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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Note

prompt idea for sam/steve/bucky

sharing clothes :)

All Caps, my love (this was so fun to work on because it really highlighted how differently I write them when Steve is involved)

Set in the same universe as You Don't Have to Read My Mind (to know what I have in mind) which means Nico and Hattie make a return and silver fox Commander Rogers is around

Read on AO3!

The Other Be Other

It was Nico who noticed it first, so he didn’t say jack to anyone. Well, not right away. It took him three days to break and scoot his desk chair into Hattie’s cubicle. “Hey, did you see Barnes the other day?” he asked.

Hattie’s eyelids actually fluttered. “Fuck, he looked so good,” she said. “And smelt good too.”

Nico scrunched up his nose. “He smelled like fried fish. Anyway, did you see that shirt he was wearing?”

He let Hattie think. Let her mentally redress him. “It was that blue fishing shirt, wasn’t it? Over a white t-shit. He had it open.”

“Yeah. It was a blue shirt with darker blue sharks on it,” Nico said.

“You pay a lot of attention to him. Hey, if you’re into Barnes, I’m not backing down. You’ll have to fight me for him,” she teased.

Nico blushed furiously and then willed it away because he didn’t want to explain why he was blushing or let Hattie think he was blushing because he had a crush on Barnes. “No, that’s not what I meant. Wilson was wearing the same shirt two weeks ago when he came in to file the newest report on Walker.”

Now Hattie scrunched up her nose. “Fuck that guy,” she said and Nico almost laughed.

“I would’ve thought he was your type.”

“As if,” she said. “So what? Barnes and Wilson have the same shirt.” Nico cut her an unimpressed look. “You think Barnes and Wilson are wearing the same shirt,” she clarified.

“Listen, everyone already knows Barnes wears Wilson’s Air Force hoodie,” Nico said.

“Someone said it was the new Falcon’s.”

“It’s not Joaquin’s,” Nico said quickly. Too quickly. Horrifyingly quickly.

“Oh my God, do you like the new Falcon?” Hattie asked.

“We’re not talking about the new Falcon,” Nico said. “We’re talking about Wilson and Barnes.”

“Barnes and Wilson,” Hattie corrected.

“Wilson is Captain America. He comes first.”

“You think so?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Nico blushed so hard he thought he might actually spring a fever.

* * *

“Why are you wearing that, Barnes?” Sam asked from the driver’s side of the car.

“What, you don’t like it?” Bucky asked, tossing his duffel bag into the backseat and climbing into the passenger side. “You left it in the dryer. It was the first thing I grabbed.”

“Grab your own clothes,” Sam said.

“Damn, you’re about to have Steve go down on you, can you lighten up?” Bucky snorted. “You’re high strung.” He leaned over to kiss Sam sweetly and then tried not to laugh when Sam turned it all sorts of filthy. “Save it for Steve, tiger,” he teased. “He whined all night last night about missing you and you not bein’ around to get on the phone with him.”

“He’s been up there for a week,” Sam said as he rolled his eyes. Sam had also kind of been kicking himself for managing to miss the call last night, though. It was probably why he was so grouchy this morning. “Four more hours,” he added.

“I have to swing by HQ and drop off our reports for this mission,” Bucky reminded him.

“Right, you have to do that. I’ll drop your ass off and go get my man.”

“Hey, he was mine first,” Bucky said.

“So I’ve got time to make up for.”

Bucky shoved Sam’s shoulder and got a reaming about car safety even though they were barely on the road yet.

* * *

It happened again a week later. Wilson and Barnes had been in and out of the office, always so, so, so loud. There was always an argument to be had, always a fight to pick with Fury, always something embarrassing to say about Commander Rogers. Nico couldn’t figure out why they spent so much time around the office. Rogers worked in a whole different building and Fury wanted nothing to do with either of them, as far as he could tell.

But there they were at 11 AM, complaining that it wasn’t lunch yet. At 3 in the afternoon, tempting people to leave early. At 9, right after official-opening, with coffee for everyone but Fury, who wasn’t around to see their joke anyway.

There was Sam at two in the afternoon, wearing a leather jacket that was so out of place in the middle of DC in the dead of summer in the heat of the afternoon. Nico could sweat just looking out the window. But, Sam looked really, really good in the jacket, so Nico couldn’t fault him for suffering through the heat to wear it.

Damn, maybe it was a Falcon thing with him.

And maybe Nico did watch Sam a little closely. Maybe he kept his eyes on Sam’s back while he leaned on a cubicle wall that was not strong enough to support him and all that muscle. Maybe he stared at his smooth skin and the way the jacket pulled over his shoulders and--

There was stitching around the arm of the jacket. Nico blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, but there was definitely blue thread holding the arm of the jacket to the rest of it.

And actually now that he was looking at the jacket and not Sam Wilson, he recognized the pattern on it, the weird ribbing down the sides, the golden buckles on the back to adjust the waist. He’d seen that jacket before. On the news. Several months ago, he’d had to pour over news footage of a Serpent Society...attack? fight? because Barnes had been part of it and his dumb report had said, I know there’s video footage of this. That’s my statement. So Nico had needed to put together a fucking highlights reel of Barnes’ action to file the report.

He’d gotten in trouble for it too.

He pulled the file up on his computer and watched the footage for a second to make sure it was the same jacket. And it was, except Barnes had ripped the sleeve off of his to show his metal arm. The left arm. The arm resewn onto this jacket.

The video suddenly cut into sound, making Nico jump. Sam Wilson looked over at him, at the footage on the computer and Barnes flipping over cars to avoid gunfire in that jacket. He reached over to shut the player off on Nico’s computer. “You work too hard, kid,” he said. “Barnes is never gonna give you a day off if you don’t take it.”

“Ha, how’d you know he’s always stuck...I mean, assigned Sergeant Barnes’ reports?” Hattie asked.

Sam shot Nico a knowing look and Nico panicked, thinking Sam knew that Nico knew about more than the $100 on his desk and a missing file. But that was impossible. It was just because of the note and bribery.

Bribery from Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Jesus, what was his life?

* * *

“This was a eight hundred dollar jacket,” Steve scolded. The irritation on his face, coupled with his silver hair and those damn broad shoulders, was doing all sorts of things to Sam that Sam didn’t want to analyze too deeply. He mostly wanted to sit back and snicker at Bucky getting in trouble.

“I’m just gonna rip that arm off again,” Bucky said boredly, one leg tucked under him on the couch where he was lounging, the other thrown over Steve’s back. “Why blue thread?” he asked eventually.

“To shame you into not doing this shit again,” Sam said.

“Color theory,” Steve answered.

“There’s no color theory to using royal blue thread in a black jacket. It’s not even navy,” Bucky said.

“You wanna do it?” Steve asked.

“Obviously not. Can name a lot of other things I do want to do though.”

Steve threw the jacket at Bucky’s face instead of answering. Sam jumped up to snag it before Bucky could toss it across the room.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky lilted up at him, turning bright blue eyes towards him from the arm of the couch. Sam reached out to stroke his thumb over Bucky’s jaw and then down his arched neck.

“Gonna wear it ‘til it stops smelling like the two of you,” he said. And then gasped and dropped the jacket as Steve was suddenly right on top of him, pressing him to the wall and kissing down his neck.

“Damn, I’ve gotta tear more shit up more often if this is what it gets me,” Bucky hummed and did something with a zipper and his metal hand that Sam could guess at but did not want to tear his eyes away from Steve to confirm.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Hattie breathed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.

To read the reports from the heroes was one thing. Nico had read about so many bones sticking through skin that the image had started to lose its gruesomeness. He’d never been in a firefight and he’d only been a baby during the Battle of New York and during the Triskelion event in DC a few years after. Sure, he’d been around for the Blip, had struggled through five years without half the population, and then struggled through the next years after everyone reappeared, but that wasn’t the same kind of trauma as this. And he’d still only been a kid. He didn’t know what was going on then.

Now, watching from every screen in the room and occasionally out the window, he knew he was watching something terrible. He didn’t personally know any of the heroes, but it felt like watching friends being beaten and knocked down.

“Was that Hawkeye?” someone asked.

“No, that was a girl.”

“Who’s wearing Captain Marvel’s star?”

“Oh God, Spiderman just fell.”

“Wait, the new Falcon caught him.”

“Is the Hulk still fighting that thing in the ground?”

“Yeah, Thor’s still knocked out too.”

“Where’s Captain America?”

Nico pinched his arm until Hattie reached for his hand to stop him. Suddenly, a flash of red, white, and blue crashed onto a roof, drawing the attention of whatever mystic hell demon was leading the fire and brimstone charge on downtown DC.

“Oh, shit, hell yeah, Sam Wilson!” someone cheered and then everyone groaned when some lizard-like-thing knocked Sam flying with a spiked tail to the midsection.

“Wait,” Hattie said, mostly to Nico. “That’s not Sam.”

And, yeah, that was an understatement. It wasn’t his outfit and even the cowl couldn’t hide that it was a white guy under all those stars and stripes.

“Fuck, is Walker really gonna try it?” Hattie asked.

“It’s not Walker,” Nico said. “Walker doesn’t have access to the Falcon wings. Or the original Cap suit.”

Not-Wilson, Not-Walker, Not-Captain-America struggled to his feet, holding his arm around his ribs, to face the demon thing. A news drone flew closer so the coverage could pick up on the creature rasping and snarling out words.

“Captain America, you’re the one we’re looking for,” it growled.

“Yeah,” Not-Cap said, nodding his head tiredly. “That’s what I heard.”

