You offer him a small smile, which he kindly returns. Kol and you are silent for a few moments and then you stand up, dusting yourself off and holding out your hand for Kol to take, which he gladly accepts.

He stares at you for a little bit, as if he's trying to see if you're real or not. Which reminded you of something he'd said earlier.

"What did you mean when you said you were 'tired of witches wearing my face'?" You ask, using air quotes around the last part.

"It's ridiculous really, but after you died, a bunch of witches were feeling brave, I guess and decided to taunt Klaus for gods know what reason. Safe to say, none of them are alive anymore, and Elijah and I decided that if we saw anyone else doing so, we'd take care of it. He really was a mess after your death, you know. Extremely angry, at everything... especially you." Your heart hurts upon hearing this and you feel an annoying urge to cry. Rather, you clear your throat and continue listening to Kol.

"You've missed a lot. Marcel drank whatever crap Lucien did and bit Finn, who we undaggered by the way, Finn started dying and Klaus tried to help him and it seemed to work for a little bit but then he started convulsing and that was it. Then he bit Elijah, and then we let Rebekah out who had been hexed to go mad and kill everyone around her. Klaus was 'brought to justice' but his sires and stabbed with the Tunde blade and then Freya locked all of us in some deep sleep inside her head while Klaus remained captive by Marcel." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, what the hell was going on, how long were gone?

"Umm, right, Davina died, got her soul shredded by the Ancestors. And then there was Hayley who went and saved all of us, but that took time and when she did, everything was great but of course there was a new threat but this time is was some prissy 1,500 year old one called the Hollow who then brought Davina back from the dead and then decided to take over Hope's body and she wrecked havoc but then that one witch... uh, Vincent came up with an idea to split the spirit or whatever of the said witch and put a quarter of it in each of us. Sadly, after that we were forced to go our separate ways permanently so prevent it from becoming whole again and hurting Hope. And we couldn't stay in New Orleans because 'home ground' or whatever for the evil witch. So Davina and I went to San Francisco, Rebekah went off to New York with Marcel, Elijah somewhere in France, don't know exactly where Klaus went and Freya stayed in New Orleans with her girlfriend and Hayley took Hope to Virginia so she could attend some fancy boarding school for the gifted."

Your breathing was short and quick by now, your mind rushing fast than the speed of light. You put your hand on both sides of Kol's shoulders "Kol.. how long have I been dead?" You ask, nearly on the brink of tears.

"11 years." And you feel your body fall and Kol catches you. Eleven years, eleven fucking years. Sure that didn't seem like much, but still it hurt that you had missed out on so much. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "Why are you here? I mean, from what you just told me, that's too dangerous."

"Right, Freya called all of us home, except for Hope of course. She thinks that she found a way to contain the spirit but she needs a very strong source of power, like ancestor-strong but stronger. She sent me to the cemetery to... retrieve your body."

"She was going to channel me? How would that even work? You know, because I was dead." That word tasted sour in your mouth, you certainly did not fancy being so.

"Don't know, she said something about you being more powerful than you thought you were considering who made you. And then she started talking and talking and would shut up which brings us to now." He throws his hands up, as if a he had just finished a grand play.

Suddenly, you feel funny, lightheaded and vision around you goes white. Frantic, you look around, wanting scream. What if this was just some kind of hell, some type of torture?

"It's not. Torture, I mean." A soft voice sounds from behind you, slowly you turn around and there she is. Choked sobs form as you look at her. "Circe." Shaking your head wildly, this wasn't possible.

"I assure you it is, and yes I can read your mind because technically I'm in your mind." She smiles gently and your heart warms, you'd missed her so much.

"You know, your friend is right. You're so much more powerful than you think. Even more powerful than the original family combined. Doesn't sound real, does it? You know, when I created you, I had this vision of something, someone making waves of peace between every species, to ensure the survival of them. Sadly, witches hate vampires and vampires hate werewolves. At least, most of them" a mirthful laugh comes from her.

"I am proud of you, I hope you that. As you grew up, I started to look at you like a child I never had and in a way, I suppose you are my child."

"How are you here? Even if it's in my head. Constance told me that the Ancestors shredded your souls after they brought you back which they were able to because I failed to burn your body like I knew you wanted me too." You hang your head down, ashamed but Circe places a hand under your chin and lifts it up and your eyes starting hard into her cold ones.

"I am with you, always. Quite literally I might add, when Constance injected you with my blood, it did kill you, but over the years that you were gone, my blood worked it's way throughout your entire body, replacing your own. It cannot harm you anymore, and will never be used as a weapon. I ensured this several years ago because I could no bear the thought of someone taking your away from me. Because I knew without a doubt, that if you were to die, I'd never see you again." She places a sweet, loving kiss upon your forehead and you feel tears beginning to fall.

"You can take the spirit of this witch, my dear Y/N. In a way, you're far older and more powerful than she. You can destroy her soul, which is the only thing she has." You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "You can siphon magic, Y/N. That's all she is." Your eyes go wide as the white background begins to fade and you can hear Kol yelling your name.

"Y/N! What's wrong?" He questioned, seeming terrified. How funny.

You look at him curiously, not saying anything, it was as if you'd been possessed because the next thing you knew, your hand was inside of Kol's chest, but not physically. Your hand searched for that powerful piece of the Hollow and when you locate it, deep inside of him, you pull it out. It was beautiful to you, deep and glowing and you can see the look of panic on Kol's face.

Breathing in deeply and closing your eyes, you holding the glowing orb between your hands, slowly, you feel the power flow from the orb to you and it begins to flicker like a dying light. Perhaps in a way, that's exactly what it was.

When the last ounce of the light diminishes, the orb crumbles in your hand into nothing but ash. Some part of you decided to take a more drastic measure because better safe than sorry, right? Collecting the ash in your other hand, you conjure a flame in your hand, destroying every single particle of what was once a quarter of the Hollow.

