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heresathreebee · 3 years

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Brackish And Briny Waters (three)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Spend the weekend painting the house with your husband. Previous Masterlist Next

Tags: 17+ | 1.6k words | Painting a house together, aka domestic stuff, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, pulling out, vague mention of rats.

AN: part 4 is gonna get angsty I just finished it

Anything involving greens was a heavy battle between you two, as Ralph seemed to have some kind of vendetta against them. The more blue you got, the less you fought and you eventually settled on a cool tone to use for the laundry room with a compromise to paint floral accents in a forest green tone along the edges of the back wall. You did find an exact replica of one of the original wallpapers in your second bedroom which you wanted to move to the living room.

Colors selected and purchased, you went home starving and managed to scrape together some left overs with a side of rice to fuel you to start on the real work. You also bought brown paper to cover the solar room window holes until you can finish that room as its own project.

Ralph rolls up his sleeves and puts on his bleach stained lounge pants to help. You lay down tarp and use up 3 rolls of tape to cover the kitchen and the dining room. Every window and door is wide open as you set your record player to play some 'whistle while you work' type of albums. And whistle he does that husband of yours, enjoying your company and shaking his hips dramatically to make you laugh. You two haven't had this much fun in so long it feels like.

The summer citrus color you chose for the kitchen was really working for you. Ralph intended to put the wallpaper up in the other room to get 'double the work done' but still you find him working the same wall just to be close to you. You talk about missing that classic NYC pizza and dinner tomorrow and Ralph promises to ask his colleagues about any music shops in the area.

You take a nap on the porch swing to get away from the paint fumes, an iced tea almost slipping from your hand. When dinner time comes, you cook while he details the removal of the old wallpaper from the dining room to work tomorrow. He's rambling about using a third coat on the living room paint and you don't think it's necessary but you know he'll agree with you come morning.

"Come eat Ralph Vincent," you scold him for getting paint on the door frame but all is forgiven when he sweeps you into a hungry kiss.

"I'd rather eat you right now."

Ralph's flirtations are interrupted by his own ractious growling stomach and you laugh at him as you shove a plate into his hand. You eat together by the window in the living room. While it hasn't been painted yet, you have moved the furniture to the middle of the room and the fumes from the kitchen and dining room are still very strong. You hope it doesn't affect your sleep tonight (or hope it puts you down like a dose of melatonin).

"Floyd's got a boat," Ralph tells you. "Says he takes it out on the water almost every day. Asked if I wanted to join him."

"And are you?" You spin another forkful of angel hair spaghetti on your plate.

Ralph slurps his like a child. "Am I what."

"Are you going to join him on his boat?" You speak slowly and patronizingly. Ralph pinches your breast and almost makes you drop your plate. "No. I hate boats. I hate water. I don't want to be trapped for hours out there listening to him talk about paintings and philosophers, at least at work I can walk away."

You chuckle. "I think Floyd sounds very interesting. What do you have against him?"

"Nothing," he protests, "he talks too much. He's loquacious– that's what Justine calls him, and she's one to talk. If you must know, he's actually my favorite– he knows when to keep his nose out of my business."

Dishes are made slightly more difficult with Ralph hanging off your shoulders. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, even finds a hickey from the morning that's started to fade and he remarks you. You dig your dripping fingers into his hair when he finds that spot on your neck and gives it some much needed attention.

"Ralphie, baby, please," you whisper, "I could use your help with these."

Dishes are done in record time and suddenly you're being whisked away to your bedroom (not that you were complaining). This room has the wallpaper that you had no intention to change aside from a fresh upgrade. Ralph takes your hand to spin you around and back you into your shared room all the way to the edge of the bed. Along the way he plants kisses from your hairline to your collarbone before he lets you fall atop the thick quilted bedspread.

He gazes at you with a warm expression. The soft "my girl" he whisperes makes your heart swell.

You expect him to pick up your legs and pull you by your knees to the outside of his hips (want him to even), but Ralph has other ideas it seems. It's not until his head is between your legs that you realize what he's up to (or rather down to). You gasp a lung full of air and grab him by the hair of his head.

"Jesus," you sigh.

Your husband's rumbling laughter causes your thighs to twitch. "Say my name, I'm the one doing all the work."

"Yeah but you love– aha!" His beard brushes your inner thighs and leaves a delightful burning sensation in the deepest part of your soul. "Fuck…"

You pull his hair harder and feel the soft locks stretch in your bloodless grasp. You can feel that immortal coil wind tighter and tighter inside you as Ralph devours you. You start chanting his name, the pitch of your voice beginning to crescendo the closer you get to that fire cracker ending. Ralph doubles his efforts, eager to have you fall apart on his tongue and fingers.

He's more than making it up to you tonight.

When you come, your body curls in on itself and your thighs lock around his head, effectively deafening him. You have no idea if he can hear the scream that rips from your body but you can't either as your eyes rolls back in ecstasy.

You relax onto the bed and feel it dip with an additional weight to your side. You slide into Ralph's easy embrace, his dry hand coming up to hold you to him and just rest for a bit.

"Fuck," you say huskily, "you're really good at that…"

Ralph kisses you in answer, trying to deepen the connection but you have to twist away to catch your breath. Instead he plants lingering, sweet kisses on your neck, your cheek, your hair. His hand caresses your back in circles until you're nearly asleep from the motion.

You flinch when you feel his nose brush against yours. "Baby… don't fall asleep." He sounds so sweet until his voice darkens and he says, "I'm not done with you yet."

You lose track of time and all you can feel is Ralph Lamont. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat and his hips rock leisurely into yours. You don't know who grabbed who but your hands are tangled together and refuse to let go. Ralph's breath dusts over your neck, cool in contrast to the fire of his physical form pressed against you. You want to come again but you let him draw it out, let him love you tonight.

"Ralph." You whisper in his ear, begging with no pressure to change pace. You're happy if he's happy and he is very content to keep thrusting into you to his peak and slow down, never stopping but always making you want more. Your man kisses you flush on the mouth and adjusts his position. His thrusts change. They grow from hypotonic and shallow to a little hard and more purposeful. You moan at the feeling, your legs locking around his hips to draw him deeper despite your exhaustion.

Your orgasm washes over you nice and gentle, nothing like the force of the first time. You're conscious enough to lock your ankles around Ralph's hips, but it still doesn't prevent him from slipping his flushed and reddened cock out and finishing on your stomach as he always intended. You feel a strange tickle of disappointment as you come down from your high but push it to the back of your mind for later.

Some way, somehow, Ralph still has enough strength to clean you both up and tuck you into bed. He curls around your body despite the near unbearable heat and falls fast asleep, his soft snores right behind your ear lulling you under the tide of sleep.

DAY FOUR

"Morning."

Your Saturday is awash of more painting and moving furniture with Ralph. He made coffee and eggs and brought it to you in bed, then dragged you down to look at the frayed wires on the clothes dryer machine.

"Might be rodents," you muse. "I'll get some traps on Monday and find my soldering iron."

"We'll get traps tonight," your husband countered, scratching his chin, "the sooner the better."

You finish removing the old wallpaper in the living room and carefully put up the new one with little fuss. The kitchen still smells of paint but it's dry (it had better be, you left the windows open all night and it's freezing in here) so you put the kitchen utensils and appliances back and remove the protective tape and brown paper. Ralph is proud of the precision work done in the corners and edges, patting himself on the back and yours.

"We did good babe," he said, "by this time next week, we'll have the whole house done!"

You laugh at his optimism. There were still cobwebs to dust, cracks to spackle, floors to polish, windows to replace. This was the very reason he picked this place…

To keep you busy. To keep your mind from wandering to those dark places that linger in your past.

At least it was working.

Tagging people who might like to know: @werwulfy @hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape @go-commander-kim @fundamentally-lazy @mimiscappinisideblog do y'all wanna be here? If not lemme know please 😅 DM me

#three bees writing #ralph lamont #ralph lamont x reader #smut #things seen and heard au #vaguely ghost house au #black reader insert

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sweeethinny · 4 years

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Reputation - ... Ready for it? (Chapter 1)

As I said I would, here is a 15 chapter fanfic, where each one is a scenario and a song from TS, from the reputation album. It does not necessarily follow an order, or, follow the book, there may be non-canonical things. Anyway, I hope you like it, it was fun to make this story

AO3

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Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him. Wondered how many girls he had loved and left haunted

''Urgh, since when is he so handsome?’’ The girl beside her whimpered, looking lost in her study plan as soon as Harry entered the library, discussing something with Ron and Hermione, oblivious to all the looks he was receiving. As always.

Of course Ginny had noticed that Harry had grown stronger, and taller, and more handsome, as if that could be possible for Merlin's sake! The two spent a summer together at The Burrow, it was common for her to notice changes, but there was something about other girls noticing the change too, that feeling her stomach turn and her cheeks flush.

''It's just because he has all this mysterious way of saying little'' Dean - her boyfriend !!! - He shrugged, moving unpretentiously in the book and smiling cute, looking at Ginny with that puppy face "You look beautiful today" She tried to smile, really, even though she felt even more blush and laughed nervously, moving her hand like away from praise, and go back to your study.

She had long since - or hoped so - overcome her crush by the Boy-Who-Lived, had followed Hermione's advice and started seeing new people, Michael had not been the best boyfriend of all, if she was being kind, but Dean was good. Of course, her efforts to always be kind and gentleman were overwhelming at times, but nothing that she couldn't stand. It was worth it too, he was a very handsome boy.

Harry laughed at something Ron had said, messing up the black hair she had long dreamed of running her hand over, then denying it and making another comment.

''But it's not fair that you expect me to focus on Herbology when he's clearly trying to cause the female population to die!’’ As if that were her cue, Ginny stood up, almost running, not trying to pay much attention to the fact that his laughter was too good to hear, or that every time he touched his hair, his sweater gave a little lift, showing a small piece of skin.

The girl ran to the middle of the shelves with the excuse of looking for a book, trying to calm down and remember that she was dating (!!!) and that obviously, wishing Harry Potter was not the most sensible thing to do.

"Everything is okay? Do you want help?" Dean scared her, appearing from behind like a ghost, reaching for a Potions book that she could easily pick up. "Is that the one you wanted?"

''Ah .. no, actually, leave it, I find myself here'' It took for her boyfriend to convince hirself that she could have more than one neuron to find the book she was looking for, leaving her alone again.

Ginny hid in the deepest part of the library, happy to calm thoughts about Harry's skin, and how fast her heart was beating when Hestia spoke of him as if she could melt in a puddle before the boy even looked at her, since when she did pay attention to boys? The colleague spent five years without even mentioning it, but apparently, Potter's stretching and changing voice was enough to wake her up.