“Oh my God,” Hattie breathed again.

“It’s Barnes,” Nico confirmed. Wearing a sleeve and glove, clean shaven, in the red, white, and blue. In the wings.

“Is he...is he acting like...bait or something? If that thing wants Cap…”

Nico shook his head. “No, not bait. He’s a red herring. He’s distracting it for Sam.”

“We want a pure soul. A fine example to be made.” The creature’s voice suddenly changed, along with its face, talons growing from its hands, a tail curling against the roof they were on. “The righteous ones make the best sounds when we flay them.”

Barnes grimaced. “You’re gonna be really disappointed in the sounds mine makes then,” he said. In a blink, he had a gun drawn from an invisible holster and shot the creature. It howled and writhed and smoke rose from boiling lesions on its body. Something splashed back on the drone and almost immediately, the drone went out of service.

On another screen, another news source, another camera, the lizard that had attacked Barnes earlier scrambled across the roof towards him again and Bucky went flying back, literally. The wings lifted him into the air, but not quickly enough. The lizard leapt up too, caught claws in Bucky’s leg and scored gashes down his thigh and calf as it fell away and then tried to climb back up. Bucky shot at it with the same gun he’d shot the demon with but it had less effect. He kicked at the lizard’s head with his good leg and urged the wings to take him higher. Again, the lizard scored down his leg and Bucky was obviously in pain as he tried to kick it free again. Eventually he must have hit a soft spot and the thing fell off, taking chunks of uniform and God knows what else with it.

This camera was too far away to pick up any words, but Nico saw Bucky’s hand go to his ear, to a comm. Then he was flying back down to the same roof. Another drone swooped in and everyone moved to the screen broadcasting that channel.

“Humans are messy creatures,” Barnes said to the struggling figure on the roof. It shifted again, acid and fluids and skin staying behind on the roof as it turned into something with feathers. “I don’t think you’ll be impressed with many of our souls. They’re all fucked up in one way or another.” He blinked tears and sweat out of his eyes and Nico wondered how badly he wanted to take the cowl off. He hated having his face covered. It was one thing he did manage to write in his reports.

“You’re a liar,” the creature said.

“You’re not the first to call me that,” Barnes agreed. “Definitely the ugliest though.”

“You’re a child playing dress up. You’re not Captain America.”

“Nah, they gave the job to the more good looking guy,” Bucky agreed and took the gun out again.

Nico wasn’t sure if he took a step to get closer or if his messed up leg finally gave out, but in the split second that he had to readjust, another animal demon, something catlike and long, lunged at him, at his arm, and sent him sprawling onto the roof.

“Bucky!” someone in the room cried as the demon towered over him, lifted itself on oily wings, talons like swords pointed to Bucky’s body as he tried to crawl away on a bad leg and bad arm.

And then something even darker crashed into the demon mid-air. The Winter Soldier? That wasn’t possible. Bucky was on the ground. But there was that silver arm, the heavy black tactical gear, holsters in every size and shape. That fucking mask that Nico wanted to burn himself the longer he read Bucky’s reports.

“That’s Sam!” Hattie shouted and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her other hand tightened in Nico’s and they both stepped closer to each other. Sam grappled with the demon in flight. He was far nimbler on the wings, more dexterous and faster. He had something silver in his hand, a blade of some kind. Occasionally it glowed and it was the only way Nico could tell the demon and Sam apart, to find an end to the black wings and find Sam’s stealth wings, to make sure Sam was still in one piece.

The blade glowed as it made contact with the demon’s midsection and Sam wrenched it all the way up its body. Ichor and acid spilled onto the roof and now Nico’s hand tightened in Hattie’s as the news drone panned down quickly to watch the blood fall. To watch Joaquin pull Bucky out of the way, using the Falcon wings as covering as he did so.

The drone refocused on Sam, who had the stealth wings driven into either side of the demon’s neck, another weapon in his hand, something beaming and sharp. Redwing appeared directly in front of the drone before Sam made contact with the demon. The body fell out of frame in a split second and then Redwing was gone too.

Sam just about crashed down to the roof. There was blood running the length of his face and a swollen eye, scratches down his weapons arm. The kevlar was torn apart, but he seemed to be in one piece. He ripped the mask off of his face, jaw and mouth protected, no broken bones or loose hinges, yanked away the silver cast he’d had on his left arm, and there were no injuries on that side either.

Demonic creatures squealed and writhed where they’d been, decaying into blood and ash and stone. One was too close to Joaquin and Bucky, but it stopped too, claws just short of Joaquin’s jetpack.

Sam was running over to them before the wings could even retract fully. He skidded to his knees by Bucky’s body, lifted him up, held him close with an arm around his back, the other hand going to the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky reached for Sam’s arm with his human hand, covered in blood, bones sticking out of his forearm, elbow smashed visibly. Still, he put his hand on Sam’s arm, tried to squeeze it.

Sam brought their foreheads together.

* * *

“Stop moving,” Steve said. Normally, he would have snapped it. Reminiscent of a thousand bad nights in their apartment in the thirties. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll upset your lungs. Stop moving, Stevie, those knuckles are never gonna heal. Stop moving, Stevie, you’ll press your cold toes against my leg again.

He reached over for the water cup Bucky wanted and helped him drink it slowly. When Bucky started to cough, Sam jolted awake on his other side. “What’s happening?” he asked, blinking blearily and scratching at the gauze over his eye.

“Bucky never learned how to swallow,” Steve said.

All three of them took in a breath to make a joke but none of them actually said it outloud. It felt too wrong. The air was still too raw. Everything about them was still raw.

Raw. Flayed.

Steve turned and retched into the sink on the other side of the room. A moment later, Sam’s hand found his back and gently rubbed between his shoulder blades. He was using the left hand, Steve figured. There were no bandages rubbing on Steve’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said for the millionth time in the twenty hours since the fight. “I should have never sent you out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “There were a dozen other heroes out there. Most of them kids. We weren’t gonna sit around and do nothing.”

“I told you to make the sacrifice play. I told you to fight through it.” When Sam dropped something over his shoulders, something warm and smelling of disinfectant but also Sam’s cologne, he curled his fingers in it and hide his face against it.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ve never been hurt before,” Bucky agreed. “Get over here, you dope,” he said and patted the bed with his metal arm.

Steve and Sam went back to the bed. There was enough room for Steve to sit with one leg kicked down the bed and the other resting over the edge, on the floor. Sam carefully sat on his lap like Steve had been the one in the fight. Like Steve might be hurt. Steve hugged his arms around Sam’s midsection and rested his cheek on the back of Sam’s shoulder, wrapped Sam’s blanket around him too.

“You know,” Sam said and then had to reach for the water himself. Sulfur was hell on the throat as it turned out. “You looked damn good in that outfit, Barnes,” he tried again. “But don’t go getting any ideas about changing your name.”

Bucky laughed, soft and a little pained, metal arm going around his ribs again. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “I’m banging fifty percent of all Captains America. If I took on the mantle, I’d skew my own numbers.”

Steve tsked on his other side and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair gently. “Behave, Barnes.”

“I’m sure there’s some sort of toy out there that’s supposed to emulate the Winter Soldier,” Sam said. “You could probably technicality your way out of it. Plus your own fingers,” he pointed out. “Then you’d be up to sixty percent.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed and turned his eyes Heavenward. “Neither one of you would’ve done the job for what that thing wanted,” he said.

“Wow, Rogers, was that a joke about our near-death experience?” Bucky asked. But he couldn’t keep the faux outrage up. He grinned and reached for Steve’s hand against Sam’s thigh.

Steve kissed Sam’s shoulder and then brought Bucky’s knuckles to his mouth. “I’m so fucking happy you’re both okay,” he whispered softly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened.”

“Nothing did, Steve,” Sam said, turning to catch Steve’s lips on his. “You had a solid plan and we executed it like you said we would. We’re a good team.” He kissed him again and then reached over to rub his thumb along Bucky’s wrist so he didn’t feel too left out.

“Besides, if anything did happen, you’d become the first American to have to go to hell to get his lovers out. It’s normally a Greek thing, I think,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated and so, so, so lucky in love.

* * *

“Do you think...they’re in trouble?” Hattie ventured, staring at the locked office door that they’d all been barred from coming near when Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers had walked in two hours earlier.

It had been three weeks since the Spawning, as people around the office, and literally no one else, was calling it. In that time, Nico had seen neither hide nor hair of any of them, or even really Fury. All of their projects had been granted stays of deadline and Nico had even been invited into a committee to sort through the reports of the Spawning. Mostly because Wilson and Barnes were both involved and that was basically only his M.O. now.

He hadn’t seen Fury call Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers in. Granted, they weren’t in their normal office space. The committee had actually been moved to Commander Rogers’ building. He’d been the commanding officer of the mission to take down the Spawning, so it was just easier to stay at his beck-and-call.

“It’s not Rogers’ office, is it?” Hattie asked.

Nico flipped another pencil into the ceiling. “No. His is a big corner office with all the windows.”

Hattie stood on her chair and yanked three pencils down. “So whose office is that?” she asked.

“Hat, I moved over here at the same time you did,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I know you’re cozy with Torres and he knows shit like that.”

“I am not!” Nico insisted like he always had to when the subject came up. “Besides, he’s Air Force, not Shield. Sam gave him the wings. He’s a freelancer.”

“Too bad. There’s no money in freelancing. You’ll have to be the bread-winner.”