When you look up, Kol is standing there completely flabbergasted. "What did you do?!" He shouts, making you flinch involuntarily. "I destroyed part of her, and she'll never be able to put herself back together. Ever." Your eyes glaze over, you needed to do something with the power you had just siphoned, release it in some kind of way. You thought of the Harvest and how the Ancestors would let strong amounts of power flow into the earth. But you remembered Circe's words "you can take the spirit of the witch.." What did she mean by that? Could you hold every part of her and be fine? Would the spirit become too strong inside you and take over as it did to himawan your time I dont is that I wanna read othe many questions and weren't sure if anyone had the answers.

"Look, everyone is at the compound. Freya put up some 2,000 year old boundary spell to contain each of us, and I think it's preventing the rest of the Hollow from becoming whole again. But you know, she still needs you." Kol holds out his hand so he can lead you away, surprisingly, you're very hesitant. In a way, this was your chance to start over, begin a brand new life far away from death, pain, and the horror that the Miakelson's faced on a daily basis. Reluctantly, you grab him hand and before you can blink, the two of your are standing outside of the compound. Kol turns to face you, his expression grim, "Before I forget, Caroline is here."

"Caroline...?" Klaus told you about a lot of things but whoever Caroline was definitely didn't hit the Top Ten or One Hundred. Kol kind of whines, rocking his body back and forth in a nonchalantly way. "Ehh, some girl Nik's been pinning over for nearly two decades now." you feel a lump in your throat but force it down.

You let go of Kol's hand as he strides forward but you stay behind, it would seem you weren't quite ready to see all them again, Klaus especially.

"Kol! Where have you been? You were supposed to bring Y/N! I need to use her magic, I told you this a hundred times before you left." You hear Freya's voice shout, echoing off the walls of the compound. You could practically see Kol rolling his eyes at Freya's dramatics, "Technically, I did bring her..." Kol sheepishly responds, earning him beyond confused looks not only from Freya, but Klaus, Rebekah, and Elijah too.

"And you can use it." Your voice was small but steady as your walked through the dark entrance to the center of the compound. You stand silently as four of the Mikaelson's stare at you in disbelief, there was no way you were here right now. You noticed Freya staring at the big rip in the center of your dress and you guessed Kol did too, "I tried to ripped her heart out. So in case you guys don't think Y/N is herself, I can confirm."

Everyone was quiet, it was like time was standing still, frozen in place. "It's good to see you again, Y/N. You look well" Elijah speaks up, bring a smile to your face "I could say the same for you, considering from what I heard, you were dead." Elijah laughs, shaking his head in amusement. You cast your eyes downward, you were afraid to face him, afraid to look him in the eye.

When you finally did look up, Klaus' eyes bore deeply into your own. You could see anger, hurt, and betrayal shining in them, but yet, still there was that flicker of gentleness, kindness that you loved. His eyes were glossy but the more you stared the more you swore anger and resentment was building. Quickly you look away and advert your attention towards Rebekah. In a way, she always was your favorite, perhaps because she was a wild mixture of all of her brothers- temperamental, loyal, and sarcastic. You offer her a small smile, which she graciously returns.

"Okay, look I'm sorry to cut the niceties short, but Y/N, I really need to do this now, they've already been near each other long enough. Kol get back in your spot." Freya points to an empty square between Rebekah and Elijah and links your hand with hers. "Nah, I'm good. Y/N took whatever part of the Hollow I had in me. Crushed it into nothing."

"What?!" Freya drops your hand sharply, putting some kind of strain on your arm. She turns to look at Kol, eyeing him down, wondering if this was some kind of joke. Holding her hand just a few inches from Kol's chest, she closes her eyes and whispers a few incantations. Her eyes shoot open and jumps back ever so slightly. "How is that possible? There's not a single shred of the Hollow in you." Kol gives Freya his award-winning 'I-just-said-that' face and Freya spins around, her face in front your own. "How did you do that?" her tone was serious and emergent.

"The Hollow is nothing more than this ball of energy, of magic. Strong, yes, but a simple form a magic nonetheless. I siphoned that magic until there was nothing left." You were struggling to find your voice for some reason, it was strange being back in the place that brought your pain and happiness, and it was even more strange seeing a man that you'd grown to love furiously, even if he was now in love with someone else.

"So you currently have the Hollow's powers or something?" Freya asks, taking a small step back from you, as if she was now scared to even breathe near you.

"I don't know, honestly I didn't even know what I doing the first time I did it. I was in some kind of trance or something." you could feel yourself nearly tripping over your own words, how was this supposed to go? And more importantly, how would it end?

Suddenly you start feeling lightheaded again, but this time you know it's because you're starving. Your body sways and you struggle to find your balance, you feel your eyes turning a bloodshot red and spider-like veins creeping through. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see Klaus start to run towards you, only to be stopped by the barrier spell. "Y/N, what's wrong?!" all five of the Mikaelson's ask, worry laced with concern. You clear your throat, shaking your head, "I'm fine, just-I'm just really hungry." In this very moment, you realized that in all of the years they'd known you, they had never seen you feed, they knew nothing about your habits. They simply figured that you lived all blood bags and normal human food, which you did, except blood bags were a person, and that person was you.

One of the downfalls of being who you were, was that you would be hit with incredibly strong feelings of hunger, you tend to be a little rash, like Klaus-Mikaelson-out-for-revenge-rash. The upside to that, however, was that your thirst for blood could be easily suppressed because your source of blood was you. This was something that you kept to yourself because truth be told, it seemed abnormal. Your hand slams down on Freya's shoulder, using her for support, and your head turns towards Kol, "Kol, could you be a darling and get me a glass?" you were trying hard not to let your hunger control you.

Unlike vampires, you didn't need blood from other sources because due to your human and witch side, you body functioned the way one normally would- blood constantly renewing and replenishing itself. In a way, your blood was completely pure.

Kol returns quickly with a glass, dubiety written across his face. You let go of Freya, trying to block out the fact that you had five people who you were close to, staring so intently at you as you were about to expose your secret to them. You bring your wrist to your mouth, and bite hard, breaking the skin and rest your wrist over the glass, a generous amount of blood spilling in. You were definitely going to need more, but for now, what you had would have to do. Slowly, you bring the glass to your lips and down it in seconds, feeling immediately better.