"Hey, Gin" She opened her eyes almost jumping three feet back, hitting her head on a shelf and the elbow in the corner of another

''Merlin, Harry'' His heart was beating fast, almost out of chest, while the boy was in a lovely shade of pink

''Sorry, I-I didn't mean to scare you ... Is everything okay? '' His worried gaze swept over her, looking for any bruises, and Ginny almost thought there might be some touch of ulterior motives in those green eyes.

But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom Holding him for ransom Some boys are trying too hard, he don't try at all, though

''Yes, yes ... I was just, er ... looking for a book '' She wanted to beat herself up

''Eyes closed?'' No, Harry, don't look at me that way, with that stupid little smile, she thought, feeling the organs swirl

'’Just resting before going back to work'' Shrugged, acting very well to hide her nervousness. Since when did he smell so strong? Not that it was bad, by far, but it looked a lot more ... Harry looked a lot less like that scared boy on the platform at the age of 11, and more like a man. And Ginny hated to notice that, too.

Younger than my exes but he act like such a man, so I see nothing better, I keep him forever Like a vendetta-ta

The boy laughed nasally, ruffling his dark hair before getting too close to her, really, almost pinning her against the bookcase and his body, the green eyes looking much darker up close, and his perfume became almost suffocating - and she thought she could die suffocated and happy. Ginny was suddenly hot in the middle of October, her chest rising and falling at an almost deadly pace. The way Harry kept his gaze on her, making her feel small and like prey, was mesmerizing, and her eleven-year-old girl was jumping with joy from side to side, almost tearing hair out. Ginny thought he would kiss her, so close.

Okay, she had a boyfriend, but at that moment, Dean was the last thing on his mind.

I-I-I see how this is gon' go Touch me and you'll never be alone I-Island breeze and lights down low No one has to know

Harry stretched, picking up a book on top of her head, smiling awkwardly when he returned, all shy, in the way that only Harry Potter could look cute and attractive, and not like a goofball.

Argh, how she hated him right now.

''Do you think I did a good job as a captain?'' Was she wondering, or did Harry look very disconcerted?

''What? Ah .. yes, you were great, all bossy and everything '' Laughed weakly, trying to dispel the mixed feelings that haunted her, ignoring the tremor that ran through her legs. ''See you later, Harry'' And she left, thinking that if stayed another minute, would do something stupid like praising his ass or any other shit. She had a boyfriend, a great one, how can you think of kissing another ?!

Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't gotten over that noble idiot one hundred percent.

Months later...

''Really, Gin, you're going to be the cause of my death'' The two were lying on the grass, holding hands, while she was propped up on his chest looking at him laughing, passing her nails unpretentiously around, feeling every bit his.

Harry sighed

''Mm .. tell me more '' She wanted to jump for joy, scream to the seven winds that he had kissed her (even though everyone had seen it), and run across the castle in a pure adrenaline shot. But, she was content to hang around with Harry in the gardens.

With Harry!!! Heavens, your eleven-year-old self was in a hospital bed at the time.

''There's nothing to talk about '' He played with her hair still stuck in a tail, smoothing the strands and letting his fingers run down her back, causing delicious chills ''Nothing much ''

''So the fact that you just told me, that I've been on your mind since the holidays, is nothing?'' Ginny wouldn't even comment on that revelation and how much her pride soared. Just knowing that Harry thought about her too, it was a happiness that made her want to dance like crazy

In the middle of the night, in my dreams You should see the things we do, baby In the middle of the night, in my dreams I know I'm gonna be with you So I take my time Are you ready for it?

''It's a lot, if we think I sleep in the same room as your brother AND your ex boyfriend .. It was almost masochism'' Harry smiled ''But it was worth it'' He shrugged, kissing her again, still with hands on her back / waist, legs intertwined in the grass, and keeping her constantly close, as if to make sure she was there, alive.

Ginny didn't resist, insisting on staying close and that her whole body touched his, sinking the kiss and thinking that she could explode with happiness.

''Taking risks for me'' She commented as soon as they parted, smiling slyly ''How cute, Potter'' Squeezed his pink cheeks, adjusting the crooked glasses

''Dean whimpered all night almost a few days ago ... You are mean, Weasley ''

Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist

''Romilda won't be left behind, don't worry. She and Hestia have been filling my patience since the beginning of the year, apparently irritated by your lack of attention'' Harry laughed, green eyes swimming in a happiness that Ginny hadn't seen for a while ... well, maybe she never saw him laugh so much since Sirius' death. For a moment, she wanted to hug him, but that meant losing eye contact, and it didn't seem possible and right.

''Jealous?'' She denied

''You dream, right Potter, but no, just nauseated that with so many subjects to debate, they prefer to talk about what your perfume is, or, if your kiss is good .. ''

''..And is? Harry is shy then, looking intently at her, looking for some trace of a lie, while tightening her waist, blushing like a tomato

''I can lose half an hour with you'' She smiled, kissing him again only to feel all that explosion of hormones again, trying to hide, and failing, her enthusiasm. She was never feeling so happy.

And we'll move to an island, and And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor (hey!) Every love I've known in comparison is a failure (hey) I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now Never be the same now, now

''I think we stayed here longer than that, Gin'' He looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, delicately running a finger over her freckled cheek, and smiling in the corner when he saw her blush ''You are beautiful''

''Thank you'' She laughed awkwardly, touching his hair, which was soft and fragrant, perfect for hand-rubbing ''You're not bad at all ''

''I'm glad to know that I am within your standard of beauty'' She dropped to the grass beside him, turning her body so that she was facing him, holding her head with one hand, still leaving the other on his chest, who beat rhythmically

''Do you think they're talking about us?''

''Do you mind? Why, er ... people get into my life a lot'' Ginny would usually say that she hated having all the attention for herself, but something about how Harry said that, as if thinking much further, not just talking about gossip students, made her silly heart melt, while smiling and moving shoulders, before leaning down to kiss him again

''Worth it''.

Baby, let the games begin Let the games begin Let the games begin Are you ready for it?

#hinny #hinnyheadcanon #hinnyprompt #hinny au #harry X ginny #Harry Potter #harry potter and the half blood prince #hp hbp #missing moments #hinny missing moments #read-a-hinny-fic #hp fanfic #my fic #reputation

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

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THE WASTELAND - Chapter Four: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

a/n: Now we’re getting into some really deep worldbuilding shit, and even deeper magic. This chapter took me so long to perfect, continually questioning the viability of the magic and magic-teaching and the Atheneaum as a whole... hopefully it makes sense to everyone else!

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART)

Chapter Four on AO3

ART

– – –

“I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks.

Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Killy.”

If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day.

It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian is proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own.

The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship.

So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine Jewel of the Realm, whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold.

The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the Jewel of the Realm and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being.

The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite.

Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the King of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be seen by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does.

Finally, after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time.

“Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though slimy comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.”

He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again.

“Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone.

There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them.

When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?”

Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.”

It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?”

But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.”

Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious.

“He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.”

“I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area.

Liam whips around. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this feeling that he was one of them.”

“Killy, that’s insane.”

“I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.”

Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly.

“Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.”

Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.”

“That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This Neverland, I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.”

He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.”

“I’m just telling you what I read.”

Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?”

Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may think Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form.

The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car.

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself.

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind.

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building.

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us."

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you."

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place.

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council.

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels.

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here."

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is."

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina.

"Please, Regina, come in."

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland.

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.”

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize.

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale.

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why this is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.)

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside.

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all.

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away.

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help."

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair."

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the Magistra herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation.

And with that comes a new sense of fear.

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was her magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly.

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy.

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here.

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something.

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment."

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—"

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure."

“Has she tried it with other poisons?”

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—"

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it."

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation.

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?”

“What do you mean, strange reactions?”

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?”

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away. Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk.

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar."

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all.

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear.

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma.

"There's a prophecy," she says.

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?"

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?"

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding."

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me."

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets."

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not.

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?"

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine."

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?"

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask.

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes."

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina.

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious.

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes.

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?”

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—”

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.”

A Vis. She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but…

A Vis. The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them.

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.”

Emma has so many questions. How, mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae.

As a Vis.

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian.

Killian.

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute.

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?"

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love."

"You can't be serious."

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But true love? Is that — you can't mean —"

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?"

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so."

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before.

(She's not too fond of it, either.)

"What the hell does this even mean? That I can—what—true love's kiss the poison away?"

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows.

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that."

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is crazy. Absolutely insane."

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who can save him."

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with.

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat.

How long could that take?, she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she has to save Killian, she can't—

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion."

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?"

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you."

Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door.

And then there’s a thud on the inside, followed by the muffled “Bloody hell” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens.

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen.

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What did they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before?

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that.

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back.

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted.

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—”

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit."

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend.

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?"

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive."

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to: was anyone else killed when they came for me?

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—"

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder.

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.”

“So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich.

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles.

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to fly to Neverland.”

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all.

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table.

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.”

The room is silent for a minute, until:

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room.

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say.

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?”

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with The Jewel of the Realm, and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination."

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to fly. But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long.

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."

TAGS: @shireness-says @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiguanasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @killian-whump @officerrogers – want to be added or removed? let me know!

#my writing #captain swan #cs fics #cs ff #cssns #cssns 2020 #wordsbymeganmichael #slow burn #world building #fantasy #dystopia #kind of?#original world au

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mydarlingklaus · 4 years

Text

The Apology

Part 3 of the angsty “The Merge” arc is now updated! Highly anticipated reunion between Klaus and Lizzie. So glad you all have been enjoying these drabbles! Thank you for leaving all your reviews on my ff account, I appreciate it! You can find part 1 here and part 2 here! Enjoy :)

WARNING: Angst galore!

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

New Orleans, 2:45 AM

Klaus' elbows rested on the lengthy solid wood dining table as his interlocked fingers covered his trembling mouth and flared nostrils—eyes practically burning a hole through Lizzie's forehead who was sitting across the other side. Carefully watching as she ate the grilled cheese sandwich he prepared for her—raising children forced him to learn his way around the kitchen. After Klaus paid the cab driver and compelled him to forget arriving here and picking anyone up in the last two hours, he was too enraged to speak to Lizzie when she eventually brought her luggage inside. Figured making her a meal would ease his mind and rationalize his thoughts—it did not.

As she settled in Klaus called Alaric to inform him about Lizzie's whereabouts—of course Caroline was his first option but he was still feeling petty. The insufferable human speaking over him was irritating, especially when realizing they contacted each other just a few seconds apart. Josie and Hope were both heavily interrogated by Caroline and Alaric. Hope was clueless but eventually they were able to pull the truth out of Josie. The news broke Klaus' heart all over again, but he reassured Alaric that Lizzie was safe in New Orleans and would call back after talking with her first.