Nico dragged his hands over his face. A pencil fell from the ceiling and hit him in the head. “Maybe it’s an empty office. A meeting room. Maybe they’re having a National Icons Meeting.”

“Maybe. I have to pee. Text me if anything happens?”

Nico gave her a half-hearted salute and slouched down in his chair. Of course, almost immediately the door opened and Steve Rogers stepped out.

Nico was so entirely fucked once again.

Because Steve Rogers was disheveled. Unkempt. Messy. Taken apart. Wrecked. In a very good way.

Nico brought his hand over his face but kept looking through his fingers.

Steve Rogers’ hair was sticking up every which way and there were at least three hickies on his neck. And one on his shoulder, which Nico could see because he was in that damn shark shirt, unbuttoned and half off his shoulder. There was a whole entire bite mark around his collarbone.

Steve Rogers looked around the hallway and glanced over the office and didn’t see Nico apparently. He tugged the shirt on straight and buttoned most of the buttons, except for two that Nico was pretty sure were missing at the top. And then, and then, he put on the jacket with the ribbing and the buckles and the dumb blue thread.

Steve Rogers ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Just in time for the office door to open again and to have Bucky Barnes, with a lot of skin showing, appear and say loudly, “You took Sam’s underwear,” and haul him back into the room with the metal arm. Nico heard the door lock.

He slowly crawled out of the office, ran into Hattie in the next hall.

“Hey, did anything happen?” she asked, drying her hands on her pants.

“Nope,” Nico squeaked unconvincingly. “Just got sent home for the day.”

“Sweet,” she said. “Wanna go get some lunch?”

Nico nodded silently even though he wasn’t sure if he should try eating. He really needed to ask for that transfer.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #all caps #writing

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musicallisto · 4 years

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without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

#tag game #mywriting #long post #writing #ltdr

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jakattax · 5 years

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I was a lucky kid growing up, my family were largely bohemian and didn’t really pressure me at all to fall into a particular crowd or scene. For the most part I was left to decide my own hobbies and interests, which I feel as a working class northerner is an oddity. I was largely uninterested with anything considered the norm, I found the perception of normality to be terribly boring. I lived in my own mind, fuelled by my still present wild and colourful imagination, and nothing fuelled my imagination more than the idea of magic. Films like the ‘Wizard of Oz’ and ‘Excalibur’ were Bible to me, any media with witches, wizards and sorcerers utterly enamoured thing. I believe this fundamental obsession revolves around the concept of power, that these mystical men and women could achieve the impossible and bend reality by possessing a power that no hero-knight or any other could possess. The wizard or witch was a solitary creature, usually ostracised or eccentric, both qualities I possessed as a child. And so it was a common pastime for me to find the best stick that would act as my staff and to jump around the woods pretending to be Gandalf. I knew that magic could only ever exist in my own imagination and I stuck to this falsehood for many years. After a trip to the goth haven of Whitby with my grandparents, I realised that magic was very much real and was not limited to book, screen or my own closed mind. I bought a hazel wand (inscribed with ‘Blessed Be’ in futhark) from a Wicca supply shop and my first book of magic. This book of shadows was my prized object, with only the media portrayal of magic at my disposal I knew that every enchanter possessed their own book of spells, while mine wasn’t bound in human skin and written in odd runes, it was magic, real magic. Another very vivid memory was that a bought a handsome besom from the same shop, a gorgeous birch broomstick wrapped in colour silk, and so on our trip to the north York moors I placed the broom between my legs and jumped up and down over the heather. Alas I did not fly. Only in my mind.

Wicca was truly my gateway into my magical studies, even though I was very young I had absolute conviction that magic was very much real and tangible, I even recall having a particular fondness for a rain spell which seemed to work without fail. Naturally my new obsession with real magic just pushed me further from the grain of normality, thank God. Yet the older I got I started to become disenchanted. Like all teenagers I went through a period of abandoning childhood fantasies to focus on my image or popularity. Who I socialised with and how I looked over-rided any past passions. It is something I feel remarkably ashamed over, yet adolescence is a period in life in which one wears many masks for the sake of an easy time, even though I was bullied none the less for my bookish and overall weak disposition. But no-one could know I use to dress up in a pointy hat and make it rain. I killed that part of my childhood. This abandonment of magic continued until I was 16.

I was now in college and was the worst sycophant to a particular friend who I followed blindly. He was the coolest kid in college, a Casanova, I was discovering my own sexuality and realised too that I was deeply in love with him. Again I was sacrificing my core personality, but not for long. I was a theatre kid, and bloody good at it too, our first year assessment was based on the performance of a classical monologue. Know I don’t know exactly how I decided on it, or how I even knew of it, but I settled on Marlowe’s ‘Doctor Faustus’ to perform. I was a committed and serious young actor, finally in s subject that I cared for and excelled in so I conducted research into how i wanted to stage the piece. In my mind I wanted the stage littered in books and scraps of paper all bearing occult symbols, yet I didn’t know any. I didn’t want to cheapen the performance by having blank scraps of paper, they needed to be Faustus’ magical and alchemical work, so I used the library computer to find some.

And the gates opened.

Like a child again I was reading about magic, real magic again but this time I found a new mindset. In my research looking up Occult symbols to litter my set with, I came across a name, a name steeped in controversy to this day, the wickedest man in the world; Aleister Crowley. Reading up on Crowley and MacGregor Mathers brought me to a new and dangerous form of magic, the magic of the ceremonial magician. While indeed Wiccans and witches take their art and practise very seriously, there was something about the strict Methodology and science like nature of ceremonial magic that appealed to me more. Changing the weather was great and all but demon conjuration? Intricate magic circles and glyphs? Spirit evocation? Yes please, this was the magic that I wanted. And so I purchased my first Grimoire of ceremonial magic, the Ars Goetia.

This was a book I carried with pride, it was a conversation starter, I was the kid who studied demons. My image had changed after my then best friend moved to university, gone was the preppy and popular false Jack, now was the time for a brooding, dark clothed Jack who read Shelley, Byron and books of demon summoning in his spare time. To be frank it’s not a phase I’ve quite broken yet either.

As enamoured as I was by the Ars Goetia, I was no fool, I knew that in terms of practicality it was something I could not attempt, yet. The magic was complex, the tools seemed impossible to acquire and so I sat on my grand schemes of being a conjured per excellence, yet the flames in my mind were raging.

Three years later I moved to Nottingham for my university education, wonderful city. for the first time in my life I was with strangers who had no preconceived notions about me. I could wear a new mask. Yet I chose the hard path, I was at university so one should act as a university don should, I bought tweed suits from charity shops, wore a bow tie and started to smoke a pipe. I found rebellion by not being normal, fuck normality, the new Jack would never bow down to popularity again. I call my university years some of the darkest of my life, not only because of the daily cocktails of alcohol, drugs and severe bouts of depression but because these were the years in which I honed my craft as a goete.

I had the good fortune of renting flats with basements and because my flatmates were dull football types brainwashed by heteronormative coding, they were naturally scared of it and didn’t go down there. And as horribly cliched and Hollywood as it is, I began conjuring demons in the basement. Even though I had been studying the Goetia for a few years now, I still lacked pretty much everything needed, other than my own conviction. I used chalk for my circle and triangle of art, candles for mood lighting and some sticks of incense and began conversing to the shadows. The crazy thing is, the shadows spoke back. I knew that I had the crossed a threshold in which there was no return, while I had achieved magic with fairly simple effects, now I had truly pierced the veil and was openly seeing, speaking and listening to demons. The glass of reality had cracked, I was in a new world in which magic was the only truth. I had demon spirits perform many many tasks for me, some failed, some excelled. I tried to hone in my skills, realise mistakes and amend them. Then I started branching out, with my knowledge increasing I came into contact with more books, more new information and magic to discover; the Verum, the Cyprian texts, Agrippa, Abra-Melin etc. Etc.

Yet this was closeted. While I was unashamedly eccentric, I had too much against me as a gay man and an oddity. I suffered extreme bullying again and thanks to my depression made a suicide attempt, if anyone knew I was in the basement ordering demons to attack those who wronged me, it would be fatal to me. Or so I thought. The layman perceives magic as nonsense, Harry Potter glitter Magic that simply isn’t real and if you believe in it you either have too many cats or are just delusional. They do not understand that magic and only magic is the highest form of science there is, the microscope or telescope can see hidden things that the eye cannot yet so can a scrying ball. For all the wonders that science can perform and demonstrate, it cannot lift the eyelids on the falsehoods of reality, only through magic can we truly see between the lines and realise that the mundane world is shrouded in mysteries that only magic can answer. And so due to this fear of being stigmatised, I kept my magic a secret.

For the best part of a decade I studied and practised Ceremonial magic in private. Whenever my parents or housemates we’re out I’d grab my tools and begin my work. My library was growing, my collection of magical tools too, I was growing and flowering into a proficient 21st century Magus. Then two years ago I decided fuck it. I was tired of keeping a fundamental part of my spiritual beliefs and occult practises silent and so I outed myself as a ceremonial magician. Not to much fanfare however, everyone seemed largely indifferent, probably just another one of jack’s eccentricities. But no, magic is no hobby, no idle pastime or frivolity to me, magic is in my Veins and every breath, it is my true calling in life to study, explore and understand my place in this world through the Occult sciences. I am a magician who can charm you or tear you to pieces just as easily, I live in a demimonde of illusion, I achieve the impossible.

When you sit before the scrying glass and see a spirit looking into your eyes, you must reject all notions of a normal reality and accept wholeheartedly that magic is real.