"Did you just.. feed from yourself?" Kol demands, he mouth hanging open slightly. You could feel him judging you, the disgust, which was completely fine, you didn't care but his tone aggravated you. Stalking over to him now eye to eye, you growl "I do not care for you tone Kol Mikaelson. I may have been dead for 11 years but do not think my patience has grown." your voice was low and dangerous, and for a few milliseconds, fear flashed in his non caring eyes.

Spinning around to face Freya, you ignore the looks on their faces. "Let's get this over with shall we?" You hold out your hand for her to take but she refuses, pulling an astonish look from you.

"Do you think you could do what you did to Kol again? Because if I'm being honest, I don't even know if this spell is going to work." Freya confesses and you can see the looks of worry and annoyance plastered on everyone's faces. You were just about to say no when a ghost like figure of Circe appeared standing in the corner of the compound. She didn't say anything, just simply nodded her head and gave you a smile that was sweet and loving yet stern at the same time. Just as quickly as she appeared, Circe was gone.

Taking in a shaky breath, you focus your attention of Freya, nodding your rapidly. "Okay, is there anything you need up to do?" Freya asked, you could nearly see the concern flowing out. Hmm, perhaps she'd changed a little bit in the past eleven years that you were dead.

"I just need everyone to shut up, not make a single sound." as you say this, you eye Kol, Klaus, and Rebekah knowingly, who all throw their hands up in surrender. Slowly you walk forward until you're standing in front of Elijah. "Just don't move okay? It's not going to hurt, I don't think.." you voice was laced with uncertainty as you look to Kol for confirmation and he merely shrugs, "Didn't feel a thing." he replies, making you laugh, albeit the moment was inappropriate but honestly, it was nice to have a genuine laugh. "Do you ever feel anything?" you inquire making Kol give off her award-winning smirk.

Focusing on your breathing, you feel your eyes glaze over once again despite trying to prevent them from doing so. Slowly, you reach your phantom like hand into Elijah's chest, pulling out the other half of the Hollow. Again, the glowing blue orb nearly mesmerizes you, drawing you in, although from what you heard, that was exactly what it did. Quickly you look away, following the exact same steps that you did with Kol. This time, you felt even stronger while siphoning the magic from it, and that almost worried you. Circe said you could do this and you prayed that if there even was a God, that Circe was not trying to destroy you for her own personal gain.

The orb dismantles into absolute nothingness as you burn every last part of the remains. You turn to Freya, signaling her to check Elijah just to be safe, to be sure that there was not an ounce of the Hollow left in him. Freya takes down his boundary spell and does so and nods to you, as to say that you could continue. Like you needed her permission. The next person is Rebekah, you notice that she's as gorgeous as ever, perks of being immortal you guessed. Yet there was this.. sadness in her eyes, you wondered what was causing it. With ease, you pull the Hollow from Rebekah's chest and destroy it, then send her off to Freya for checking.

Your breathing hitched as you walked towards Klaus, he was still as beautiful in your eyes as he'd always been. You avoid his eyes as you begin your work, which again, you do with ease, finally freeing each of the Mikaelson's from the Hollow, allowing them to become a family. After Freya takes down the final boundary spell, the siblings all gather around each other, hugs and handshakes and glad smiles. The whole time you were in the compound, you never did notice Caroline standing in the corner, waiting patiently. However, you did notice that once Freya released Klaus, Caroline ran over to him and jump in his arms, seemingly squealing with delight.

Your heart cracked, but what else did you expect? For him to remain stuck on you for eternity? That would be rather cruel. In the mist of all of them being so happy to each other, to be able to talk and stand in the same room without 2,000 year old protection spell, you began to fade away, though your weren't surprised. Quietly, you stand there, taking in their expressions of true satisfaction and then, reluctantly, you walk away leaving them behind to continue their lives, this time together once again. Perhaps this was your chance to make peace, be who you were originally meant to be, or you thought to yourself, you find a small, quaint town in the middle of nowhere, where no one knew you and live your life the best way you could think of.

---

Tag List: @poemfreak306 @zaghawia @cococola-cocaine @lilulo-12 @jaiboomer11 @fafulous @valeria-winchester

A/N so like i really hope you guys like this one! shoot me a message or something if y’all are interested in another part :) Until then! Also, sorry for the lack of gifs! :/

#the originals #reader x klaus #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #freya mikaelson #nationalrebellion #imagine #one shot #joseph morgan #daniel gillies #nathaniel buzolic #claire holt #riley voelkel #davina claire #danielle campbell #reader

162 notes · View notes

snowkatze · 7 years

Text

Unfairly Beautiful

This fic is dedicated to the anon who said that the kind of date they’d take me on is one in the book store and then the coffee shop. Genre: fluff (@4wksoffluff ^.^) Word Count: 3315 Summary: After Baz accidentally reveals his feelings for Simon, they go on a date. Problem is, Baz has never taken someone on a date before.

I wish I was able to say right now that I have absolutely got the hang of this, but the truth is that I'm not half as smug as I act. Of course I pretend I've gone on a hundred dates before and that I'm a master at this, but really, I have no clue what I'm doing. The worst part is that he knows how this works, he's good at this, he's better at this than I am. After all, he's had a girlfriend before. And I'm new to this. I'm a raw recruit. (I'm afraid I'll disappoint him. Or rather, myself.)

But this is important because it is supposed to convince him that there should be a second date. And many more dates and hand-holding and kissing and... whatever. Should I take his hand right now? Would that be coming on too strong? I don't want to scare him off. Then again, it's just a hand, for Crowley's sake. I carefully let my fingers brush against his.

We're on our way to the book store and he tells me something about what happened to Bunce this morning, but I'm only half listening. The other half is freaking out right now. Obviously, I'm not letting it show, but one half of my brain thinks about what he says and the other half shouts “HOLY SHIT”, repeatedly, and followed by the odd “FUCK I'M ON A DATE WITH SIMON SNOW”. Honestly, what the fuck is happening. Part of me thinks I'm having hallucinations.

Okay, Baz. Collect yourself. If you're doing this, you need to be fully present. Just concentrate on the date. Concentrate on Simon.