Her bites were small, awkwardly shifting her attention down at the plate and up at the man with dagger eyes. One cheek resembled a chipmunk's as she prolonged each chew in the hopes that Klaus would be the first to break the dead silence—no such luck. She knew Klaus was pissed, which was unusual towards her because he had never genuinely been upset with her in the past.

She gulped the food down her throat with a dramatic swallow before placing the remainder of the sandwich on the porcelain plate. Using the napkin on her lap to rid her mouth of crumbs, subtly clearing her throat.

"Um, thanks for the food by the way. I was starving." Lizzie extended her gratitude with a soft smile that fell when Klaus did not reciprocate.

The silent treatment was growing tiresome, along with Lizzie's patience.

"Did you call my mom?"

His stomach clenched at the reference, but he finally spoke. "I called your father, actually, at the exact same time he called me."

"Are you two wonder twins or something?" She half joked, but Klaus obviously was not amused causing her to clear her throat. "So this means they already knew I was here. Well Josie certainly knows how to keep a secret huh." She rolled her eyes.

"You're lucky she said something." Klaus blurted. "Everyone was worried about you, I was worried about you."

"And like I already told you, I'm fine. I made it here unharmed didn't I? You don't have to keep treating me like a child—"

"You are a child, Lizzie." Klaus' tone low and dark—dropping his hands onto the table but eyes of fury never leaving hers. "You're a beautiful and naive 17 year old girl who has lived in the bubble of a small town her whole life, and despite thinking you know everything about the dangers of the world, you don't."

"Klaus—"

"Anything could have happened to you, anything, do you understand?" His glare deepened.

She groaned while rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes I get that but—"

"There are no 'buts'!" He slammed his hand on table,frightening the teenage girl. "And obviously you don't get it otherwise you wouldn't have done something so...so selfish and irresponsible! How many times do I have to explain to you girls, just because you're a powerful witch in Mystic Falls does not make you invincible to the real world. Evil comes in all shapes and forms, you have no idea what to look for. People in this city know who you are and how important you are to me. Why do you think I'm so protective over you all whenever you visit? What if someone recognized you wandering this hectic city alone at this hour, with some vendetta thinking they have something to prove by..."

He wiped his hand over his face exasperatedly, inhaling and exhaling as he regrouped, hating when his mind wandered to the darkest of places. Since Caroline became a permanent part of his life Klaus not a day went by he wasn't terrified for her safety, even more with the twins. The nightmares he never told her about of his deepest fears. He's had to protect Hope her entire life from the dark forces insistent on taking her away from him, now his family was expanding and felt helpless to stop life from happening to them. They inherited a thousand years worth of enemies and he couldn't be there for all of them at once. Seeing Lizzie, alone, on his doorsteps was among the most haunting images he's ever seen.

The witch rubbed her lips together, blinking away the sheen covering her blue eyes for a better visual of his disgruntled expression. Klaus wasn't simply upset, he was scared—clear as day on his face. Klaus has always been overprotective since they were kids and barely knew each other. Sometimes he was extreme: like not allowing her and Sebastian to go on unsupervised dates, or her having to text him her every move if she went on a trip without him, or one of his hybrids watching over at her football games when Klaus was unable to attend. It was behavior she grew accustomed to, fighting that is who he is. She underestimated how triggered he would be about her traveling on her own—expected some fleeting harsh words but his silence hurt more. Never did she mean to harm or scare him in any way.

Placing her hands out in front of her on the table, Lizzie picked at the fabric on the sleeves of her sweater.

"I'm sorry, okay. I never meant to freak you out. I just thought...I thought you'd be happy to see me." She said defeated.

Klaus' eyebrows furrowed, offended she would think otherwise. "Of course I'm happy to see you. I'm always happy to see you, Lizzie you know that. But you can't do reckless things like this and expect me not to, 'freak out', as you say." The tension slightly dissipating with his soft smirk. "I always worry, every bloody day about you girls when you're together, never even entertaining you all being apart. You mean...everything to me, do you understand?"

Lizzie understandably nodded as Klaus left his seat to walk over to her. Pulling out the chair beside her he sat down, with an expression ranging from relieved and anxious on his face. His hand reached out to hold hers on the table—giving them both much needed comfort.

"However, running away from home without warning is not an excuse. There are more pressing matters we need to discuss now that you're safe and well like, how did you acquire a plane ticket so last minute in the first place. How did you know I was here?"

The young witch swallowed audibly, squeezing his hand.

"Um, I sorta, well definitely, called Uncle Kol and told him I was running away and needed to see you. He didn't want to say anything at first but after much precision he finally told me you were in New Orleans and bought a ticket for me."

"HE WHAT?!" Klaus' eyes bulged and fist balled as he let her hand go.

As if the situation could not be worse—of course Klaus' delinquent of a baby brother was involved!

Lizzie winced, leaning back against her chair. "This is the reason I was holding off telling you..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How dare he...and he knew I would never allow it. I am going to kill him, violently, and you be sure to tell him so during your next chat." He huffed. "Why were you running away anyways?"

"Same reason you did." She answered, making Klaus pause.

His glare and jaw softened as the realization settled in.

"You know..."

She nodded again, with shifty eyes and a blank face.

"And Josie?"

"Of course I told her. She's my sister. There's enough lies running around the boarding school and this effects both of us, remember?"

He knew, eventually, the twins would have to find out but didn't feel any better with them knowing before he had time to process it himself. How was he to console them about a matter he could barely grasp? The time away from Mystic Falls—from Caroline—did little to clear his mind because every second he thought about it the anger resurfaced.

Klaus let out a deep exhale scooting his chair closer to her and rubbing his hands together.

"Do you, um...do you want to talk about it?" He asked concerned.

She scoffed while crossing her arms. "About the fact that in a few years I'm either going to die or be forced to murder my sister, and my parents have been lying to me about it my whole life? Thanks but no thanks."

"We're going to have to talk about this eventually." He tried to reason with her but her refusal was as stubborn as a brick.

"Then I'll wait for eventually." She decided with a shrug.

"Lizzie—"

"I'm tired." She yawned covering her mouth. "It's been a long day and I can barely keep my eyes open so, can I just go to my room now please?"

- Say no, say no.

Klaus was such a weakling when it came to his daughters, specifically Lizzie. Her big blue eyes and pouty lip held so much innocence she reminded him of the little girl he once knew.

It has been a long night, for both of them. They could always talk in the morning when they're both refreshed and willing. Quite frankly Klaus wasn't too jazzed about discussing the matter further tonight either—as long as Lizzie knew it was something to discuss, soon.

Reluctantly, Klaus bit his tongue and conceded with an affirmative nod.

The young witch grinned, widely, jumping out her chair eagerly and picking up her plate.

"I'll dispose of it. Get some sleep." Klaus insisted with a weak smile.

She could see it on his face how badly this was eating at him, maybe more than her. But her mind and body were drained—from the devastating information of her fate to hitching a last minute solo trip to New Orleans. Last thing she wanted was more talking, even from Klaus—enough talking.

Placing the plate down, she muttered a low 'thank you' before walking towards the staircase and leaving Klaus alone with his conflicted thoughts.

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

9:10 AM

Breakfast in the Mikaelson manner was, awkward.

They all sat at the food-filled dining table together—Elijah and Hayley slowly sipped on coffee, Freya and Lizzie fawned over orange juice while Klaus nursed an alcoholic drink. Elijah discreetly tried to talk to talk to his brother about Lizzie's sudden arrival but Klaus didn't budge, nor did anyone outside of their immediate family need to know about this before they could tackle it themselves. Attempts at conversation were made in between fruit and pastry platters, but the trio were worried about stepping on anyone's toes which made everything more awkward. Klaus' irritability was written on his face, even for so early in the morning. The hybrid was running on two hours of sleep, barely capable of catching any slumber after Lizzie resides in her room for the night. He sat outside her door for about an hour before retreating downstairs to his study. He tried everything to keep his mind occupied: reading, sketching, brainstorming strategies for the next faction meeting but nothing worked.

Afraid if he closed his eyes he'd have another haunting nightmare; with Lizzie as the starring role.

Even reaching out to Caroline crossed his mind, once or twice. After finally turning his cellphone back on he played her voicemail over, and over again until it brought boredom—it never did. He missed her voice, the way she rambled when nervous and her smile that he could hear through the phone.

You give me comfort, and I could really use some of that right now.

So did he.

I miss you.

I'm sorry.

I need you.

He had to turn his phone off again just to fight the temptation. The tears already glossing his eyeballs as he contemplated throwing the bloody contraption in the lit fireplace. He hated feeling conflicted.

Despite how much he loved and missed her, nothing about the merge was simple nor fixable yet she kept it from him for years. Whatever her intentions Klaus was incapable of reasoning right now—not to mention the teenage runaway who sparked his blood just as much.

When his two siblings and Hayley finished their meals and left the mansion for an 'outing', he was left alone at the table with the stubborn teenager who appeared just as displeased.

"It's a bit early for bourbon, don't you think?" She sassed, flipping her blonde hair to the side while jamming her fork into a chocolate chip waffle.

Klaus knew those were her favorite.

"Let's just say, I've earned it." He raised a glass before downing the liquor in his throat then slamming it down on the table. "Are you enjoying breakfast?"

She nodded gleefully, pushing the empty fruit bowl away as the servant came around to dispose of dishes.

"You always have the best food, especially the waffles!" Lizzie praised before scarfing another piece into her mouth.

"I'm glad." He rewarded her with a soft grin, gesturing to the servant to scurry away until it was just him and his step-daughter. "Not to put a damper on a good morning but sweetheart, we really need to talk—"

"We should go into the Quarter today." Lizzie proposed.

His forehead creased and eyebrows pulled together at her blatant disregard for his request.

"What are you talking about?"

"Hayley...Auntie Hayley?" She raised a curious brow. "I'm still not really sure what I'm supposed to call her but, I overheard her talking about meetings you have coming up. I could totally audit some of them. I've been told I'm quite the stellar listener." She suggested, making Klaus more puzzled.

He sighed. "Lizzie—"

"Or," the smirking blonde witch rose from her chair, "we can ditch boring responsibilities and turn it into a fun day trip. Just me and you like old times. We can get some lunch at that Cajun restaurant you introduced me to on the last visit, before going to Jackson Square. I could really use a new painting for my room—"

"Lizzie stop." Klaus abruptly demanded, now standing at her level with an equally stern look.

The young girl's stretched smile deflated to a withdrawn frown. Her heart pounding cranky in her chest and her body went numb—unable to feel the over-pour of emotions hanging by a thread.

Cautiously, Klaus walked towards her and anxiously licking his reddened lips until he was across the room staring before her.

His loomed over her small figure intimidatingly, focusing his attention on her while hers was directed at their feet.