#going mad again #dunno why i wrote this #i was told to #24/7 scrying is frying my brain #fuck it #its like my life story #someone play a tiny violin #i need sleep #bye #i saw weird shit tonight #im writing a book of prophecies

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invertedeidolon · 4 years

Text

The Longest Library #3: Griffin & Sabine by Nick Bantock (Or, Eidolon again talks way too much about previous relationships, also, pretty art!)

(This is a series in which I attempt to read and review all (or most of) my library of 297 books.)

Rundown: Postcard artist Griffin Moss gets a weird letter from a weird lady who can apparently see what he's drawing telepathically. They form an ill concieved bond over it. The story is told in colorful postcards and envelopes you can open and then read the mysterious things inside. 4.5/5 for calling me THE FUCK OUT and having some BOMB ASS ART.

I can't give it a full 5 because not everyone is going to have that experience when they read this. It's just going to look very strange and floaty and things won't make very much sense. This book hits close to home with me because it heavily echoes (more like yells about) my first long distance relationship. I'm not really able to see this book through any other lens, so that's what my commentary is mostly about.

So for the part that ISN'T about that stuff though: The art is amazing. Even though it's made by one person technically, both fictional artists have their own, distinct style. Let's be real: The art and the interactivity is the main draw of this book. There are envelopes inside with letters carrying a myriad of little details: Griffin uses a typewriter for his long-form letters, and bits where he's crossed out typos or added in letters with pen, or that Sabine's correspondence is something I now recognize as someone who uses quills or manual dip pens. The inconsistency in the color of her writings suggests she's using a homemade ink, brownish in color, slightly too watery. Maybe it's even watered down watercolor and not even ink at all. They've also made the background of her letters and cards a rich dark gray, while Griffin's is a clean, sterile white.

"Will you explain to me about those geometric paintings you did at Art college? I want to understand their hidden language of color and shape. It's so alien to me."

So this is about the fourth time I'm reading this book since I first got it, and now that I have to write about it, I'm noticing so many more details. Here the line "It's so alien to me."is written in smaller, slightly more rounded letters. The ink is much darker here too, suggesting she wrote this slowly, thoughtfully. What a detail!

Anyway that's it for the objective bits of the book, the rest is entirely subjective from here on out.

"The phenomenon that links us has taught me much about you, yet I am ignorant of your history."

My years and years of suffering emotional abuse set me up to be able to read and predict what was going on in your head perfectly, as well as respond in the most helpful ways with eerie precision, yet I am ignorant of your history, and who you really are (because you use such obtuse floaty language and metaphor. Who were you really? Suffering, but that's about all I could tell.)

"Why doesn't this alarm me as much as it should?"

Because we're already "in". And I "feel safe" to you because I've been trained to be the least offensive, most placating being in the universe. If I could build a business model on conversational comfort, if I could sell my goddamn empathy like the capitalist machine really wants me to, *I'd be so rich*. It would be like, a step down from therapist. Anybody want a virtual friend for like an hour? Gimme 20 and we can watch stupid videos or I can calmly talk you through bread making. It's okay, you can cry. GOD PLEASE LET ME JUST SELL MYSELF SAFELY, I WAS MADE FOR THIS GODDAMNIT.

"I want to hear everything. Write in detail. Tell me all about yourself. I demand to know - please."

This is like fucking CRACK to those with a suppressed self. An unwitnessed self. "Someone who's interested in ME, and won't yell at, ignore, or dismiss me for talking! Holy fuck I love you!"

"Finally I knew who you were. I counselled myself to be cautious and find out what you were like before revealing myself fully."

Sabine at this point is to the reader who I was to Him. A weird mythical creature, the non-human monster of your lonely adolescent imaginings, who is intimately aware of your secrets, "I've been watching you" it says before introducing you to a wondrous world free of the pains of living, where you actually feel loved and all is well forever and ever. Except I wasn't as inhuman as I wished to be.

"Occasionally I'd come home to a re-enactment of The Battle of Britain in the front room. [...] My entrance would make no difference to their dogfight, but when one of them accidentally (and inevitably) knocked over a pile of books, they'd stop instantly and unite to examine the extent of the damage."

The whole 'making light of a not-great home life because it was your normal for so long that you still haven't learned that you need to be horrified about it' thing. As well as passing it off as something funny. Thankfully this character's parents (SPOILER?) get literally run over by a truck and he gets sent to live with his mom's step sister who is really good and lets him ditch school to become a potter's apprentice and eventually go to art college. He never really deals with the grief when the step sister dies, OBVIOUSLY.

"And hearing that my existence eased your pain made my heart race. We have found one another, and I give thanks."

Hearing that my existence wasn't going to be punished but instead, made someone happy? Fucking HEROIN. Downplay it a little with grateful gentleness, I don't want to be punished for being presumptuous or for seeming like I like it too much. If I like things too much they get destroyed, hard.

"My kinsmen are responsive to me - but there is no one to reach my heart, and you who are so far away, have been closer to me than any man on the Islands."

This is something I remember. So far all they've done is shared eachother's life stories and gushed about how close they feel now. She (like my past self), has confused the feeling of 'finally, a witness! they're witnessing me! I've been Seen!' with the feeling of attachment. Of course she would feel infinitely more attached to this man. She's witnessed his most private moments as a creator for a good portion of her life. It's been a mainstay throughout her adolescence through adulthood, so of course an unwarranted sense of intimacy is going to be attached to this mysterious figure. The whole thing wrapped up in a dream like sense of mysticism.

"I remember your first erotic drawing; I was trembling from head to foot by the time you'd finished. Was that Sarah? No don't answer; I'm only teasing."

...Unless? (Man the implications hurt to think about. I REMEMBER THIS FEELING. This author has unintentionally called me out. I wonder how much of Sabine’s writing is actually calm, or if she’s reigning herself in almost constantly?)

"I was finding it hard to get over the idea of there being other men in your life when I reached the part in your letter about my erotic drawings. I stopped being jealous. We were lovers and I hadn't realized it. The drawings weren't of Sarah; they were of you."

ow ow ow ow ow ow JUST SAY IT ow ow ow ow, Also, I REALLY wanted her to be like 'bitch that looks nothing like me, what the fuck', but instead she's all like "So you've been making love to me ten thousand miles away - how tantalizing." URGH. TOO CLOSE, TOO FAST. DISENTANGLE YOURSELVES NOW. GRIFFIN GET HELP.

"I had failed to understand how unhappy you are. You cover up with jokes and a front of being self-contained. I'm worried for you."

EVEN SHE SEES IT, GET HELP.

"When you found me, I thought my loneliness had gone for good. I was kidding myself. I desperately desire your company. I haven't talked to anyone in three days. I was sure I was going to start seeing your pictures like you see mine. I've tried so hard. [...] How can I miss you this badly when we've never met?"

BECAUSE YOU MISS HUMAN CONTACT AND YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FAMILY LEFT YOU NERD, GET HELP. DON'T HANG IT ON ONE PERSON WHO IS TOO FAR AWAY TO HELP YOU IN THE WAY YOU NEED.

"Island magic works on island souls. You and I will heal eachother."

ANTIDEPRESSANTS MAYBE UUUUGGGGHHHHH

"I've started to hate this city, this country, all these stupid fucking people [...] I finally snapped. [...] I want to know what you look like."

*HEAVILY RECOILS*

"Why, my kindred spirit, are you prepared to settle for a postcard of my face? If you wish to see me, why not come here? What is there to stop you - you're clearly unhappy where you are. Come."

Yes. I offered and I offered and I offered. What's to stop you from just fucking TALKING TO ME instead of DISAPPEARING OVER AND OVER AGAIN. and then COMPLAINING THAT YOU'RE SO HURT AND LONELY. I'M LONELY TOO. WHEN I HAD THE MONEY YOU DIDN’T TAKE MY OFFER FOR ME TO COME SEE YOU, SO WHAT THE FUCK IS UP KYLE?

"Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened."

This kind of sentiment is what lead to the breakup. This feeling of being large, and dark, and slighted. Being real and supernatural. Make your choice. Say REAL words instead of just flagellating yourself. Do I exist to you?

"If you will not join me, then I will come to you."

Unfortunately, Sabine has what I definitely did not: Mobility, the ability to make things real. She had a job and money and her own life and the ability to travel. I had a shitty little shared room in my parent's house where I spent most of the time partially starved and dodging devils in one form or another. Many many times I wanted to spontaneously show up and give him the closeness that he needed. But I couldn't. And he wouldn't take my words. He wouldn’t take me.

3 down, 294 to go.

#thelongestlibrary #griffin and sabine #nick bantock #origin1 #wri1

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whyyallsweatin · 4 years

Text

My experience in a recovery house.

I’d like to share a story about my recent experience while in recovery housing.

At first I moved in with really high hopes. The place I moved into seemed very positive and safe. It was run by a nurse who was also a recovering alcoholic.

When I moved in, there were two other women in the house, L** and T****. They were both older. L** was the senior roommate with the responsibility of reporting any suspicious behaviour by the other tenants.

A few weeks in and I noticed some tension between L** and T****. Eventually, T**** relapsed on alcohol inside the house and was removed. This was scary for me, because T**** tried to get me to leave the house a little earlier with her, likely to use, but I refused. She exposed herself as drunk later on in the evening and was quickly removed.

About a month later we got a new roommate. Her name was C******. When she moved in she started to behave in a way that would make me embarrassed for her. When she first came to the house, she had just left a rehab facility and seemed to be full of stories about how ‘hard core’ her drug use was. She admittedly was taking suboxone, but she also admitted to being a regular cocaine/crack user and alcoholic. What was strange was she had a lot of glory stories about how she was a successful drug dealer, pulling in a few million a year. Her friend had a bunker where they hid from the cops, bla bla bla.