Is he even going to like it at the book store? What the hell was I thinking, taking Simon Snow to a date in a book store? I just panicked and thought about a place that relaxes me. A familiar environment. He's going to hate this date, isn't he? He gave me a shot, one shot, and I ruin it. Of course.

I think that maybe he's just pulling my leg. Or maybe I've gone crazy. Last week, Simon Snow looked so stunning, and perhaps I just went mad looking at him. Wouldn't be all that surprising, to be honest.

I sat on my bed, reading a book, when suddenly, I heard the door open. I lifted my head and saw Snow standing in the door way. I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Have – Have you gotten a new sweater?” “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Penny picked it for me.” Fucking Bunce. And his hair. What was up with his hair today? I couldn't stop staring at him. So, what? Now that we're almost-friends, all my self-control has jumped out of the window?! I put the book down, but kept my gaze on his face. It made me almost angry. What gave him the right to show up in our room, looking so fucking beautiful?

“Baz?”

He gave me a weird look. Because, yes, in that moment, I was losing my mind, a little bit. And maybe I had been slacking. Since we were on a truce, I'd allowed myself way too often to enjoy myself. I'd forgotten where the lines were. I'd forgotten that I wasn't allowed to shamelessly admire Snow.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” And then he came closer to me because he has no discretion or sense for self-preservation whatsoever. And my mouth had gone dry, and my brain had killed itself along with my self-control, and as a result I couldn't form any coherent words. Or, well, I guess they were coherent, but not logical or sensible.

I wanted to shout at him and get angry for being so freaking attractive, but when I finally spoke, my voice came out soft.

“Because I would really like to kiss you right now.”

And then I kept staring at him, with glassy eyes, because I'm an idiot. Only when he said: “What!?” I snapped out of it. Thanks for coming back, brain, you're only ten seconds and one self-destructive sentence too late. All that you can do now is write my testament, you useless thing.

Simon recoiled and I jumped up. He looked at me like he was afraid of me, like I was about to Turn him or rip off his head or – maybe that's just what he looked like when he thought I was about to kiss him. Moron. As if I'd ever kiss him. Not even when I was completely out of my senses. I'm not suicidal, after all.

Then he turned around and slammed the door shut. My heart was beating fast and I fell back on the bed, thinking that this time, I'd truly fucked up.

Snow doesn't react to my hand against his, but it might just be because he's too self-absorbed, not because he's ignoring me. So I decide to just go for it, and intertwine his fingers with mine. For one anxious moment, he doesn't respond, but then he wraps his fingers around my hand and keeps talking, as if nothing had happened. Nothing has happened. Except for Simon Snow holding my hand, holy shit.

I'm afraid my palm will start sweating, even though it rarely does. It's ridiculous, but I fear that Snow will decide that he'll never hold my hand again. (And as pathetic as it sounds, most of the reason why I resent that thought is because his touch makes me feel alive, not because it'd hurt my feelings.)

Finally, I spot the sign of the little second-hand shop.

“There it is,” I exclaim and pull Simon with me into the shop. See, the problem is that I hadn't actually planned further ahead than this. What do I do, now that I'm in a book store on a date with the boy I've been in love with for almost eight years?

But then, suddenly, Snow turns to me and sends me a smile that makes my heart clench.

“This is so you, Baz. I think I always imagined a date with you involved books.”

“You imagined me on a date?” “Uhm. Yeah. Well. I guess I just wondered whether you ever had a girlfriend.” Idiot. Of course he didn't imagine himself on a date with you. So, I don't push it. I just tighten my grip around his hand. Somehow, it steadies me and I take a deep breath to clear my head.

“So,” I smirk. “What kind of books does the Chosen One read?” He shoots me an insecure glance.

“I, um, don't exactly read much.” “What?!” “Christ, Baz, don't look at me like I just murdered your child. I just don't have much time, you know, between slaying monsters and school and all...” “Well, reading is important. Knowledge is power, Snow. How are you going to take over the world if you have never read Shakespeare or, I don't know, 'A Brief History of Time' by Stephen Hawking?”

He giggles. “Of course you think you'd need bloody Shakespeare to take over the world. Anyway, if you're going to keep calling me the Chosen One, you can't expect me to have any evil takeover plans. That's like, the part of the supervillain. I'm supposed to stop you.”

“See, you do know about literature.”

“Or about bad superhero movies. Does that make you happy?” “It's a start.”

When Snow smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle and his cheeks get dimples and his eyes light up – it's a vivid spectacle. One he hasn't shown me that often.

The ceiling of the store is rather low, and the shelves take up all the room. The books are old and broken, but I prefer this store to regular ones. For one, there are never many people here. Usually, there are only one or two people beside me. Also, these books seem familiar. Their dusty look and weird smell reminds me of home.

To me, this store is like a hiding place. A refuge, far away from reality.

I guess I should've thought more about bringing Simon here. About the fact that he could never understand what this place means to me.

“So, what are we doing here?” “Buying books, obviously.”

He still hasn't let go of my hand. I tug him down the aisle.

“Let's make it a game.”

“What game?” “Like a contest. Who can find the most ridiculous book title?”

“What?” “Come on, Snow. Most of these books are the trash that people didn't want any more. I'm sure we'll find some good stuff.”

“Okay, then. It's on.”

Unfortunately, he lets go of my hand, so we can walk in different directions. We spend a few minutes searching, before meeting again.

“Alright, let me start,” Snow says and holds up a book. 'How to Avoid Huge Ships'. “Very useful,” I remark. “But not as useful as this.” I show him 'the Manly Art of Knitting'.

“Hm, I'll give you that one. But I also found some for you. Here.” He gives me 'The Practical Pyromaniac'. I glare at him. Fine. Two can play this game.

“Funny, Snow, because I also found some very fitting ones for you.” Then, I hand him 'How to Raise Your I.Q. by Eating'. He snickers.

“If you figured out how to do this, I think you could even outsmart Bunce.”

“Fine, but I think I can beat you on that one,” he says and holds up 'Eating People is Wrong'. Fuck him.

“'Everything I Want to Do Is Illegal'.” “There's a book called like that?” He laughs and my anger washes away. Until he shows me his last book. 'Fancy Coffins To Make Yourself'.