"I know you've been through quite a bit in the past 24 hours, more than anyone your age should endure." Klaus reasoned, reaching out to grab her shoulders comfortingly. "This is scary and surely you must have so many questions but we can't pretend this merge isn't real. We can't pretend it isn't happening because it is and we need to deal with how to move forward."

The girl laughed. "You mean like how my mom and dad 'dealt with it' by lying to me for the past 17 years? About how I'm destined to partake in a fatal duel of survival against my own twin sister?" She spat, looking up to expose her tearful eyes. "Or how you 'dealt with it' by running away from Mystic Falls the first chance you got instead of, I don't know, staying?!"

Klaus was perplexed as Lizzie wiggled out his grasp angrily and took a step back. Her cheeks a fiery red and small hands balled into even smaller fists. She was shaking but Klaus knew better than to approach her right now.

"Three days in your little blissful New Orleans bubble and just forgot about your family huh? You don't write, you don't call. What, you're allowed leave the problem like it doesn't exist but I can't?"

Her anger was manifesting, he could feel it.

He swallowed audibly. "That-that's more complicated—"

She screamed—more like a sharp screech like nails on a chalkboard—stunning Klaus. Her hands pulled at her hair unruly.

"Why, why is everything so damn complicated with this family! Complicated this or complicated that." She threw her hands up. "Why is that always the excuse used for none of us taking responsibility for the messed up things we do? No it's not complicated, it's actually simple. Just admit it, Klaus. Be the good man you want us to think you are...and admit it."

"You're upset, I understand—"

"Stop telling me what I am!" She groaned. "Or how I feel. I'm so tired of everyone doing that. You never did before. Just...just admit it..."

Klaus' own body began to tremble, but not out of anger.

"Admit what?" He asked warily.

"You left me, Klaus you left me!"

Her screams now accompanied with her thrashing the wooden cabinets of the dining room. The glass shield, along with the multiple place settings, now a scattered pile of pieces on the carpet. Telepathically knocking over every chair until the legs individually broke off, and shattering the lights above until they blacked out

Klaus' mouth opened and closed, completely astonished at her horrifically violent actions.

"Bloody hell!" He yelled, tugging at his hair. "Lizzie, what in the—"

"You said I could always depend on you except, when I actually needed you!" Throwing another plate into the wall.

He visibly swallowed. "Lizzie..."

"Don't come near me!" The witch sharply commanded when Klaus attempted to step forward, snatching a knife off the table in a haste.

His undead heart dropped into the pit of his stomach and face drained of color. The lump bobbed in his throat, wondering how they got here and how quickly could he deescalate the situation before venturing off to worse case scenarios. If he lunged at her there would be no chance.

Seeing no other option, he stayed in place holding his hands up to demonstrate his surrender but eyes never leaving the weapon in her small hand.

"Sweetheart, please..."

"You—you were the only person I wanted to talk to about this. Not Hope, not even Josie but you!" She exclaimed through clenched teeth, waving the sharp object aimlessly. "I just found out the most devastating news anyone could ever hear for their future. Do you know how that feels, to have your life taken from you like that, hm? I was the most terrified and angry I've ever been, and so confused. I needed you but—but you weren't there." Her sobs uncontrollable as she shook her head side to side frantically, the knife still in one hand—blade facing away—as she brought both up to cover her ears. Eyes pinched shut and face a deep cherry red.

Klaus stayed silent, not wanting to trigger her any more than she already was and cause more damage.

"You weren't there. I cried out for you, called your phone religiously all three days...but you never answered. You just left, without even saying goodbye. You left me alone. You didn't protect me..."

Correction: this was the most haunting image he's ever seen.

He stood there like a deer in headlights and an agonizing ache in his core.

The emotional thread finally snapped, and there was no saving from the rapture. When Lizzie wasn't scratching at her face and hair, she was throwing more furniture in sight and belted louder cries before helplessly falling to the ground—knees hitting first.

You didn't protect me...

Klaus experienced Lizzie's episodes before, recalling their intimate conversations where she confessed the amount of times she contemplated taking her own life. The dark thoughts she never went through with, but nonetheless scared herself to even let her mind go there in the first place. Klaus never told Caroline about the things Lizzie confided in him about, and he never would, but seeing her with that knife was cutting too close to home for his comfort.

He thought he was capable of handling her emotional mishaps, but this was a blend of pent up betrayal and fear that he had zero control over. So blinded by his own turmoil all he cared about was leaving the situation as quickly as possible, barely giving a thought to the people he was leaving behind. Not thinking, if he was going through he ringer like this imagine the twins. Knowing how Lizzie felt—how she's been feeling—and him being among the ones that hurt her made him physically sick.

What a coward, he thought, to abandon his family when they needed him the most? Caring for his then was all he cared about now, but already proving he was still capable of being a selfish prick with them. Failing at the only job that mattered—being a good father.

No more.

Rushing to her side, Klaus kicked the knife out her hand first then crouched down to cradle his incredibly strong but struggling daughter in his protective arms. Pulling her against him until she felt nothing but his warmth. Her hands stayed on her side, not embracing him fully, but Klaus was just relieved that she was allowing the hug at all.

Her tears staining his gray Henley as she buried her face into his calming embrace—the whimpers and screams muffled by his shield. Klaus caressed her hair and kissed the top of her head repeatedly, whispering reassuring words that she was safe as her cries continued to unfold. He wanted her to know she could be as vulnerable as needed, no holding back or saving face for anyone. For 1000 years Klaus suppressed his emotions to appear 'strong' and 'unbothered' but it only crippled him as the years went on—until Caroline—and even then took longer to understand what those feelings meant.

The huffing and puffing didn't let up the longer he held her—chest heavy and heaving.

Klaus gasped at the feel of her wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing. Her death grip pierced into the fabric of his shirt as she healed onto him for dear life, never wanting to let him go. Each passing thought about the merge made her cry more.

Lizzie didn't plan on the outburst, not realizing how much she was hurting until the words began to spew. Her lungs felt shot , throat swollen and dry from the heavy cries and overflowing tears. Deep down this was the reason for her insistent denial. Discussing the matter meant it was real, and she wanted to hold onto the bliss a little while longer with the person who has made her feel the safest.

A few moments went by before Lizzie began to feel lighter and her breathing began to balance out. Her cries subtly ceased as she pulled her face from his chest. Lips plump and parted while observing the disaster she created—broken plates and glasses shattered on the floor and against the walls. Cabinet of silverware broken and chandelier barely hanging on. The shame began to overtake for not controlling her temper after working so hard towards not being an emotional wreck. As if all the progress she made was suddenly irrelevant. Hanging her head low until Klaus cradled her face in his hands, surprised to see his sunken reddened eyes matched hers.

In all the years of knowing Klaus she's never seen him cry, or any heavy emotion. He's been sad, sure, but nothing compared the bloodshot gaze directed towards her.

- Either he is the quietest crier to ever exist or I'm more self absorbed than I thought.

His thumbs swept across the skin underneath her eyes to rid them of the lingering tears, rewarding her with a sweet grin from his shaky lips. Even he was thrown off by his own wave of tears but...Klaus had a short list of people he actually cared about and seeing any of them in distress rubbed off on him.

Felt like 20 pounds had been lifted off both their chests, despite what brought them to this point.

"I'm sorry." Klaus said, his voice raspy.

Lizzie's sucked in her bottom lip, nodding her head.

"Klaus..."

He sniffled, giving her his full attention.

"I—Klaus—I don't want to die." She stammered, her throat beginning to tighten.

The hybrid nearly lost it, again. His eyes widened and mouth agape.

I don't want to die.

One of the first sentences Caroline ever said to him.

When he knew her strength before even knowing her—the baby vampire with the will to live. Who did not beg the powerful hybrid towering over her limp body for mercy, the way she didn't beg but decided to fight. How he could so easily see the same spark in their daughter's eyes...even if she didn't notice it herself.

Wiping away the remaining tears from her pretty face, Klaus nodded his head.

"I know."

Was all he could say, for now. Not even the miraculous Klaus Mikaelson wanted to give her false hope.

The exhaustion weighed down her eyes but she kept them open best she could, still holding onto Klaus but not as aggressively. Coming down from the emotional high took a greater toll than anticipated and felt if she tried to stand she'd fall over.

They were both mentally drained after confronting the realization of their mutual fear: losing each other.

Kissing her on the head again, Klaus lingered there a little longer and closed his eyes just to appreciate her—very much alive—presence. He didn't even have it in himself to be upset anymore, not even after the stunt she just pulled.

"Klaus, um, I said some bad things to my mom. Actually they were pretty horrific, and I don't think I can take any of that back." She sniffled staring up at him with regret. "How am I supposed to face her again? There's no way she'll forgive me."

He smiled. "There's no one with more forgiving bones in their body than your mother. The amount of chances she's given to people who don't deserve it, how many she's given me...you're her her daughter and she loves you more than life. There's nothing you can do that's unforgivable in her eyes."

"But—"

"You underestimate a mother's love, once upon a time so did I." The corner of his lips quirked up. "She understands you were angry and won't hold any of it against you, I assure you, though she might have some words about you running away which is valid."

They softly laughed. Lizzie bit down on her bottom lip.

"Do you still love her, my mom? Even after everything?" She timidly asked.

"Of course I do." He answered effortlessly, clearly making the girl happy.

"Good. Are you ready to forgive her?"

Klaus hummed, pressing his lips together with a sigh through his nose.

"You must be tired. Come on, I'll walk you up to your room." He said instead.

Lizzie decided not to pester further, mainly because she was in the same boat on how she felt towards Caroline or Alaric.

She allowed Klaus to help her onto her feet, making sure she was unharmed and stable enough to walk on her own. Granting him a sad but reassuring smile which was more than enough as he led her upstairs to lay down.

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

Mystic Falls, 9:30 PM

"Caroline, I never said I'm blaming you." Alaric tried convincing the pacing baby vampire.

"Our daughter ran away from home after talking with me, don't lie to me, because if the roles were reversed I would blame you." She claimed, still walking back and forth in their kitchen.

"It's not like we're running around like headless chickens anymore. We know exactly where Lizzie is and we know she's safe. Klaus would never let anything happen to her."

He was right, she knew he was but...that void remained open.

No word from Klaus or Lizzie all day, not even a simple text of when she planned to return. As badly as Caroline wanted to harass them, she rationalized—or rather Alaric talked her down—and agreed to give Lizzie time to cool off first. She was rightfully upset with both of them and needed space. The saving grace was knowing where she was and that she was safe, and also being aware of Klaus' well being. Why wasn't New Orleans her first guess?

"You need to calm down, here." Alaric calmly offered her a drink.

Caroline crossed her arms, turning her head to face him not realizing he was now beside her with two glasses of scotch in his hands. She reluctantly grabbed one before leaning against the countertop, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head.

"She hates me, they both do." Sipping on the bitter drink.