She took quickly to L** and I’d often hear them outside chatting in the early hours of the morning while smoking. So I figured she’d be easy to get along with since my roommate liked her. I trusted L**’s judgement at the time.

Quickly after moving in though C****** started to say weirder things. This included stories about how she frequented a well-known biker group’s clubhouse in Victoria. The only thing is, there is no clubhouse currently in Victoria. I asked her when she went, since there was one briefly here a few years ago and she told me right before she went to rehab a few months prior. Okay…

Following that she’d frequently go for walks on her own to the pharmacy or the store. She came back twice with two weird stories. Once, she told us while in the pharmacy she told my roommate and I that a man approached her and told her she was incredibly good looking and that he’d like her to model for him. I don’t want to be judgemental – C****** is in her fifties, is about 4’9 and is not really someone I’d see modeling.

Another time she came home and told us some knight in shining armour approached her on steel horse (motorcycle) and knew her name. He spoke comforting words to her – as if to encourage her on her mystical journey in sobriety. Since we lived in a private location, I was concerned that this man may have followed her home. I asked her and she told me that he already knew where she lived because he told her that he was expecting her. This was her destiny.

She also went into great detail about how her friends knew how to cheat urine tests. This alarmed me because she was super wobbly at times and looked sedated. I don’t know if you can supplement suboxone with illicit heroin and pass a test, but if she used clean urine – that would be a fail too since she had to test positive for suboxone. I asked her a few times about what suboxone would show up as and she didn’t really answer.

C****** was also very animated about her therapy sessions. She would be in her room for hours undergoing intense therapy and she would tell us how hard it was on her, garnering sympathy from L**. To me I wasn’t really buying it. You don’t get exhausted talking on the phone laying in you bed. She said she had a lot of trauma. I tried to relate to her and asked what some of the things she experienced were that traumatized her. She went into detail about an abusive boyfriend – then the next week she was elated having spoken to the same boyfriend she had claimed to have been abusive.

Whenever the conversation wasn’t about her she’d turn it into a conversation about herself. She had so many different incongruent stories about her family life, boyfriends, husbands, friends. It was hard to keep up. She admitted that her daughter and her had a strained relationship – which I could understand since she was a junky fuck up who neglected her.

She’d often complain that friends had alienated her who were still using, and then make statements that these friends she owed money to, then she said they forgave her. Etc. who cares. She gave me about five different names of boyfriends she had and she told me that she knew a male friend of mine that I was close to and insinuated she had a relationship with him. When I asked him, he told me he didn’t know who she was.

Another girl, named J**** came to the house a few weeks after C******. She was suffering a great deal. It was clear that she had either relapsed or was being heavily medicated still. She also came from the same rehab facility as C****** but there was no indication that the two had interacted, which I found strange. They were there the same time.

I knew J**** from my first attempt to get sober a year before. She was doing quite well and actually was in charge of the recovery house I was at the year prior. It made me sad that she had relapsed because she was very young, and when I knew her a year ago, I was really confident in her recovery and thought of her as an example.

J**** was struggling quite a bit and C****** and my other roommate quickly began to gossip about her outside. I could hear them through the open window. This upset me since they seemed to judge her quiet behaviour immediately. They reported her and we took drug tests which J**** and the rest of us initially passed.

Regardless, J****’s behaviour was withdrawn and they continued to insinuate that she was relapsing until she was finally kicked out. I don’t know if she did relapse but being under that kind of scrutiny could very easily push anyone into a position where they would.

Once J**** was gone, things between my roommates quickly turned to me. We were stuck inside due to Covid and I became quite depressed, wanting to get out and get a job and other things. I didn’t like online meetings and the group meetings we had on Zoom were heartless and seemed forced. Additionally, my roommates were given permission to go out and do things, but for some reason I was not.

Things got weird one evening when I went for a walk with C******. She told me her any my other roommate were “worried about me.” I had recently expressed my frustration with the situation, but nothing alarming. I echoed things my roommates said about the circumstances and tried to keep myself occupied.

During that time, the owner of our house, J*, employed a ‘helper.’ Her name was T*****. We were directed to call her twice a week and check in. After the first few conversations with her, I started to feel like the conversations were forced and T***** seemed combative. I began to forget my phone calls and the J* and T***** implemented a card system, where you were issued a yellow card as a warning. After 5 yellow cards, you’d get a red card, which meant eviction. I was issued a yellow card after missing a phone call with T*****. I didn’t think much of it but I felt like I was interesting in moving out since the restrictive rules of the house, which fluctuated in severity between tenants, seemed to make it impossible for me to have a healthy social life. But, I never indicated that I was officially moving out since my finances were a mess.

At this time, I was quite interested in getting back to work. And at this very time the local newspaper ran a story about a company I worked for. The company was ensnared in a money laundering scandal. This concerned me because I was worried about my reputation being involved in this company when I was set on finding new work. I told my roommates and showed them the article. I was also contacted by a news reporter, who wanted me to speak on the matter but I declined due to the fact that I had signed a confidentiality agreement.

I expressed my concerns during one of the forced group chats on Zoom while T***** was present. I didn’t know at the time, but talking about these matters – things that were concerning to you – was not of essence during group. Group was a place where recovering addicts and alcoholics were expected to parrot each other, feel guilty and talk about what they’re doing in recovery to better themselves by talking about the same things over and over, like making a gratitude list. My idea of getting better was to get a job and get out in the real world instead of isolating – so my contributions were not appreciated.

Everyone was sort of crumbling from the isolation due to Covid, and the household chores were being ignored. I took it upon myself to do many of the chores without complaining, even if they weren’t my assigned tasks. We would write down the chores we did and I did this after doing the lion’s share of chores. One morning, after doing every chore, I heard L** and C***** angrily chatting about the chore log book and saying it was “bullshit” that I did them all, even though they heard me vacuuming, cleaning the washroom etc.

One night, the mop was broken, so I used detergent and a rag to clean the floor on my knees. It wasn’t a big area to clean, so it wasn’t really a big deal. However, I bumped into a mirror that was hanging on the wall and it fell and broke. I made sure to clean up the pieces and then told my roommates to watch out for shards because I wasn’t sure if any had gone under the fridge or might emerge, even though I had scoured the entire area of any sharps. I also had to dispose of the mirror, so I told them I had put it outside. Neither of them saw or heard me, but they quietly nodded as I told them and then retreated back to their rooms.

The day after that I could hear them talking about me upstairs while I watched tv downstairs. “Does she think that, like, she worked at that company, or something?” I heard. “Yeah she broke that mirror and she probably did it on purpose.” What? I went upstairs and asked them if they were going to talk about me to keep their voices down. They were stunned. They then went on to say “we’re not talking about you.” I bluffed and said I had recorded them. “Oh, well we’re very concerned.” Ok, I thought – you weren’t talking about me but you were. Which one is it? They made all sorts of claims and when I responded, asking them again, to simply lower their voice they started making dismissive remarks like, “JUST WOW!” “YIKES!” I didn’t speak to them for the rest of the night. Honestly, saying things like “JUST WOW” and “YIKES” are a dead give away that the person saying it has already made up their mind about you – and that what you said was horrible and they expected it.

The next morning I was asked to take a drug test and passed. A few days passed and things seemed normal again. Then I missed a call with T***** and was issued another yellow card. Whoops.

A few days later things got very strange. Around noon, I saw my roommates dramatically run for the door, get into a car and leave. The tires squealed as they left, as if they were the Dukes of Hazard or something. Then the owner of the house, J* and he husband came over. They began to confront me about breaking the mirror and told me that the psychiatric unit from the hospital was on their way. They insisted that they were worried about me, and I admitted that I was frustrated and depressed so maybe I should go to the hospital.

When the psychiatric unit came, they seemed quite friendly. But they asked me questions that started to make me alarmed. There was a male and female psychiatrist there, and the male asked me if I was paranoid about someone following me, or that the company I worked for that was in the news was stalking me. I didn’t understand where they had heard that I thought that so I was stunned. They then asked me if I thought my roommates were part of a conspiracy to stalk me with the company I claimed to work for. I was agitated, so I expressed my disbelief in why they would come to the conclusion that I would think that. During this time, I did admit that I was experiencing anxiety and agreed to go to the hospital under certain conditions. In my previous dealings with Victoria’s Psych Emerge, I had been repeatedly treated like a criminal. I asked that I not be exposed to this and they agreed.

I rode to the hospital with J*. When I got there she gave me a hug and I was escorted in. I took a drug test and waited to speak with a psychiatrist. I spoke to a nurse, a social worker and several psychiatrists in a private room while security guards looked on. They asked me over, and over, and over again why I had violently broken a mirror. I told them each time that it was an accident. The last psychiatrist I spoke to noted that I was getting agitated and that she was going to give me something.

I was let out of the room and I heard the doctors and nurses debating on whether or not to administer powerful anti-psychotics while restrained in isolation while I sat patiently in the wait room. I sat patiently without showing any signs of violence while they loudly debated restraining me and administering anti-psychotics.

There isn’t a lot of documentation on anti-psychotics and their misuse because no one understands why psychiatrists would prescribe medication that makes people miserable. Unfortunatly, anti-psychotics are lauded for curing everything from anxiety to delusions, depression to psychosis. I don’t doubt they have some benefit in short term use by minimizing psychosis, but their long term use has never been accurately documented and psychiatrist cherry pic anecdotal testimonies about patients who benefitted from them to cure an broad, unbelievable range of psychiatric problems.