I can't believe him.

“Thought you might need it.”

I raise my head, gather some dignity and say: “'Anybody Can Be Cool.'” Then I take a pause for dramatic tension. I lower my gaze.

“'...but Awesome Takes Practise.'” I shove the book in Snow's face. He bursts out laughing.

“Okay, fine, you win. What now?” “Now we go and find the ugliest cover.”

Which goes well, until I show him the cover of Twilight and he says: “But... Baz! That's your life story!”

I role my eyes. I shouldn't have brought him here. I should've known he would just keep making stupid vampire jokes at me.

I can't remember the last time I ever laughed so much. (I can't remember if I ever laughed so much.) Eventually, we sink down next to each other and just sit on the floor. Simon turns his head and gives me the tiniest smile. I can't help but beam at him. (Beam? Really, Baz? Contain yourself. But I can't. I can't stop it. I think I feel almost – could it be? Am I really – Am I happy? Damn.)

I reach out my hand and Snow takes it and I can't believe that I'm sitting in a smelly book store next to a cute guy who holds my hand. No, not just a cute guy. Next to Simon Snow. The guy with the destiny girlfriend who was supposed to kill me some day. He's here. With me. It seems so unreal and unlikely. The only thing keeping me on the ground is the soft squeeze of his fingers. And I know that he's real.

“I actually do have a favourite book, you know,” he says now, softly.

“Tell me about it,” I answer and start tracing circles on the back of his hand.

“Okay, so, it's about this orphan who is supposed to save the world. She has to defend it against an evil villain, but she's actually just a kid.” “Sounds familiar.” “Don't mock me about this.” “I'm not mocking you. I'm listening. Just... tell me more, please.” “Well, the world is on her shoulders and she crumbles apart underneath it. And, then, one day it just gets too much. And she shows up at the villain's hideout, but she doesn't want to fight... Just talk. All she wants is to understand him.” I swallow and avert my eyes.

“So, they talk, and they become friends.” “Just like that?” “Yeah... Just like that.”

For a moment, we just look in each other's eyes. My heart is racing fast and I'm sure this means something, but I can't think straight.

“I guess they are both villains after that, and someone needs to come to remind them again what it means to be human, but... at least they have each other.”

My voice is raw when I try to speak.

“I – I'd like to read it sometime.” Tentatively, Simon pushes a book in my hand. I look down and see that it's the one he's just been talking about.

He sheepishly looks up at me.

“Yeah, I found it and... wanted to give it to you.”

“Thanks.”

I'm on the verge of tears and I don't understand why. I just push the book close to my heart and hold it there. I try to calm myself and stand up, offering Snow a hand.

“Let's go,” I say and smirk. “I'm not done yet.”

I was half mad when Snow returned. So what now? Was he going to start a fight? I was tired of fighting.

Snow didn't look at me and I wondered whether it was always going to be that way from now on. He would never be able to even look at me again. He would probably act like even more of a moron than he already was around me.

But then he got closer and sat on the bed next to me. My body tensed up and I waited for him to speak. (To humiliate me? To rip out my heart and stomp on it?)

He looked so lost, so confused, that for a second I thought he didn't even know he was here. Or that I was right next to him. Then he reached out a hand, but I flinched away.

If he wasn't going to speak, fine, I'd do it.

“Listen, Snow, we can just forget this happened, okay? It'll be fine. Just pretend I never mentioned anything.”

“Baz...” he said as if he hadn't heard me. “Have you – Are you -”

I didn't answer, I just pulled my knees up and hugged them with my arms.

“Please,” I whimpered, because I'd have pleaded him if I had to. I'd have done anything to make him act like the last hour had never happened.

“I don't want to pretend you never said that.”

Of course he didn't. I pressed my forehead against my knees. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end.

“So what are you going to do now?” I asked. “Torment me?”

“I was thinking -”

He hesitated. “You could take me on a date.” “What?!” Had he really just said that?

“On Saturday.” “Are you trying to trick me?” “No, I'm serious. Completely.” He looked at me with wide eyes and I couldn't do anything other than stare at him.

“I want to try this. Please.” Try this? Try what? Was he insane?

“O-okay.” Was I insane?

I still don't know what he is getting out of this, but I'm going to make it last for as long as I can. (Does he want to be my boyfriend? No. Possibly?)

We're sitting in the coffee shop just around the corner. Snow is sipping the Pumpkin Mocha Breve that the barista makes just for me. I'm a regular in this Starbucks but Snow's never been here before.

“How can you drink that?” Snow asks and pulls a face. “It tastes like a candy bar.” “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.”

I shoot him a mistrustful glance, but he ignores me and starts talking about his favourite drinks. He looks different, the way his eyes glow. It might just be the lighting, but he's practically shining. (It might just be how ridiculously enamoured I am with him.)

It's nice sitting here, at a table by the window, just talking about nothing and everything.

And I do like listening to him. I want to know everything about him, every thought he has, no matter how ridiculous. And I want to keep seeing his eyes glow like that, and his smile brighten exactly that way... I don't think I'll ever grow tired of looking at him. Or holding his hand. As long as he'll let me.

Before I know it, we are the only ones left and it's gone dark outside. I want to keep him here, just save this moment forever. But the barista gives me an impatient look and I know that every moment has to end sometime.

Back in our room, I know that I somehow have to put an end to the date. I have to say something, something like: “That was nice,” or “Could we do this again, sometime?” Maybe I should kiss him. But I've never kissed anyone before, and perhaps he doesn't want me to either. Perhaps it's just me whose heart is beating fast and who can't let this moment go.

“So,” he says and I close my eyes because I can't bare to look at him.

“So, uhm,” I mutter, because I'm at a loss of words. He should say something, shouldn't he? He knows how this kind of thing works.

“So, did I ruin it?” I eventually say. “Will you not go on a second date with me?” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” I take a deep breath, “have you decided if you want to go on a second date?” I stay still for a second. Then he laughs. I turn my head away. I guess that means no. I try not to blush, and fail. I don't want him to know how humiliated I am. One date. I should be glad he even let me have that.

But then he grabs my arm.