"They do not hate you—"

"You didn't see how they looked at me, or hear the things Lizzie said to me, and I deserved it."

"No." Alaric walked over to where she stood. 'This is on both of us. Mainly me because I knew even before you did. We both made an agreement about not telling the girls about the merge, we chose to handle it on our own."

"Then why I am I the only one feeling guilty?" She asked before downing the rest of her drink.

Alaric sighed. "I do feel guilty, Caroline, everyday I felt it too. You're a good person and exceptional mother and that comes with a heavy heart. You care about the people you love even if it means you get the short end of the stick. I really am sorry Klaus found out the way he did. It was never my plan to be the one to tell him."

"I know." She said.

"But it doesn't make up for anything." He realized. " I do hope Lizzie and Klaus return soon so we can finally talk as a family."

Caroline's eyebrows shot up amusedly. "Did I hear that incorrectly or did you just refer to Klaus as part of the family?"

He chuckled. "As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I wish otherwise, you love him and so do our girls. Our clan keeps expanding and I would never be able to explain how twisted all of it is. But my personal feelings aside, he's your family which means to an extent he matters to me as well."

Not that Alaric's opinions on her relationship with Klaus ever made a difference, but this was a permanent arrangement. Caroline knew Alaric and Klaus were not friends and probably never would be, but at least being cordial and accepting of one another meant even more.

She weakly smiled, resting her hand over his on the kitchen counter. "Thank you."

Alaric returned the smile and the ringing of the doorbell immediately followed.

The two looked at each other confusingly, knowing neither were expecting any guests for the night and Josie and Hope were in their respective rooms.

Caroline waited as Alaric walked out the kitchen and towards the front door, too noses to stay in place she poked her head out to sneak a glance. The door was opened but Alaric's body was blocking who he was standing in front of him.

Moving closer, she noticed four pairs of feet and one were covered by black combat boots and the other was embraced by Alaric wearing sparkling white high top converse tennis shoes.

- They're here?!

Caroline was flashing forward before her mind could fully process her own speculations, which were proven to be true. Realizing her gasp louder than anticipated when it made all three of them turn to face her.

Instantly making eye contact with Lizzie—blue on blue—saddled and remorseful.

The young witch left Alaric's side and timidly approached her mother, twisting her lips with her hands anxiously grabbing at the straps of her backpack.

"Hi mom..."

Caroline exhaled a breath she unintentionally held before reaching out and pulling her daughter into her arms for the momma bear hug they both needed.

Lizzie felt overwhelmed with the affection, from both her mother and Klaus, but accepted wholeheartedly. Flaunting a close-lipped smile as she hugged her back just as intensely.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again, do you understand me?" Caroline softly demanded into her blonde curls.

Lizzie frantically nodded and hugged tighter, underestimating how much she craved her mother's touch. With a final sniffle, Caroline finally released her with a lingering smile, kissing her on the forehead before stepping to the side so she could walk inside with Alaric—leaving her alone with the hybrid. Suddenly the nerves settled in with the blank look he flashed towards her.

Three and a half days since she last seen him and nothing changed besides her amplified feelings.

Klaus remained outside on the cold porch while she was inside standing between the threshold of the door. Caroline hated not knowing where she stood with people, and Klaus' unreadable face did nothing to subside that annoyance.

- Maybe he's still upset?

She wanted to run into his arms the moment they're alone but, what if things have changed for the worst? What if he brought Lizzie back but is planning on leaving Caroline? What if he didn't forgive her?

She nervously gulped when he finally stepped more into the light—as handsome and imperfect as ever—his straight lips curved into a full smirk.

"Hello love."

Caroline's lips struggled to form a smile in between her relieved blubbering. She covered her mouth, embarrassed by her reaction from a simple 'hello'.

"You came back..." She managed to say, tucking one of her curls behind her ear.

Klaus' smirk only widened, decreasing the gap between them until they were only inches apart with him still standing outside the door.

Having him so close but so far was the most cruel act he could do to her. Those three and a half days felt like an eternity. Where she realized her life was no longer complete without him. He had taken her—body and soul—all those years ago when he swooshed into her life and she swore a long time ago she was done denying it.

Distance was not an option anymore. She missed him, god did she miss him, and his dimpled smile and masculine presence. If he wanted to stop her he could but all she cared about was embracing the return of the man she loved.

In a blink of an eye Caroline's body was colliding with his, face buried into his shoulder and arms securely around his neck as the tears already began streaming down her cheeks.

Affection, comfort and nurture were new concepts for Klaus who unfortunately had no experience of his own growing up. Not think he would ever be granted the opportunity to extend those feelings to others, let alone have people in his life he cared about enough.

Initially taken aback, Klaus completed the hug by encircling her waist and pulling her against his firm chest subconsciously. Inhaling her warm scent, hair and presence as if for the first time. He could feel her tears staining his shirt but it didn't matter, nothing mattered besides the woman in his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She pleaded between broken sobs as she gripped onto him tighter.

"Shh, love...it's all right." He tried reassuring her, rubbing her back up and down soothingly but he felt her shaking her head.

"No, it's not." Her voice unwavering as she pulled away enough to look up at him.

Her eyes puffy and tired compared to their usual vibrant form—breaking Klaus' cold dead heart more than he thought was possible.

Klaus let out a low breath as her eyes bored deeply into his, demonstrating the severity of her plea, she continued to explain herself.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I'm sorry for not telling you from the beginning. It was never my intent to keep anything from you."

"I know—"

"Please, let me finish." Caroline interrupted and Klaus obliged. "First of all, the twins are your daughters as much as mine and I'm sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. For someone who is constantly being reminded they're biologically not mine and having to deal with judgmental gossipers, I should have known better. I wasn't thinking. Even if it wasn't my intent to hurt you I still said it, and I'm sorry."

Klaus understandably nodded. It was as if she knew that particular section of their fight cut the deepest.

"Secondly, I was scared. I've been scared about the merge since Alaric first explained it to me and when I get scared I tend to turn people away. It's what I did to you, and them. I'm so used to making all the decisions regarding all of this because it was the only bit of control I had. Then circumstances changed when you came back into my life the way you did. I never expected us to become what we are, or you loving the girls as much as you do but there's nothing I wanted more. Our relationship is means everything to me. I'm so grateful to have you in our lives. I love you so much and I'm so—"

His lips molded against hers before she could muster another apology, desperate and commanding as her mouth opened to him from the pressure—succumbing to the warmth of his wet tongue. Pulling at each other mercilessly.

There was obviously more they needed to discuss—starting with proper discipline for their delinquent child—and solutions to theorize but neither of them could find it in themselves to care right now. After being away from each other for what felt like a lifetime the longing for one another only increased.

Caroline raised her fingers into his hair, standing on her tippy toes while lightly tugging at the light curls on the back of his neck. Venturing up to trace his scalp as she pressed his face more against hers—if that was even possible. Needing him, inhaling all he had to give. His talented tongue drew out soft whimpers from her lips before aiming for another passionate kiss to explain without words how much he missed her too.

His determined hands traveled from her face to squeezing her sides and caressing her silk covered back, bringing her closer in the most demanding but loving way. Tasting the teardrops that fell down her rosy cheeks and combined with their interlocked lips. Klaus almost felt ridiculous fore leaving in the first place, no matter how angry he was, but the distance made his love for her grow stronger. Rationalizing his thoughts instead of lashing out—progress.

She was more than apologetic, he felt it with through every kiss and tug. His anger was warranted, but deep down he knew Caroline was coming from a good place because he knew her heart. Nothing about this was easy on anyone and that was the reality they had to face, as a family. Being with Caroline now, holding and kissing her on the porch where any Mystic Falls resident or student could see, was the insight he needed. All he wanted to do was take her inside and never leave their bed. To shower her with love and affection to make up for lost time—forget about the bad shit just for a night.

Following that train of thought, Klaus' hands now rested dangerously on her hips, suggestively, their lips still moving together in perfect rhythm as he blindly lead them backwards and closing the door behind them with his foot.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #my writing #klaus x caroline #klaroline shippers club #lizzie saltzman-forbes mikaelson

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maeve-of-winter · 6 years

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Can you please stop acting like you care about Midge? Honestly she was a swet girl who didn't deserve to die or anything bad yeah but the truth is that she was a tertiary character at most who had like no development at all and no reason for people to actually care whether her boyfriend hoops up with someone or not after her death... If you think it's bad writing and prefers Joaquin with Kevin that's fair, but just say that instead of pushing this "Wow they're doing Midge dirty" narrative.

Anon, you do realize that some of us care about misogyny and how female characters are treated, right? I mean, I realize that Kevin/Moose shippers don’t since Midge being killed means you get your ship of choice with the icky woman out of the way for good, but there are people out there who are concerned with how the female characters in Riverdale are represented.

Here’s the thing: until Midge died, I actually did ship Kevin/Moose (seriously, if you scroll back far enough in the “Kevoose” tag, you’ll see my posts), along with a whole bunch of other Kevin ships. It was not until she died and the show began using her death in a very specific, ugly way to motivate male characters that I turned again Kevin/Moose. I ship Joavin now by default.

What happened to Midge is a classic example of “women in refrigerators” AKA “fridging.” Fridging is when a female character is killed off, raped, or otherwise injured to provide motivation to a male character, because while women’s suffering is supposed to be tragic, it’s also not intended by these writers to be their own. It’s meant to about how it affects and wounds the men, because women themselves often aren’t viewed as important enough to have storylines of their own, or to even have agency. And it is very, very rarely reversed with men being hurt to motivate women.

My deepest annoyance with Midge’s death is that it is not her own. I understand that she needed to be one of the Black Hood’s victims to drive the plot, but I’m still annoyed that she got used as a shock death. But if her death had people focusing on who she was and how much they will miss her, then fine. Instead, we just get a bunch of people and the show unironically using Midge as a motivating tool. Cheryl seems like she could care less about Midge herself being dead and more that a Vixen is dead, and inexplicably throws in with the Lodges, people whom she previously protested against and people her girlfriend is against for trying to take her home from her. To Reggie and Moose, Midge’s death drive their vendetta against the Southside and then ignite further conflict between the Northside and the Southside. To Fangs and, indirectly, Jughead, Midge’s death is a reason for them to angst, but not because she died and they’ll miss her, but because of the way her death is shaping up to affect them.

It’s not uncommon that a woman’s death is treated as motivation for the characters of a story, but it’s still a lazy, tired trope to use. Especially with how Reggie instantly charges out to fight the Southsiders when he realizes Midge was dating one of them in a scene filled with “How dare you touch one of our women!” vibes, even though they’d only been showing interacting once onscreen before. This is one dude who has no reason to feel motivated by this woman’s death, since he was barely shown to know her. And yet, somehow he’s driven to attempt to murder Fangs because he’s so upset at the idea of Midge’s death? It makes no sense whatsoever and can only be a classic case of “woman dies to motivate man.” (Yes, I know Reggie was in love with Midge in the comics, but the show is not the comics, and if Reggie was in love with Midge, they needed to establish that in the show.)