I’ll briefly explain how they work: they block dopamine. Dopamine is responsible for regulating the brains reward system. Hard drugs like cocaine, crack, meth, heroin etc. high-jack the brain by flooding the dopamine receptors. People feel good, too good, on these drugs. That’s why they’re addicting. Anti-psychotics do the opposite. How in the hell does high-jacking and retarding the brain’s reward system help with depression if it stops your brain releasing dopamine? They’re tranquilizers in that they make people subdued because they feel nothing. They don’t feel rewarded for their actions. This is good because they may be rendered unable to act violently because they have no desire to do anything. So, that’s good, I guess. It’s good for someone who’s violent and impulsive. Temporarily.

Naturally patients who aren’t violent or don’t fit into categories of psychological distress that require sedation have no idea that a doctor would give them something that would impair them from feeling good, so if they experience the overwhelming negative effects of anti-psychotics, they likely won’t make the connection that they’re actually being caused by the medication the doctor has prescribed to make them feel better. Regardless, they’re non-addicting and some patients reported they feel better, maybe. And, they put people to sleep making agitated patients easier to deal with. So, with that overwhelmingly limited amount of evidence to support the administration of anti-psychotics, they’re given out like candy by psychiatrists all across Canada.

I’m sure psychiatrists don’t do this because their intentions are bad. Big pharmaceutical companies like Johnson and Johnson have made incredibly convincing arguments to support the use of Risperidone, despite overwhelming cases in which males were reported to have grown female breasts, thousands of patients displaying suicidal ideation, mental impairment and brain shrinkage. Marketers from Johnson and Johnson make powerful, emotional pleas to defend this drug – lauding it as a cure all for austistic patients, depressed patients, psychotic patients, bi-polar patients. You name it. And since the goal is to sell, they claim the sale of this drug is both beneficial to them monetarily, while saving the world from mental illness. It’s fucking beautiful, everyone wins!

Anyways – I was force injected with the anti-psychotic Risperidone for 6 excrutiating months in 2018. It was like being stuck in a torture chamber – mental anguish 24 hours a day. I reported the side effects but they were dismissed, repeatedly. I often resorted to using hard drugs just to escape the absolute anguish just for a few hours to watch a tv program. While on Risperidone, I went to the hospital several times because I couldn’t breath, the anxiety was overwhelming. Regardless, no one listened. I was under threat of imprisonment while under the mental health act if I did not take the medication, so to prevent me from not taking it they gave me injections. It was so unbelievably terrifying. What my psychiatrist at the time did was a crime – but, no one cared. I guess if he believes it works, and I’m telling him it doesn’t and I’m the one taking it, then he must be right. Okay…

After months of fighting for my life on this drug, I admitted myself to rehab, mainly to get off Risperidone so I no longer needed to supplement my drugs with illicit ones just to feel normal. However, I was not informed that Risperidone causes a deadly withdrawal symptoms. The withdrawal included symptoms of anxiety, restlessness, ruminating thoughts, sleeplessness and depression that were so severe I could barely walk. Naturally, my councillor at rehab assumed I was ‘faking it.’ It took roughly 30 days for the injection to wear off. I still experienced some anxiety and was, you guessed it, administered another anti-psychotic. This time it was the lesser of all the evils, Abilify. I trusted the psychiatrist there so I stayed on it. It was a low dose and I was on a few other medications that probably cancelled its effects out including Concerta – a life-saver for people who abuse stimulants to concentrate.

Anyways, fast forward to my recent stay at the hospital this year after J* convinced me to go, where I listened in fear as they debated on putting anti-psychotics in me. I had a wrist band on when I signed in that said not to administer anti-psychotics, but when they asked me about it, they asked me why they couldn’t. I told them I wasn’t under the mental health act and that anti-psychotics caused adverse effects. Frustrated, the doctors just administered my normal sleeping medication.

The next day I was released the doctor I saw told me he didn’t understand why I was admitted in the first place. He believed I hadn’t acted violently and I showed up the confidentiality agreement that was sent to me by my former employer so I could convince him I worked there and wasn’t delusional.

After that, I was free to leave and got on the bus and went home. When I got home I went to the door and tried to get in by punching the buttons to the code on the door lock. Only, the door lock was dead. I rang the doorbell several times and one of my roommates came to the door. I could hear her on the phone, “should I call the cops? SHOULD I CALL THE COPS?” Eventually she opened the door, muttered something at me and I went to my room.

I called J* and told her what happened. She seemed disappointed and upset and told me to call my case-worker since she was busy at work – dealing with Covid (there was no one in the hospital with Covid by the time, but Okay…). I called my case-worker, S*** and he told me that I was being kicked out. He didn’t have time to talk to me much either. Wanting answers I then called T*****. I told her I was very nervous about what was happening and she became very combative. I asked her why I was accused of deliberately breaking a mirror and she asked me why I did it. I then asked her why I was asked if I thought people were after me because of the job thing and she told me that she knows the owner of the company I had worked for and none of that stuff has anything to do with me. I asked her if she, my housemates and J* didn’t believe I worked there and she told me she didn’t believe anything I said and repeated that she’s friends with the owner of the company, they’re handling it and that the newspaper is publishing false claims. She was also insinuating she had told him about me. Girl – my stay at the house was confidential ya’ll can’t go around telling your friends.

I went downstairs since I was worried about what to do and phoned a friend. When I was on the phone, my roommates dramatically ran down the stairs and I heard them say “I’m scared, let’s call the cops! CALL THE COPS!” They then squealed out of the parking lot - like some kinda post-menopausal Thelma and Louise - just as J* came in. J* worked about 45 minutes away but she arrived within 10 minutes of me talking to her when she told me she was at work. So she wasn’t really working like she told me.

J* came in and started talking. She told me that what she was doing was for the safety of the other roommates. I then cut her off and asked her if she had my safety in mind. I reiterated that I was taken to the hospital, interrogated about a mirror breaking and interrogated about being delusional about a job I worked at. She then told me that what she did was what she was told to do in these situations and that she was legally bound to protect the other tenants. Okay…

I wasn’t comfortable with how combative T**** was or that she had told anyone she knew about me and I questioned her qualifications. J* told me she had a bachelor’s degree - later I’d go on to find that was a bachelor’s in marketing (relevant, right?)

I made the case that I was actually put in danger by her and my roommates insinuating that I was delusional and violent – that she took something my roommates said at face value without asking me. She had no intention to uphold my safety since no one told me at the hospital that I was being kicked out, that the door was locked with my valuables inside and no one in my family was informed. What if I came home the night before instead of staying at the hospital – with no access to my belongings, money or phone. What she did put my life in danger. There’s no limit to what my roommates could make up about me – and since their first claims were taken at face value, who knew what else they could fabricate. Those claims were enforced and legitimized. There’s no limit to what someone can fabricate and when those fabrications are endorsed by a superior, the urge to fabricate more – especially in low self-esteem harbouring recovering drug addicts becomes intoxicating. Why feel bad about your mistakes when you can make someone look worse. I get it. I’ve done it.

Fortunately, I learned that my roommate had bunged up a call to the police when I arrived because she couldn’t report that I was doing anything wrong. She just told them I was at the door. They asked why the door was locked to me and if I had been told that I wasn’t allowed in and she said, “no.” I didn’t hear the rest of the call, but I assume they hung up or told her that they were busy with real problems.

Instead of stay and argue, I called my sponsor who told me to get my stuff and leave. I had real fears – their perception of me ruled how they perceived what was going on, so I’d better just vanish. Which I did. My sponsor told me that they wanted a reaction, so I didn’t give it to them. I had to get my dad to pick me up. This for me was the most difficult part since anyone in any position of authority is right compared to me – so even when J* admitted she made a mistake after I made my case, she did so only to my dad (not me of course), I knew he didn’t really believe that. I knew there was always some reason for him to believe I was kinda responsible.

Just some foreground on my dad – when I was growing up he’d abuse my brother and I verbally and for a brief time physically. The later stopped when my brother punched him straight in the face and knocked him out. His verbal abuse continued, belittling me for things I did because I was dreadfully shy. He called me a loser with no personality in my graduating year. Made me ashamed of my interests. Would talk me out of seeking out better opportunities because he had so many doubts about my abilities. Scary stuff.

So naturally, even if my roommates and J* had done something wrong to me – who the fuck cares, its me, I am the source of all the problems because of the way people think of me. I have no money, no job, lying junky, so – whatever.

A few days later after I left, a resident from one of the other houses owned by J* asked me what happened and I told her. I didn’t want to seem like I was “delusional” or that I feared them in anyway since they might use this as a means to have my committed again.

A few days after that, the same resident told me that C****** had moved out. This struck fear in me. I don’t know where she is, and since the house I lived with her in was a good 45 minutes away, I trusted I wouldn’t run into her at meetings etc. because of this. But, now, I have no idea where she is. I don’t wish her any harm, I just wish to never see her again. I don’t fear her for reasons that are unrealistic. They’re based on things that happened: bold displays of fear about me when I’m doing nothing to her culminating in cartoon worthy behaviour fleeing from the house while shouting things she obviously wants me to hear about calling the cops..Bitch, if you were really scared you would have already done called the cops. Also, the weird stories about knights in shinning armour on motorcycles and modelling scouts, impaired mentality from suboxone and/or illicit drugs to supplement. Bunkers, relationships with men who’ve never met her. etc.