“I was always going to go on a second date with you. I'd even go on a second date if this had been the most terrible date in the world.” “Was it?” “No, you idiot.” “But I took you to the book store and you don't even like reading.”

He smiles. I think it's killing me.

“It doesn't matter where you take me, Baz, as long as it's with you.” “But you have gone on so many dates already – you're an expert and I've never done this before...” “You've never done this before?”

He looks surprised. Fuck. I didn't mean for him to know that. Then, I just shrug.

“I've only been in love once.” “Only once? With whom?” I glare at him. Seconds pass, then he gets it.

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

My hands start fidgeting. “Too soon?” You aren't supposed to declare your love on the first date. Even I know that. (Especially when there's a high chance that it's not reciprocated.) “No, I – I think I'm in love with you, Baz.” I look up in his bright honest eyes and I don't believe him. How could I believe him? But then he lifts his hand to touch my cheek. My eyes flutter closed and I'm lost.

“I love you, Baz,” he repeats, and I'm completely gone.

“I don't want this date to end,” Simon whispers. “Me neither,” I whisper back and pull him towards his bed. We lay next to each other, wordless, just staring into each other's eyes. And we simply don't let it end. Tonight, I'm falling asleep next to Simon Snow. It's a miracle. It's impossible. And he's still holding my hand.

#carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #snowbaz #snowbaz fic

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mst3kproject · 8 years

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206: Ring of Terror

This was the only episode in the show's entire run where they showed the movie before the short. I assume this was because they wanted to get the damn thing over with and forget about it as quickly as possible. I sympathize.

Ring of Terror begins with a graveyard custodian, who looks rather like a corpse himself, calling to his cat Puma as if he intends to molest it. He happens across a gravestone belonging to a Lewis Moffitt, who supposedly died at twenty-two – we then flash back to meet this 'young' man, a dedicated medical student who claims not to be afraid of anything. Blood doesn't shake him, and rattlesnakes merely piss him off. His one terrible, secret fear? Zombies.

For a fraternity hazing, Moffitt is dared to steal a ring from a corpse. When he tries to do so, he is startled by Puma the cat, thinks the corpse is coming to life, and dies of a heart attack on the spot. I think we're meant to assume that the fraternity brothers were deeply sorry and promised never to haze anybody ever again, but there's no denoument. We just cut back to the graveyard custodian, and the movie ends.

A good indication of the general level of creativity on display here is that the screenwriter, Lewis Simeon, and the main character, Lewis Moffitt, have the same first name. He named the main character after himself. Bert I. Gordon at least named Glenn Manning after the actor who played him.

Let's begin by dealing with some of the most obvious badness in the movie. As Joel and the bots observe, repeatedly, almost all the actors are way older than the characters they're supposed to be playing. It's hard to tell the difference between the students and the professors. George E. Mather was forty-two when he played twenty-two-year-old Lewis Moffitt. That's gotta be some kind of a record. Esther Furst, playing Moffitt's girlfriend Betty, can't be that much younger, but I’m not gonna complain too much about that. I mean, how creepy would it be to have an actual twenty-two-year-old playing opposite Mather? Apparently this was something that figured prominently in the original reviews, too – when people think your actors are too old in a business that's used to overage movie college students, you know you screwed up.

The acting is distractingly bad, stilted and recited. Everybody looks bored – in a scene at the snappily-named Campus Cafeteria Club, the dancers look bored, the diners look bored, the band looks bored. Even the skeleton in the dissection theater (hanging out in between shoots for Teenagers from Outer Space) looks bored! The only characters in the whole movie who honestly seem to be having a good time are Tiny and Ragdoll, who are there to be the butts of a series of fat jokes. It's not funny the first time, and it gets less and less funny as the movie progresses.

Actually, Tiny and Ragdoll probably show more character – in the sense of both personality and fortitude – than the rest of the cast put together. Tiny refuses to starve himself to gain the fraternity's approval. He'd rather hang out with people who accept him for who he is. He feels ill and momentarily passes out at the autopsy, but does not leave the room. He thinks Ragdoll is the most beautiful girl at the school, inside and out, and does not qualify it with references to her weight. Ragdoll herself enters a beauty contest, apparently not a bit bothered by the possibility of ridicule. They appear to be a committed, happy pair who honestly adore one another, and they're the only couple in the movie with any chemistry or anything in common. Just let them eat their ice cream and be in love! You wish you had that kind of confidence!

The bad actors get no help at all from the terrible script. Simeon barely even attempts to give anybody a personality, and everything that happens feels contrived, as if the entire movie is serving a plot purpose rather than showing us natural events. We are more told what people are like than we are shown. Characters inform us that Betty is intelligent and devoted, but we don't really see any evidence of either. Betty says she feels like there are two sides to Moffitt, always battling for control, but he seems like one person, one bland and boring person, to us. We are told that Moffitt brags and swaggers because he's proudly not afraid of anything, and that this behaviour upsets Betty, but we never see it. Actually, since she uses the phrase 'they say', perhaps this is rumour with no truth to it, but we don't see anybody else talk about it, or any other effect it has on Moffitt or his reputation. We hear that Wayne Arnold, the boy who died in a car accident halfway through the film, was a daredevil and close to the others, but we never met him – or if we did, nobody ever called him by name.

The movie is also a study in padding. The framing story, with the custodian and the cat, exists merely to make the movie longer (and to emphasize that, despite all evidence to the contrary, Moffitt is twenty-two years old). All the 'comic relief' with Tiny and Ragdoll is padding. Moffitt wanders around the mausoleum for far longer than necessary, also padding.

Then there's Moffitt's scare, which is supposed to be the whole point of the film. In a previous scene, he let a friend in on his one fear: as a child, Moffitt had to sleep in the same house where his grandfather's corpse was waiting to be buried, and his mother told him that if he didn't stop complaining and go to bed, the body would get up and 'give him a licking'. He's had nightmares about it ever since, and sleeps with the light on. And yes, that's scary – but I'm not sure what it is about this particular situation that reminds him of the incident.