Also, another aspect I’m annoyed with is how they retconned Midge into cheating on Moose with Fangs. I honestly do believe they did this to make it more acceptable that Moose was cheating on her so that the audience will ignore that he was kind of an ass to her when she was alive and simply feel sorry for the guy with the dead girlfriend. I also think they’re going to try to use it to make it okay for him to date Kevin so soon after Midge died, but it doesn’t take away from how badly Moose has treated Kevin in the past. People can headcanon all they want about Moose and Midge having an open relationship, but from what we saw, Moose lied about Midge knowing about him and Kevin and tried to trick Kevin into thinking it would be okay if they started up another fling together, and Kevin was upset about it.

As a final note, I really do feel like the show did do Midge dirty. In a season where most of our main characters were continually acting like assholes or being astoundingly self-absorbed but the show didn’t realize how bad they were, Midge’s genuine kindness toward Kevin felt wonderfully refreshing. At last, we were onscreen with someone who cared about someone other than themselves! And then she was brutally murdered. I can’t help but think that’s something of a metaphor for Riverdale’s second season: people who act like assholes and do asshole things are rewarded for them and the show doesn’t realize that they are assholes, while characters who do seem genuinely nice are slaughtered offscreen. If only Midge had become a teen mobster and decided to unite with Archie and Veronica in making people homeless--I’m sure the show would have spared her then.

And before you response with “Well, perfect characters are boring! Characters should be allowed to make mistakes!” 1) There is a huge difference between the characters being completely unflawed and constantly being an asshole with no sign of development, and 2) there is a huge difference between a story that realizes its characters are assholes and a story that doesn’t. Riverdale doesn’t. It wants us to accept that the main characters are good and it wants us to root for them simply because these are our main characters. It continually shows our main characters (especially Archie and Veronica) being horrible people, but it does not ever acknowledge when they’re being horrible, or they portray it as understandable or inconsequential.

I can accept a story that’s about flawed characters struggling with what’s right or making bad choices as long as the narrative understands that they are flawed. What I resent is when I’m asked to accept characters as good people when they do bad things over and over and over, with no sign of stopping, no sign of regret, and no sign of development. And that is what Riverdale has been asking me to do this season with various characters. Midge was a character they didn’t do that with--she was just nice, plain and simple. So yeah, I’m going to be upset when one of the few likable characters this season dies. Especially when her death is used to try to make us feel sorry for her jackass boyfriend who cheated on her when she was alive, tried to manipulate a lonely gay kid he knew was interested in him into unknowingly cheating with him, and whose response to her death was to go out and target poor people.

#Kevin keller #moose mason #midge klump #kevoose #Riverdale #Anonymous

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slowlyandrogynousmiracle · 7 years

Text

Great Black Sails Article

My favorite parts:

Q: So Long John Silver makes himself liked in early Season two with the morning report. But he also makes a statement when he walks in the bar and causes the scene in Season three. He is obviously pushing for some power himself, but he also doesn’t know that Billy is also, at the same time, pushing him as well. How do you think that is going to work?

Luke: It’s really a big part of Silver’s story at the beginning, because there is a little bit of a time gap between seasons. In that time, Silver started to hear about this nickname that’s been given to him. That Billy’s bequeathed to him–that he didn’t get a say in.

I think it’s a conflicting thing for him in some way; it’s nice to suddenly find yourself pushed to that level of importance in that world. But, for a guy who was always so independent, who did everything on his terms, there is a little bit of like, “Hang on, why does Billy think he can now start deciding my fate, without me having a say in it.” So it’s a bit of a conflicted thing that he’s definitely struggling with at beginning. I’d say it’s very quickly overridden by bigger concerns.

Q: So Billy Bones is one of the few characters that has an ending that was told in Treasure Island. Black Sails for him, in particular, has really been his backstory. In Treasure Island, Billy is terrified of Long John Silver. Where we left him off in Season three, he’s creating the Silver myth. Can you tell us a little bit about Billy’s relationship/dichotomy with John? It’s very different from what he has with Flint, which is much more antagonistic.

Tom: So I think with Silver, you have to go back to season two, when he first realizes that he isn’t really meant to be quartermaster, so he chooses Silver over himself, and says, “You’re the better man for the job.” Then there is all of season three, where he sees Silver smash in Dufrane’s head–if you look at what Billy is doing, he’s always watching him. What I like about Billy, he’s always taking in everything–and what he creates when he has this moment thinking, who’s going to be this pirate king.

I think it’s partly the fact that he wants to draw people away from Flint, because he thinks Silver would do better–and I think he has a personal vendetta against him. He’s never really gotten over everything to do with Gates, and how Flint was shooting men left, right, and center in season three. I think Billy and Silver are friends, for one, but he also feels that Silver is someone that has this persona and that is energy around him. It’s almost like an image of a monstrous character inside your head, but the fact that he is just a guy with one leg–but it’s what he holds inside of him that is so powerful. For Billy, I think it’s just about him knowing that John has something more powerful than what Flint is.

It’s an interesting point about the relationships with Billy–does he even have any sexual organs, maybe not. I think that he actually has a lot of deep-set issues. With what happened with him, after he was taken from his parents, he is tragic in a lot of ways. What is quite heartbreaking about the whole thing is that he really gives a shit about the men around him. They’re his family. When he sees them get shot for no reason by Flint, that breaks his heart. It destroys him inside. I don’t want to say too much, but that is why it matters so much. He has all of these things that are eating away at him. I find it quite sad to watch; he has all this goodness inside of him, and he’s always trying to do the right thing. Billy has never been selfish, and he believes in always trying to do the right thing for the men around him. He is so loyal to his pirate oath, and I feel like that is just gradually getting broken down.

Q: Were there any characters or historical figures that you would have liked to included in the show, but didn’t get the chance to?

Shotz: I think Season 4 was an exercise in cleaning those all up. There were a few coming out of season 3 that as we looked in the cupboard to see what was still left there, there were some faces that I would have not felt great about leaving them out of the show. So without spoiling anything the people we wanted to put in the show are in the show now. Some of them are historical, some of them are Treasure Island canon characters and some of them are characters from our canon who are connected to people within the show that we’ve created that have been talked about and played a significant role but have never been in front of the camera. So I think the show started with those three trunks (book, history, and us), and that is what we are ending with–all three of those having their last curtain call.

Q: One of the things my readers really appreciate about the show is the fact that there are a wide range of characters, especially LGBTQ characters. We have Bonnie, Max, and Flint. What was it like, incorporating those storylines? Was it an organic decision?

Shotz: It was not agenda driven. The story, in it’s in its deepest DNA is a story about people who stepped outside the social norms of the place they were born into. I think as part of the exercise of wanting to tell a story of who they are–it’s meaningless unless you understand who they think they are. You can’t tell that story without telling a story about their sexual identity, and their coming to terms with things that would have been very difficult for them to understand or engage with when they were living in London or when they were living in civilized society. But they can in pirate society. Anne Bonnie’s story in season two especially was one of the more gratifying stories we were able to pull off. It’s about a woman realizing she isn’t who she thought she was, and season three is about finding a measure of comfort in that. I think season four for her was about figuring out if it was going to work with the person she thinks it’s going to work with.

http://whennerdsattack.com/2017/01/28/ready-for-season-4-of-starz-black-sails-read-our-interviews-with-the-cast-producers/

#Black Sails #silver x madi

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alldenspa · 7 years

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Voices From The Hedge - Chapter 21

What will I do once I finished posting the chapters..? Will my online life still have a reason?

Voices From The Hedge is an original novel by Alldenspa. If you’re unfamiliar with this project, I would be very happy if you checked out my information post about it HERE! It’s a story about magic and nerds, so if you’re into that, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!