L** blocked me on Facebook, which is alarming for me since she could have some fake profiles looking at my posts in order to try and twist something I write into a threat to her. I just stick to posts about animals and wholesome stuff.

See I have real fears, based on facts because things actually happened to me based on things that people fabricated. But I’m not going to call the cops. I won’t waste their time. I doubt either of these too people can effectively cause me any harm physically - but who knows what they might say behind my back. Fuck it, I’ll just fabricate stuff about them. I’m a better story teller anyways. If people don’t believe me at least they’ll enjoy my story.

I can only guess that the whole delusions about where I worked concept was spawn from some deep seeded disbelief that anyone who had a drug problem could have a professional life, since neither L** or C******* did. Everything seems unbelievable when you’re so self-centered that you only think your level of success is the benchmark for anyone else in your state of recovery.

See, L** and C****** are career abusers. They always failed. They never were anything. Their stories are lengthy ones, filled with selfish actions to feed their addiction. Of course someone else in their situation couldn’t have been anything else but what they were or worse. They can’t see beyond their own experience. And they can’t see beyond the wonderful world they’ve created in recovery – vindication from their failures by parroting their peers in recovery. That’s the easy way out and it takes no effort. It’s a formula.

Go fuck yourselves. All of you.

Bye.

#victoria #langford #recovery #na #aa #alcoholicsanonymous #narconticsanonymous #drugaddiction #delusional #recoveryhouses #predatorsinrecovery #antipsychotics #depression #drugabuse #speed #cocaine #heroin #benzodiazepines

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scientificphilosopher · 6 years

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Mental Health and General Life Advice Gained Over the Years

Here is a list of some things I’ve learned over the years that have, I think, helped me live a better life

Be flexible in my narrative. When I say things like ‘I’m just an anxious person,’ or ‘I suck at confrontation,’ then I risk fixing onto this narrative rather than managing it in a healthy way. I become unwilling to recognize instances where I’m not anxious. I ignore opportunities for growth. Instead, I find it better to foster a flexible narrative. I know it’s important to acknowledge, normalize, and even embrace my identities, but I don’t want to mistake an aspect of my identity for my identity wholesale. I’m not my anxiety. Rather, I struggle with anxiety. I’m not Depression. Rather, depression has had a formative influence on my sense of self. This, too, goes for my social identities. Identities are real, and they have very real impacts on our world and our experience, but they are not everything. To paraphrase James Baldwin, identities are like garments that ought to be worn loosely so that our nakedness—and ability to change—can still be felt.

Steep in my fallibility. The more I’ve learned about my personal fallibility—which is prodigious—the healthier my relationships and general approach to the world has become. Embracing my tendency to be biased and make mistakes has, I hope, fostered a strong sense of humility. Thank goodness, since this world is messy and complex as shit, and we are often—so very, very often—wrong about things. Or at least overly-simplistic. And because things are so goddamn complicated, it can be hard, even impossible, to see nuance. Our limited and parochial natures can lead us to ignore complexity, especially if that complexity doesn’t cast a favorable light on our beliefs about the world. I’ve developed an almost fetishistic obsession with learning about cognitive biases and the seemingly infinite number of ways my psychology leads me astray (as evidenced by the persistent string of posts I’ve made on it, like here, here, here, here, and here). Paradoxically, fully embracing and seeking out my fallibility has led me to have a much deeper understanding of the world around me. As Simone de Beauvoir says, ‘It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our life that we must draw our strength to live and our reason for acting.’ My genuine condition is that of a mistake-prone, biased, and mercurial ape. (And that’s pretty cool.)

Get in touch with the messiness. Why is it important to have a flexible narrative and to embrace our fallibility? Because shit’s complex! Incredibly, intensely, bone-chillingly, awe-inspiringly complex. Our brains have evolved as taxonomy machines where we carve up the world and separate everything into nice and neat little boxes. If only things could be so simple. As it so happens, though, the world is, as William James wrote, ‘multitudinous beyond imagination, tangled, muddy, painful and perplexed.’ I have found it to be very helpful to reflect on the complexity of everything, even the seemingly simple and straightforward.

Mindfulness exercises. ‘Mindfulness’ has, like ‘empathy,’ become a pop-psych buzzword over the last several years. This is partly because mindfulness is a very potent tool. It can fundamentally alter our day-to-day existence. There is no shortage of ancient schools of wisdom that have prescribed mindfulness as key to a meaningful existence. I’m partial to David Foster Wallace’s construction of mindfulness when he said that it is the true aim of a good education. With mindfulness we cultivate the power to choose where to focus our mental energies, to choose what has meaning and what does not. With practice, ‘it will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.’ In short, continued Wallace, ‘you get to decide what to worship.’

Thinking about thankfulness. Gratitude exercises are a form of mindfulness I’ve found to be especially beneficial. When I have the mental energy to do so, I try to get creative about my gratitude. I try to find gratitude in the mundane, the trivial, the invisible. It’s much too easy to be grateful for grand adventures and emotionally rewarding escapades. It can be much more difficult—but equally meaningful—to find gratitude in the humdrum, or to appreciate the infinite number of shitty things that didn’t happen to me, or to embrace the vast confluence of luck that has led me to this single moment of unadorned contentedness. This is another subject I’ve written about to a near-obnoxious extent (see some here, here, here, here, and here). I sometimes feel reservations recommending gratitude exercises, since, when things are really awful, as they so often are, it can feel patronizing and hurtful to have someone tell you that you should just be grateful. This is not my intention. The world is capricious and fucked up, far more often than it should be. This is why I try to access gratitude in the moments where things are okay. I try to seize moments of grace and calm and squeeze out those drops of thankfulness. This can add water to the reservoir that I will need to pull from when I’m thirsty and in pain. In my better moments, then, I can find gratitude, or some semblance or peace or perspective, even when I’m suffering. I can, as Nietschze wrote, ‘throw roses in to the abyss and say: “Here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.”’ And, ultimately, this has helped me get to a place where I can, more often than not, remain in a ‘contented dazzlement of surprise,’ to use Lewis Thomas’ turn of phrase.

Me and everyone I love will die. You know what else I’m grateful for? This breath. And this one. And this one. It’s pretty wild to be alive, to be a self-aware extension of nature itself. What a stunning convergence of necessary circumstance needed to randomly grant me such a privilege. And, just as it came, so it will go. Randomly and inexorably. Death awaits. There is no stopping it. Dark, suffocating, oblivion. This can be scary, of course. But it’s also motivating and contextualizing. Death is not yet here, after all. And that makes each and every breath, smile, kiss, and laugh a priceless cosmic treasure. Indeed, it is precisely because of our limited time that life is so meaningful. Emily Dickinson, as she was wont to do, summed it up eloquently when she said, ‘That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.’

I am not free. At the very least, I am not free in the way I’ve long thought. I am a physical being, subject to the laws of nature, of cause and effect. My thoughts are not authored by some mystical volition or unrestrained willpower. I am thoroughly restrained. I am, indeed, destined to write this sentence from the very moment the cosmos silently but extravagantly whispered itself into life. Some people recoil from this idea, thinking that if our thoughts and actions are determined by external factors, then life is meaningless, and change is futile. These conclusions do not follow. Change is occurring constantly. Our actions have consequences. What we do chaotically reverberates into our surroundings. We are determined, but not fated. We have power, even if it is not free. Instead of catastrophizing and fearing the implications of our lack of freedom, I like to reflect on what this means for how I treat myself and others. A lack of freedom motivates in me a deep sense of compassion. It demands forgiveness for both my mistakes and those of others. None of us asked to be here. We are, as Heidegger said, thrown into existence, awoken to a set of determined circumstance. I am the type of person who has been able to receive an education, to have supportive loved ones, to have a functioning moral compass, a disposition for moving and meaningful emotional experiences, and to want to work to make the world a better place. But I didn’t choose to be or have any of this. This is all luck, luck, luck. From my country of birth to my balding head and hairy back to every last neuronal blast fashioning my inner life—not one atom or twist of the genetic braid was chosen exclusively by me. So, if I find myself as the type of person who doesn’t want to harm others, who doesn’t have unmanageable compulsions, who doesn’t suffer from debilitating isolation, who isn’t disproportionately oppressed by the unconscious machinations of social systems, then this, like everything and all of it, is luck, luck, luck.

Interpersonal stuff. I’ve been very lucky to have had resources in my life, including access to healthcare, a support system, and loved ones who happen to be badass psychologists and counselors. I’ve gleaned invaluable life advice from these dear friends of mine. And thank the cosmos, as such advice has proven to profoundly improve my interpersonal relationships. A couple of quick ones: avoid ‘Shoulding’ on people. When I’m upset and in pain, I typically desire a compassionate and patient ear rather than practical advice. When people come at me with ‘Well, you should do this…’ I often just feel misunderstood or further alienated. Even worse is the ‘Nike Advice,’ where someone says ‘Just do such and such…’ This often feels invalidating because if it were a matter of ‘Just’ doing something, I would’ve already done it. Things are rarely so simple. Similarly, I’ve found it helpful to listen rather than problem-solve. I will commiserate and look for solutions if that is what the person asks for, but usually, I will try to be simply present for the other person, to sit with their pain and offer my compassion and understanding.