At the funeral home, with Arnold's corpse laid out in a coffin and comfortable surroundings, the lights go out and Moffitt immediately panics as he remembers his chidhood scare. That makes sense. But in the clinical environment of the autopsy room he shows no fear of the John Doe corpse whatsoever. When he finds it later in the mausoleum, it's stored away in a drawer and the environment doesn't appear to be particularly dark. It's clearly not as dark as it was in the funeral home, and Moffitt has no trouble reading the signs and lables. The setting is completely different. The music suggests that the ring is somehow important in Moffitt's mind, but we don't get an explanation for this. Was his grandfather buried with a similar one?

Why is Moffitt given such a dangerous and illegal fraternity assignment at all? The other characters' hazings are harmless. One guy gets doused with Coca-Cola, another has to dress up as Cupid and surprise couples making out, a third has to go begging for pennies, and Tiny is merely asked to lose some weight. Yet Moffitt is told to break into a place, desecrate a corpse, and steal a piece of jewelry? What sense does that make?

Not to mention the rather obvious fact that the movie makes no attempt to scare the audience. Rather than trying to put us in Moffitt's shoes, where we might experience the heart-stopping terror along with him, it presents its story in a dry, textbookish way that lacks interest or mystery. From the very beginning we are told how it ends, with the shot of Moffitt's headstone, and it continues to be dull and predictable from there. Nothing in the script is even surprising, let alone scary, which comes across as an absolute ripoff in a movie with such an evocative title.

Now, let's talk about how this movie depicts women. I honestly wonder if Lewis Simeon ever met a woman. He clearly had no idea what they do when there are no men around. Maybe he thinks women are quantum waveforms who only collapse into actual people when they are observing or being observed by men. None of the female characters in the movie appear to have lives of their own. When we see them, they're talking about their boyfriends. Or going to the Cafeteria with their boyfriends. Or visiting the beauty parlour to look nice for their boyfriends. Or entering beauty contests for the approval of their boyfriends. Are they even at school here, or are they just hanging around so that the boys can get laid? None of them appear to study or even attend classes.

Oh, silly me, they're all taking Home Economics! They don't have to study when cooking and sewing come so naturally to women!

The women are also notable for their peevish selfishness. They collectively give the boys the cold shoulder for 'abandoning' them at a dance in favour of attending an autopsy. As Moffitt points out, though, they must have known that attending the autopsy was necessary for obtaining full course credits. Perhaps if the women have no lives outside of the men, they assume the men should not have lives outside of them? Betty is an exception to this, as she's annoyed with Moffitt over the rumors of his bragging rather than because he stood her up, but as I noted above, that doesn’t make sense either. I'm kind of astonished that we never get a reference to the idea that they're all just dating medical students in the hopes of being wealthy doctors' wives someday.

At the end of this movie, Joel asks the bots if they can name something good about it. Nobody can, but I think I've got one: despite what Crow says, I'm pretty sure they did use a fake snake for the scene in which Moffitt stomps it to death. The snake in the back of the car was probably an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, but it is never seen in the same shot as any of the actors and I expect they had a professional snake handler to work with it. The snake Moffitt stamps on does not show the rattlesnake's bold markings, so if it wasn't rubber it was at least not the same snake. I hope it was rubber. Killing things just to put it in a movie is inexcusable –I'm looking at you, Ruggero Deodato.

Do I get a ram chip?

#mst3k #reviews #ring of terror #fuck this movie #60s

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sueboohscorner · 8 years

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The Vampire Diaries 814 Recap “It’s Been a Hell of a Ride” #TVD #KilltheDevil

Episode grade: 10. Pure perfection.

All week long, I was both looking forward to and dreading Friday night, because one of my all-time favorite shows is coming to an end…but man, it’s going out strong.

We start with Cade menacing Damon for another crappy deal (all Cade’s deals suck, because he is literally the devil). This time, Cade wants his dagger back–you know, the one thing that could kill him. And of course, Damon’s going to play along, because Cade has Elena’s coffin, delivered helpfully by Kai.

Elsewhere, Bonnie’s throwing herself into the beautiful pocket dimension she’s able to access, in which she and Enzo can be together. Stefan ignores the “if my dreamland’s a-knockin’” sign and starts bugging her with his guilty conscience. She’s all, Not my problem, brah, and I don’t blame her a bit. Enzo’s a little more forgiving, though, and he urges her to let Stefan off the hook.

Rebuffed by Bonnie and continuing to wallow in his self-pity, Stefan is about to bail on everyone. He agrees to put his broody walkabout on hold when Damon asks him to help get Elena back from Cade. First step: Find Kai Parker.

TVD, I love you. I love you for so many things over the last eight years, but right now, I love you for making time in your final episodes for the delightful insanity of Kai Parker doing karaoke, tweeting (under the amazing handle CobraKai1972) in what can only be described as (ahem) presidential fashion, and hilariously refusing to pronounce Stefan’s name correctly.

Stefan gets stabbed through the hand (this is important), but Damon steps in to take Kai down. They drag Kai into the Armory and toss him in a cell. Alaric is gravely displeased at having his archenemy back under his roof. Of course, Alaric has other things on his mind right now; his daughters have been going all Firestarter.

With Kai stashed away, and the devil dagger in hand, Damon and Stefan head out to find Cade. At the last minute, Stefan insists he has to be the one to kill Cade, because atonement yadda yadda. Damon rationally points out that hey, I’m still a vampire, and you’re not, so of the two of us, I’ve got a much better chance at actually pulling this off. But Stefan is determined to be the hero, so he actually vervains Damon, and OMG Stefan you selfish jackass. Here’s where Stefan’s hand injury is an issue for me. He’s not only mortal, he’s got a freshly maimed stabbing hand. He’s refusing help killing the devil when he’s not even at full strength for a human.

To be fair, he does have something of a plan…he’s tasked Alaric with ringing the Maxwell hell bell. Since Alaric isn’t part of the Maxwell family line, he won’t be able to access the bell’s full power, but Stefan correctly guesses that the bell’s ringing will at least cause Cade some pain. (I’m choosing to ignore the minor plot hole about how the bell was deconstructed and taken away, yet is now back in the tower. I mean, Bonnie and Enzo had it with them, but her house was stolen from her, so it’s not a safe place anymore…and I am pretty sure Peter Maxwell had taken another component of the bell with him when he left town…but you know what? Screw it. Given the choice between expository dialogue about the bell or Kai Parker singing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” at karaoke, I'll pick the latter every time.)