Chapter 21 - The Real Djoutunhaim

They found themselves within a huge room at the foot of a series of polished stairs leading up to the opposite wall, where elevated on a podium a large desk and armchair, surrounded by numerous drawers and cabinets, stood overlooking the nightly cityscape through a window that spanned the whole width of the office. To the sides, eerily illuminated abstract sculptures were on display within small aisles branching off from each of the levels of the stairway, forming a line of stone effigies pointing diagonally upward towards the top level of the room. The ceiling converged into a tip high above them, and below the roof a ring of connected balconies looked down to the agents like silent watchmen. Thick lengths of fabric in dark colors hanging from the balconies threw their shadows across the stairway from both sides, backlighted by the shimmer from behind the sculptures. The polished marble of the floor was filled with thin gold lines that could well have been a giant spell circle, and the creaking of the heavy wooden door after Intergard’s tackle echoed back from the ceiling and the platform at the other end of the office in a ghastly way. There was no attack. No bolts of lightning dashing down from the balconies, no ambushers jumping out from behind the sculptures. The whole office lay silently in front of them. Eos and Ienge, artefacts ready, exchanged a confused look. “Cover me while I get the documents,” said Intergard and took the first stair, but hesitated, and after a moment signaled the other agents to stop. Searching the dark balconies above for any sign of the two Insurance agents she had pursued earlier, she pulled back her sleeve and touched one of the spell circles on her rough skin. A faint white haze travelled across the whole length of the room, but revealed no invisible objects of any kind. Still suspicious, Intergard sent out Release and Cancel spells as well, convinced that there had to be some sort of defense mechanism in place. She was just about to turn to her colleagues with a confirming nod, when a sudden noise echoing down from the platform ahead made her stop dead in her tracks. She jerked back around and pulled out an artefact from her jacket, a faint spark of lightning already jumping from her fingertip and hitting the ground with a quiet fizzle. Above on the platform in front of the large window, the armchair started to turn. Slowly, the man sitting in it came into sight — A charming smile on his face and clothed in an elegant business jacket similar to what Eos had already seen on the airship, Djoutunhaim leant back with a sigh and wordlessly smiled down to the agents at the other end of the office. Intergard hissed, adjusting her stance while next to her the Professor took a step forward. Djoutunhaim opened his mouth to speak, but Intergard was quicker. With a large motion of her arm, she sent a powerful bolt up towards the handsome man, but to the agents’ shock the bolt bounced back in mid-air only a few steps in front of Intergard, dashing down again and hitting the polished floor at the very spot where she had stood just a moment earlier before dodging to the side with an alarmed expression. A faint shimmer travelled through the air from one side of the large hall to the other, like a reflection on an invisible surface dividing the room. Intergard hissed again. “Demonwall,” she whispered through her teeth as she searched the walls for any sign of a spell circle. But there wasn’t one, and without knowledge of where the circle was, a Demonwall was impossible to release from inside. “Oh, my dear Intergard,” came Djoutunhaim’s voice from above. Backlighted by the lights of the nightly city, it was hard to see his figure in the black armchair. “Always so intense, so powerful.” A sudden sound from the side made the agents jump up — To the left, somebody stepped out of the shadows between the heavy lengths of cloth, his blue hair quickly revealing him to be Chou. At the same moment to the right, a cloaked figure jumped down from the balcony and landed in front of one of the sculptures half-way to the top of the platform. The slim body indicated a woman, and she was carrying a polished sword on her back. That had to be Hatzat, the assassin that had worked with them on their earlier rescue mission, thought Eos. He stumbled back as the mysterious figure drew her weapon, but a strong arm caught him from behind. “Don’t panic, Keros,” said the Professor as Eos regained his balance, “As long as we’re in here, they can’t touch us any more than we can touch them.” Of course, Eos knew this — Still, being served on a polished platter (literally) to one of the most powerful men on the continent had an eerie touch. Although at present they seemed to be at the numbers advantage, once the Demonwall disappeared the agents really were sitting ducks for any attack. “The trick is up, Djoutunhaim!” yelled Intergard across the room, “We found Sarc, your little disguise game is at an end!” Djoutunhaim nodded slowly in the shadow of his armchair. “I understand,” he replied quietly, and Eos couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “In that case I’d like to introduce you — officially.” He gestured with his hand, and from behind one of the sculptures on the left side, a massive figure appeared. With large steps that echoed across the office, the unknown stranger crossed the hall and took position in front of the Demonwall directly opposed to Intergard. Only now Eos could see that the large silhouette was indeed that of Intergard herself, a virtually perfect copy of the woman standing right next to him. It was as if a mirror spanning the width of the room was reflecting her image back at them. “I see, I cannot fool your intellect, Madam,” continued Djoutunhaim, slowly rising from the armchair and walking down towards them, “Why don’t you elaborate a bit more on what you think I did to annoy you?” Intergard let out a dismissive huff. “We don’t need to explain ourselves to you, Djoutunhaim!” she yelled, rushing forward and slamming her fist against the shimmering Demonwall. The sound of it rattled the office, but the spell took no damage. “Indeed you don’t,” said Djoutunhaim gently after taking the last few steps down to where the invisible barrier divided the room. He was now standing right in front of Intergard, the thin layer of magic being the only thing keeping his face unharmed by her massive fist. The Professor stepped forward. “Why do this?” he asked calmly, “Why go through all this trouble to keep your mole? Just for information to sell away to the highest bidder?” Djoutunhaim raised his eyebrows as he turned to Ubtra. “No,” he said plainly, “Actually I just want to destroy you.” He said this as if it was the most reasonable thing, as if he was explaining the weather or talking to a child about something completely normal. “Well, not you as people, of course,” he added quickly, gesturing with his hands apologetically as a reaction to the agents’ startled faces, “Your company. I can’t stand it!” He turned to the shapeshifter next to him, who now looked exactly like Liberty, long coat included. “Naturally, inside intel is very profitable as well,” he continued as in front of him the image of Liberty transformed, shrinking, until to Eos shock the small figure of Emerald in her wheelchair appeared silently in front of them, looking up at Djoutunhaim with a frightened shiver. “So it’s just a personal vendetta?” barked Intergard. Djoutunhaim looked up, slightly confused as if he had been unexpectedly interrupted. “Well, yes,” he replied with a quick nod, “The people you call ‘Central’ haven’t done anything to me directly, but they are indeed evil and they’re blocking the way of my company, so I intend to kill them.” Intergard’s face contorted in a disgusted expression, moving even closer to the transparent shimmer that separated them. “Just you wait until we get through here, I will annihilate you,” she whispered through her gritted teeth, “Malice warrants retribution, but the deepest circle of hell is reserved for greed!” Djoutunhaim turned away with a snicker. “Shout all you want, Intergard, but the truth is that I have won.” He threw a quick glance onto his wristwatch. “In not more than ten minutes, my agent will sneak up on Emerald and Liberty to kill them in their sleep. Enster and Heaven’s Hand will be next, and since you’re all here, there is nothing you can do to stop it.” He turned back to the agents below with a menacing grin and gestured towards the door. “You can make your retreat right now, if you want — But we all know that you won’t be there in time.” Eos shuddered. Was this even possible? Could Djoutunhaim have anticipated all this in advance? No way. A moving shadow behind a sculpture to the right made the agents turn around, and one moment later a familiar figure in a long rough cloak stepped out of the shadows. It was Orlun Sibrodi. “I trust you already know each other?” said Djoutunhaim playfully as Sibrodi approached the group, exchanging tense stares with Eos and Ienge as he passed. “You defected again?” snapped the Professor, almost annoyed, but the old man on the other side of the Demonwall only let out a chuckle. “My allegiance was never with Kengnatz,” he replied with a nod to Djoutunhaim, “Why simply desert when you can double it and play both sides?” So that was the truth, though Eos. Kengnatz had never been behind any of the traitors, it had all been the Social Insurance pulling the strings from the very start. “Then I suppose it was you who sold our hideout plans to Lephon!” shouted Intergard, her voice so sharp it could have cut straight through Djoutunhaim’s perfectly ironed shirt. “That’s right,” replied the Insurance leader with a casual gesture of his hand, “All part of my grand design to put all the blame on greedy Kengnatz. You see, it’s rather easy if you have that many tools at your disposal.” “But hold on,” interrupted Ienge, who had just noticed something, “If Sibrodi was working for you all along, then why did Chou save us when we were attacked by him on the airship? Did you order to deflect your own attack?” Djoutunhaim, who had been slowly walking up the stairs to his armchair again, stopped and turned around, raising a finger with a smile. “In fact, yes,” he said, returning to the Demonwall, “Naturally I could have had you four killed, but then again you didn’t seem very important to the agency at the time. You still aren’t! So I took the opportunity to stage a fake rescue to get to know you better.” “…And by that convince us that you were a nice and honest man,” added Eos. Djoutunhaim nodded proudly, almost like a child. “Simply another piece in my scheme of Who-Would-Ever-Blame-Djoutunhaim. To be honest, I did the exact same thing for a second time when I sent my agents to assist you in your raid for Enster and had Fake-Sarc duel dear Mister Keros, just to be saved by a miraculous appearance of Chou, again? How you people did not think that was fishy is completely beyond me,” he said, giggling. Intergard spit on the floor. “Or remember that one time when I sent Oredchimegdi’s location to H-E through an anonymous tip to provoke them into rescuing him, just so that afterwards when you all came crawling to get Ankuro’s brother back, I could send Fake-Sarc over to play with Emerald’s mind? Wild times, but so funny! The thing with the Reflect spell was an unfortunate mistake, but I didn’t have to worry — After all, I was never in danger since you were so very convinced that Sarc was working for Kengnatz after he so blatantly deserted to them at the White Cave. Or, maybe I should say: After my infiltrator Glen deserted to them.” There was a shocked pause. Everything seemed to make sense all of a sudden. Djoutunhaim rushed up to the Demonwall with a snicker, his face now so close to Intergard’s that they could have felt each other’s breath if not for the magical barrier between them. “It was me, Intergard,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with pride, “From the very start it was all me.” Intergard roared, but the Insurance leader moved no muscle at the sight. He stood in front of the Demonwall silently like a visitor at a zoo watching the lions roar. “But how did you know which flight we were on?” asked Eos, now finally posing a question that should have bothered him from the start. Djoutunhaim smiled silently as he turned to the boy. There was a short pause, and the Professor and Intergard exchanged a worried look that Eos had a hard time interpreting. “Now you’re finally onto something, young one,” said Djoutunhaim, “Funny how none of your legendary superiors thought of that earlier, wouldn’t you say?” A few seconds passed without anybody speaking. Intergard was looking over her shoulder to Eos, whose thoughts were dashing back and forth in his head as he tried to understand how anyone could have gotten hold of their flight time. Because after all, they hadn’t told anyone, and Osrakey had given them their tickets in private, had he not?

And then it hit him. Osrakey had not. Indeed, had there not been a certain someone passing through the narrow corridor in front of Eos’ room at the Erkom hideout just as Osrakey had handed him the ticket, squeezing through between the two of them to get to the stairway, all while playing pure-and-honest with a cheerful greeting on his lips while he secured that lethal piece of intel for Djoutunhaim in the shadows? No way… Eos couldn’t believe it. “That’s right,” said Djoutunhaim lovingly as he saw the startled expression on Eos’ face, almost proud of him. “The name of my friend at the agency is… Sarb Rekkar.”

For a moment, there was silence in the large office. Intergard’s eyes quickly went over to Eos, then Djoutunhaim, then Sibrodi, reflecting how her mind was processing the news. Ienge turned to his friend, but Eos just nodded. He should have known. Leit should have known — They had thought about it all so much, and with only a tiny bit more logical thinking from their side, all this could have been averted. The Professor opened his mouth to speak, but all of a sudden, a sharp yell from high above on one of the balconies echoed down to them, and Eos immediately knew whose voice it was. “Release!” A bright flash illuminated the ceiling of the hall, and Eos could spot two familiar faces leaning over a balcony to the right: The ‘heavily delayed’ Team Two, Agents Igsher and Shichal. The light flooding out of Leit’s hand quickly reached the group standing below on the polished floor, and with a sound of shattering glass the Demonwall exploded into glittering pieces that hovered in the air for a short moment before disintegrating into countless glowing particles that reflected in Djoutunhaim’s startled eyes. Intergard grinned. “And now, for payback!”

#in case you were waiting for the grand battle #ayyy #voices from the hedge #so #about djoutunhaim #yeah #well he's a handful #I suppose #original writing #my constructed world

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kindabraveandlittlestupid · 6 years

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Its been almost two years and I am still a bit bewildered by the outcome of the 2016 election. Not the fact that Trump has taken over the Conservative Party (that was a long downhill trend that's existed for years) but rather the fact that so many Christian voters not only endorsed his candidacy but continue to support it despite all the evidence to show he is as far from the Christian Faith as he could possibly be.

I know some might want to disqualify me from this conversation most because I have stepped away from the Church. I was a Christian years ago and a part of me still carries that aspect of Jesus where Compassion, Love, and Sacrifice were the cornerstones of being a good person. I still very much apply that to my philosophy and lifestyle but the element of organized religion has left a sour taste in my mouth. Consistently seeing churches align themselves with nationalistic beliefs, avarice and populist anger worries me. There was in fact too many inconsistencies with the faith where we were told to love everyone without condition but more often than not the religious leaders would have their admonitions against women seeking health services, people practicing safe sex, the LGBTQ community and people of other faiths. So, in other words, it wasn't Christianity the faith that pushed me away and made me no longer believe, it was the Christians themselves who seemed to comfortably wade into these dark emotions and make it part of their politics.

So this article we will be exploring the Catholic concept of the Seven Deadly Sins and how they apply to Donald Trump (I am sure some of you are making some distinct connections already). I will talk about the concept of sin towards the end and how we are all subject to it (if you believe in sins, to begin with), the concept of forgiveness (which I spoke of before) and lastly a nod to the few churches in America that do believe in those values of Love, Compassion and Sacrifice and how they should be celebrated for being the outliers that still carry some semblance of decency.

“I like money. I’m very greedy. I’m a greedy person. I shouldn’t tell you that, I’m a greedy – I’ve always been greedy. I love money, right? “ - DT

I was undecided which of the sins he dwelled in the most, the truth is he seemed comfortable in all 7 but the 2 that seemed to define his character the most was Greed or Pride. I feel as though Trump could never happy without being remembered nor do I think he would care to be remembered without being rich. I suspect between the two it was Greed that started to push him down the darker path so we will focus on his wealth first.

The concept of Greed never really fit well into Christian beliefs, in fact, Jesus detested the wealthy believe those who kept wealth to themselves would find no easy entry to heaven. They coveted their possessions and tethered themselves to their riches and refused to give those up to be closer to god. Jesus himself says “Dear children, it is very hard to enter the Kingdom of God. In fact, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God!”

Despite this message being so clear in the bible Donald Trump with his estimated worth of 400 million is still considered a godly man by the Christian community, in fact, he plays well the audience of the Prosperity Gospel who believes that wealthy men are endowed directly by God for their wealth. These are the same churches and preachers who ask their congregation to buy them multiple private jets and large personal properties to eventually receive their own personal wealth after giving to the ‘church’. What is disturbing the most is how many people seem to believe that this would be true despite Christ's literal words contradicting that message and how many devout followers fall into financial ruin while attempt to obtain this magical nirvana of wealth for Christians.

The fact is Trump has consistently put wealth before anything declaring bankruptcies multiple times and making financial withdraw from Russian banks to continue his ‘golden’ lifestyle he becomes accustomed too. This is the first and most prominent sin but don’t worry he makes strong cases for the others.

“Nobody’s ever been more successful than me.” - DT

Pride is nothing new for Donald Trump but it is most certainly his second (or perhaps first) deepest sin. The man literally brands his names to dozens of products and splashes it across his buildings in big gold letters. Some might claim this is brand recognition which are the same poor fools who associate Trumps name with success despite the evidence that most of his products fail (save golf courses) and once again the multiple bankruptcies that followed the man around.

I suppose we can give him some credit for managing to weather all the failures so well. I am sure people find that endearing quality and if he remained a businessman I might have been happy to let him dwell merrily in his field but stepping into the realm of politics when he fails in office we all suffer the consequences of his pride.

“Nobody is better on humility than me.” - DT

“If he says great things about me, I’m going to say great things about him.” - DT on Putin

Perhaps the third reason Trump entered the political realm is not that of Pride alone but also because of Envy as well. This trend started with a younger man who seemed to have come out of nowhere and not only caught the admiration of the nation but seemed to install a spirit of hope among the people, Barak Obama. Trump has since had a vendetta against the former President to try to remove any policy, regulation, or law that Obama put forward in his two terms. While Trump in the past seemed to have some liberal views any essence of progressive policies he might have moderately displayed in the 80′s and 90′s has been replaced with vitriol and hate for our first Black President and Liberals in general.

It shouldn't surprise anyone that he would hate Obama, Trump has been trying to get in the public good graces for years hanging out with celebrities, throwing parties, appearing in movies and making commercials but a lifetime of panhandling for Trump was achieved by Obama in just a few short years. Donny was the odd man out and he took his anger out on Obama leading the charge of the birther movement and sending ‘investigators’ to Hawaii to undermine the former Presidents credibility.

I suppose the second element of Envy that we should talk about isn't how he was jealous in a negative way (Obama) but how he is jealous of dictators around the world who can simply do what they want. This is probably even more concerning than his Pride or Greed or other sins (save Wrath). He has turned coldly against long-standing allies and now openly praises China, North Korea, Russia, the Philipines, Turkey and Egypt where men have seized power and transcended the rule of law becoming literal Dictators. The admiration and envy the President has shown for these men and expressing how he wishes he could be President for life, thinking about suspending elections like them, attacking the Press and the Courts all scream budding fascist but still free American Christians remain loyal to his doctrine.

“Knock the crap out of him, would you? I promise you, I will pay your legal fees.” - DT

The first thing that should be said is no one should ever be afraid of Donald Trump in a fight. Small hands and a sluggish body, a single strike to the chest would likely dislodge a piece of plaque in his heart causing him to die right there. We already saw him run from military service with ‘bone spurs’ and whenever he advocates violence is when no one can reach him and having someone else doing the fighting for him. So, in other words, the man is a huge coward.

On the other hand, Trump has influence, influence over his constituents and they are often willing to do as he asks. This is where cowardice hides best, letting other people fight his battles for him. Within his staff he lets other explain his mistakes for him. In regards to the police, he openly encouraged them to rough up suspects. In regards to the military, he is inclined to provide them with more and more funds as the state department remains depleted of diplomats.

The fact is Trump does tap into wrath lashing out at anyone who does not fall into line with his doctrine. We have seen the high turnover rate of the White House of people who tried to influence him or advice him but his Pride won't allow it and so out the door, they go. This sin scares me the most because I think one day he might actually greenlight a real conflict with someone... calling soldiers to the borders to keep Central/South Americans out, attacking North Korea first (despite their budding romance) or attack someone else sending young men and women to die not because of National Security or some moral high ideal but because his pride was damaged and the armed forces to him is a tool to swing when he doesn't get respect.

“You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful—I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy." - DT

Probably the most well-accounted issue with Donald Trump is blatant disregard for women. While Greed and Pride are the primary motivators that drive him, this is where he often reaps his rewards with a fair amount of collateral damage for his Lust. He has referred to females as pieces of ass, suggested women manipulative, said he would eventually marry a 12-year-old girl and would walk into changing rooms at beauty pageants because no one could stop him.

This is the same man who left two wives before moving onto his third and cheating on her too. He also joked about how he would love to date his daughter only we all know really he isn't joking, he would totally fuck Ivanka if he could get away with it. The fact is he is in a position where he can deny any wrongdoing and can use his ample wealth to pay them (the women) off or bury cases in the courtroom. There is no justice to stop him from molesting or assaulting women where ever he goes and to be frank I would not be surprised if he does it in the oval office with some poor intern.

“Can you believe that, with all of the problems and difficulties facing the U.S., President Obama spent the day playing golf. Worse than Carter.” - DT

Trump has hit a unique milestone having spent 22% of his time in office at his golf courses and single-handedly beat the number of times Obama was on the course in 8 years (36 times), just in 2 years with over 60 trips to the green. This is a low hanging fruit though as we all seen the pictures of the President's giant white ass golfing while we pay his expenses with our collective taxes.

The real Sloth kicks in at the Whitehouse with his work day. He spends the early morning (9 AM to 11AM) with what he calls Executive Time where watches TV, Eats, Tweets, and Shits before he reaches his first intelligence briefing which he heard hardly holds his attention unless there are pictures, bullet points and his name inserted into the briefings. Just about 12pm he has an hour-long lunch (usually McDonald's) and proceeds into another hour and half of executive time IE Tweeting, TV, Shitting and probably eating some more. Before doing some light work and then retiring to his room and watching more Fox News where he live tweets policies as he watches the shows.

Now, this is an account of his average day at the White House when he ISNT at his golf course and doesn't have some truck parked by the White House for him to sit in and act like he is driving. This is the 6th major sin and somehow Christians are not running for the hills and seeking better conservative candidates to support their values.

“I think the food is good. I think all of those places, Burger King, McDonald’s, I can live with it” - DT

We end off on Gluttony, I leave this one at the bottom because of the 7 sins its the only one that really doesn't affect us, it just his slow self-destruction from the inside of his gut (or heart) out. I imagine of all the things he has done this one simply makes him look the most relatable, he eats like most Americans do. Hell, even I make a late night stop at Jack in the Box or McDonald's even though I shouldn't. I guess what is most unsettling is how often he seems to be consuming McDonald's and the other fast food chains. On the road he ate KFC, Mickey D's, Pizza and Diet Coke ALL THE TIME, I don't think I can humanly do that. I don't think any of us can possibly do that without saying “Maybe today a Jamba Juice or Salad or just fucking water” but not Donald Trump.

So let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say the campaign trail is a hard place to make a proper meal but it didn't stop at the end of the election. He has a special button now for a coke being delivered to the Oval Office, he now has a cheeseburger before bedtime, he regularly orders chocolate cake from the White Houses kitchen and of course his Envy/Greed/Pride kicks in and whenever he has guests he has three scoops of ice cream while they are served one. I am not even sure why that pisses me off so much but it just shows how much of a douchebag he is that he makes sure he has more than everyone else in the fucking room.

“He knew what he signed up for.” - DT on LaDavid T. Johnson

So Trump seems to embody literally all the sins in one human being, another achievement for the current President to put on his gravestone. “Sin. No one was better than me at doing them all.” I suspect if I was saying this to Trump supporter they would say something along the lines “We are all sinners, we all give into one of these at one time or another.” Which I would say yes, absolutely which is why we believe in the concept of forgiveness but forgiveness is a two-part exercise, on one hand, we need to be open and willing to forgive people as good human beings, while on the other side a person needs to seek forgiveness and express remorse for those sins. This is where Donald Trump fails and so do his Christian supporters who suggest we should forgive him for his past/current/future transgressions but I don’t think we should. No, not without remorse, reflection, and change coming from him for indulging in those sins. Trump is happy living in sin, he exercises them all daily with his lifestyle and these religious organizations seem to overlook this major character flaws in his morality for short-term political goals. This is where the moral fabric is tearing in society the most, where good people lend themselves to a man who sees’s them as a stepping stone for his own glory and they worship him for it.

I would feel remiss if I didn’t mention that no all churches follow Trump. There are a fair amount of churches that do not see him as someone noble or ethical and choose not to follow him. These churches, however, are the minority and outliers in the Christian Community and we should ask them to be the voices of descent to cripple the choke hold Trump has not only on the GOP but the religion of Christ itself. They should be denouncing him daily for his actions and if you know a church that doesn't support Trump then support them to raise their voice and make them sound like thunder so that those who have sold their souls or lost their way know they have fallen. Lord knows I am sounding preachy here at the end but I wanted to make it clear that there are good churches still and we should not bully them into acting because they have been meek in their response but rather support them and uplifting them higher than the mega-churches that have sold their souls to the Doctrine of Trump.

With Regards, Michael California

#Donald Trump #Politics #Religion #Seven Deadly Sins

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