Speaking of our favorite evil scion of the Gemini coven, Kai and Caroline are having a heart-to-heart about her daughters, who are also, of course, Kai’s nieces. They’re siphons, just like him, and he offers Caroline a personal perspective on the crazy crap her kids are pulling lately. He tells her about growing up a magic-siphoning abomination, treated with disdain and fear, an embarrassment to his magical royal family. Being shut away and ignored, watching as his twin sister was nurtured in her gifts. Occasionally getting a blast of magic when he was able to siphon it from someone or something, and feeling like a druggie the rest of the time, desperate for more. It’s a powerful monologue, subtle and intense, and Caroline is as captivated as the audience is.

Then Kai explains that the reason her kids are suddenly out of control is that they’ve been dumped into an environment so full of magical artifacts, they simply can’t be expected to control their siphoning. He says a place like the Armory practically has magic in its walls…and then he demonstrates by siphoning the very glass that separates him from Caroline. Kai is out, loose in the Armory.

Right now, Alaric is dutifully ringing the hell bell, and it’s basically doing what Stefan thought. Cade is vulnerable, and Stefan’s got a shot here…until Alaric’s phone rings. Josie and Lizzie are calling for their daddy, because Kai is coming after them with an axe. Alaric walks away from the bell without a second glance, and Cade’s back on his feet.

Cade’s about to kill Stefan, but here comes Damon to save the day. Except that Cade already has the dagger now, and he still has Elena, and now he has Stefan as well. Damon has no leverage in this situation. Cade laughs that he’ll give Damon this much: Damon can choose whether it will be Stefan or Elena who dies today. Damon can’t accept this choice, so he asks Cade to take him instead. Cade agrees, requiring Damon to stake himself. Stefan, you know this is your fault, right?

Bonnie feels the psychic ripples of the danger to Elena, and she follows the feeling to where Cade is about to collect Damon’s soul. Bonnie says, Oh hell no, and she and Cade get into a psychic battle. The beauty of a psychic battle is that the opponents are too busy to do anything else…leaving Cade far more vulnerable to attack. Stefan finally does something right, and the devil is dead.

Back at the Armory, Kai’s stalking the girls, because not being the only surviving member of the Gemini coven is kind of a sore spot for him. He follows their voices into the Siren cave, then siphons away the magical wall Beatrice Bennett put up so long ago…except he hasn’t found the girls, he’s found Ric, pulling a pretty neat trick with his phone on speaker. Ric gets in a good punch or two, but he’s a little outgunned under the circumstances. Fortunately, Caroline is awake from Kai’s neck-snap nap, and she saves the day.

Damon, magically blown back into his body by Bonnie’s psychic rage storm, is able to convince Stefan to stick around and not be a self-pitying jackass for a few minutes. I mean, we’ll see how long before the full-bore brooding starts back up, but for now, Stefan is able to appreciate the miracle of the life he almost lost…presumably because they’re all operating with the belief that killing the devil also destroyed hell, so they’re no longer living with damnation hanging over them. Funny how Stefan is suddenly less ravaged by guilt now that he thinks he’ll escape punishment. He proposes to Caroline all over again, and she says yes, even though she and Ric seemed to be having a moment, and Ric is so totally the better man on every level.

(Also, Stefan is all excited about the future he sees as possible now, and he’s yammering about how great it will be to grow old and help raise kids, and be with his best friend? What best friend? He doesn’t mean Caroline, because he listed her separately in the marriage portion of the speech, and he doesn’t mean Damon, because he has always consistently called Damon his brother. Lexi’s dead, and that’s the only best friend I was aware of…I’m confused.)

Kai awakens, chained to a chair, in the karaoke dive bar from earlier. The delightful 90’s song, “Two Princes,” is starting up. Kai clearly doesn’t like this song as much as I do. Bonnie relishes the moment as she fills Kai in on his new normal: He’s in a new prison dimension, built to approximate his personal idea of suffering. All alone, no magic to siphon, no tricky escape hatches to work on, with a song he hates that will never stop playing.

But Kai has a parting gift for Bonnie, too: the truth about hell. Killing the devil didn’t destroy hell; sure, Cade created hell, but perhaps it took on a life of its own, nourished by the imaginations of all the people who feared it. Or perhaps a pocket dimension simply doesn’t exist in the head or at the whim of its creator; maybe, once created, it’s a true place that can’t be unmade so easily. If the latter, I would like to point out that Bonnie’s new pocket dimension is not simply a place to keep Enzo safe; it might be the place where all her loved ones can spend eternity–the new version of the Other Side!

But I digress. Kai’s revelation to Bonnie continues: Hell is still very much a real place, and there’s someone else who was waiting for Cade to be deposed so that they could step into the top dog spot. Gee, who else do we know who was that bad? Who absolutely went to hell, rather than to the Other Side?

You got it.

Granted, this raises another question about how bad someone had to be to wind up in hell rather than the Other Side–remember that Silas was on the Other Side, and he was as bad as they come! But that’s a minor aside, and I’m more than okay with it. Katherine is coming back to remind us why she’s “the baddest bitch of them all,” and I can’t think of a more fitting story arc to carry us into the bittersweet ending of this gorgeous series.

Finally, can we talk about the gift to villainy and television and acting that was Chris Wood's portrayal of Kai Parker?

I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed a villain more. Chris Wood is masterful, chilling and hilarious by turns, impossible not to pay attention to every moment he’s on screen. I don’t like Kai, obviously, but I love having Kai around. With every other villain we’ve had on TVD, I’ve been thrilled to see them breathe their last. By the time our heroes vanquished the Travelers, or Silas, or fricking awful Julian, I was cheering to have them gone. With Kai, even though he’s terrible, even though it’s clearly good that they’ve bested him!, I’m sorry to see him go.

#The Vampire Diaries #the cw #Chris Wood #Damon Salvatore #Caroline Forbes #Stefan Salvatore #Alaric Saltzman #Bonnie Bennett

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