Meta-advice. Here’s some advice on my advice: take it with a fat, ballpark-sized soft-pretzel’s worth of salt. I am a philosopher, not a psychologist. I try to be very science- and research-driven, and I’ve been lucky to enough to draw from the hard-earned wisdom of other experts, but, nonetheless, I am not an expert myself. I try to live well. I try to be smart and kind and humble and patient, and I often fail. I am human, all-too-human. This is simply meant to be a sloppily-rendered summary of some helpful pieces of anecdotal advice I’ve gathered on my never-ending journey toward eudaimonia. Nothing more. It is non-exhaustive (this post is, like me after a night at home with a book and a DiGiornio, far too bloated), and I’m sure I’ll regret leaving out many pieces of pivotal information. But the above advice has (so far) been useful in my life. This does not mean it will be helpful for everyone. I hope, at least, that it would not be harmful. Do with it what you will, my friends, and good luck.

#nich #psychology #philosophy #life advic #mental health #eudaimonia #gratitude #mindfulness #death #mortality #long post #text #long

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emospritelet · 5 years

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Key to the Cell - chapter 6

Gaston is a tool of the highest order in this chapter by the way.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [AO3 link]

By the time Belle had finished the book on the Dark One and read the first few chapters of the curse-breaking book, it was early evening, and she was hungry. She stuffed the books under her pillows and rang the bell for one of the maids, announcing that her headache had gone and requesting help with her dress. The maid brought her something to eat, too. It was too late for luncheon, and dinner would be prepared as soon as the men returned from the hunt, so she ate a small sandwich and drank two cups of tea, after which she felt much better. She checked her hair in the mirror, and grasped her parasol before making her way downstairs. She needed to think, and a stroll in the fresh air would do her good.

The sun was beginning to set as she went out into the gardens, the drone of bees coming from the flowers as they made the most of the fading light. Pinkish clouds striped the horizon where the sky was turning orange, and Belle heaved a breath of perfumed air as she walked slowly between the flowerbeds. Gaston’s estate had delightful gardens, but she suspected that had more to do with his desire to show off his wealth and status than his own appreciation of them. Certainly on the few occasions when they had walked there and she had commented on the plants and flowers, he had seemed less than interested. She smiled to the gardeners gathering up their tools as she passed, the parasol keeping the setting sun from her face.

The book on the Dark One had been fascinating, but she still didn’t know his true name, and the fact was galling. It had said that the Dark One had been around for centuries, perhaps thousands of years, but that his form changed, the title and its powers passing with the help of a mystical dagger. Belle suspected that it was the dagger with the fluted blade she had seen illustrated in the book she had used to summon him. She wondered if he had it, or if that too had been taken from him. The book hypothesised that the Dark One passed on his powers through some sort of dark ritual, that all those who sought to possess the power were dark wizards of great strength and evil. Belle wasn’t sure how true that was; he had not seemed so terrible to her, after all, but she supposed he would not be called the Dark One for nothing.

There was little known about who the various Dark Ones were before they took his form; the current holder of the powers was rumoured to be able to change his appearance at will, after all. Belle wondered at him describing himself as revolting; if he could change his face, why had he chosen to show her one he appeared to loathe? Overall he was a puzzle, and she was highly intrigued. She only wished there was a way she could speak to him again before their agreed meeting the day before the wedding. There was no guarantee that, having kept his side of the bargain, she would ever see him again.

The distant noise of barking dogs made her glance around, and she saw the hunt returning across the fields to the south of the castle, Gaston’s huge bay stallion at its head. Some way behind him, her father was trotting along with Gaston’s hunt master, and the beaters and kennel-keepers followed on foot, the hounds weaving in and out with tails held high. Belle could see the bodies of two deer slumped across the horses, and several of the men carried hessian sacks over their shoulders, no doubt full of game. Sighing to herself at having to leave the peace of the gardens, she made her way down towards the gatehouse to greet them.

The party had split by the time she reached it: hounds and horses gone to the kennels and stables and the servants to the kitchens. Gaston and Maurice had just dismounted as she entered the courtyard, the horses’ hooves ringing on the cobbles as they were led away. The air was heavy with the scent of dogs and horses, of sweat and blood, and Belle felt a little queasy.

“Ah, here she is!” announced Gaston, in his booming voice. “Belle, my dear! A successful hunt! We’ll eat until we burst tonight, eh Maurice?”

He burst out laughing and tossed a bag towards her. It fell open as it hit the ground, two dead pheasants rolling out, heads lolling. Blood spattered the cobbles, and Belle took a step back, trying to ignore the pheasants’ sightless stare. She met Gaston’s eyes, raising her chin.

“I’d like to talk to you about something, Sir Gaston,” she said. “Would you take a walk with me in the gardens?”

Gaston folded large arms across his chest, breathing in as he looked her up and down very deliberately.

“So polite and formal, my wife to be,” he said agreeably. “The picture of innocence and purity, waiting patiently for me to return. You’ve done well with her, Maurice. Very well indeed.”

Belle’s mouth thinned, but she said nothing as her father chuckled and made some comment about her taking after her mother. She waited, hands folded at her waist, and after a moment Gaston slapped Maurice’s shoulder, making him stagger, and strode towards her. She took a step back, struck by how large he was. He over-topped her by a good eighteen inches, and was twice as broad across the shoulders. She wondered what had made her think of it; it wasn’t as though they were meeting for the first time. No doubt most women would find his size and strength appealing, but it had only ever had the effect of making her dread the wedding night. Gaston grinned at her, showing very white, even teeth.

“To the gardens, my Lady,” he said, offering his arm.

After a moment she put her hand on his thick forearm, allowing him to guide her. She could feel his sweat beneath her palm, dust from the ride sticking to her fingers. It made her want to pull her hand away, but she kept her face smooth, maintaining a steady pace as they made their way towards the gardens.

“I went into town today,” she said. “I met a beggar woman there.”

“I’ve told the Watch to clear the beggars out,” he said. “Leave it to me, you won’t be bothered again.”

Belle frowned.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Her name was Gerta. She said she owned a smallholding by the river. She said she and other smallholders had been turned off their land and that it had been given to the brewers for grain. She called it the clearances.”

“Oh.” Gaston waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I remember. This is what I suggested for some of your lands, when we join them to mine. It’s been a success here.”

“She said her husband was killed.”

“Well, some of them put up a fight,” he said. “My men had to defend themselves.”

“Were any of your men killed?”

Gaston burst out laughing.

“Against a bunch of poor farmers? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then they were hardly in danger, were they?”

He glanced at her, brows drawing down into a scowl as he realised she was arguing the point with him.

“I can’t have peasants thinking they can just disobey my decisions without consequence,” he said, sounding petulant. “It’s not like they weren’t given notice to go.”

“Where would they go?” she demanded. “You took all they had!”

“Just goes to show their way of life would never turn a profit, then, doesn’t it?” he said. “We’re producing far more grain on those lands now. More efficient. Those little strip farms produce almost nothing.”

“Well, Gerta certainly has nothing now, she and her children are begging on the streets!” said Belle. “I told her to come to the castle and I’d give her work.”

Gaston turned to face her, his expression incredulous.

“You can’t give every waif and stray a job, Belle!”

“There’s more than enough work here,” said Belle obstinately. “If you hadn’t made her homeless it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I can’t be held responsible for every penniless whore in the kingdom!”

“You are responsible,” she snapped. “You’re the lord of the land! And these will be my people too, and I can’t stand by and watch while they starve!”

“Belle…” He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so naive. This is how the world works. Weeding out the weak is what keeps our people strong. It’s like breeding horses. You must understand that.”

“These are people!” she said hotly. “Not - not livestock!”

“And why do we keep them here on our lands?” he asked, as though teaching a rather stupid child. “To work the fields and clean up after us and fight in our wars. They can’t do any of that if they let themselves starve, can they? What use are they to us if they can’t look after themselves?”

“How can you be so callous?” she demanded, throwing up her hands, and he sighed, grumbling a little.

“Well, if you’re going to be hysterical about it, I see no reason to discuss it further,” he said coldly. “Come inside. Save your energy for the ball.”

Belle drew herself up to her full, rather unimpressive height, lifting her chin.

“I won’t attend a ball with someone who thinks so little of other people!” she snapped. “I won’t stand there and smile and laugh and pretend your values are the same as mine, Gaston, I won’t do it!”

He seemed to swell before her eyes, eyes darkening, face grown ugly with rage, and he seized her by the upper arms, his grip tight and painful enough to make Belle let out a cry.

“You think you can make a fool of me in front of all the nobility of the kingdom?” he spat. “You think I’d stand to be shamed in my own castle by a - a girl? Your father already promised me your hand, and I will have it, Belle! I will have you for my own and I will have your obedience, do you hear me?”

“If you expect me to just ignore the suffering of—”

“I expect your loyalty!” he said roughly, shaking her, and Belle tried to pull away, tears pricking her eyes as his fingers dug into her upper arms. Gaston tugged her closer, leaning in until his nose almost brushed hers. The stench of sweat and blood from him was almost overwhelming.

“You will attend the ball on my arm, Belle,” he said, through his teeth. “And you will smile, and you will dance, and you will show everyone how lucky you are to be marrying the most eligible man outside the King’s palace, do you hear me? Or by all the gods I’ll make those peasants wish they’d never been born, do you understand?”

He shook her again, and Belle squeaked in alarm, nodding swiftly in the hope that he would let her go.

“Tell me you understand!”

“Yes!” she squeaked, hating the sound of her voice, the fear in it.

“Yes what?”

“I - I understand,” she stammered, and he exhaled, relaxing his grip a little.

“Good,” he said, more calmly. “That’s all I want. A faithful, dutiful wife. A beautiful woman to support me and to bear my sons. That’s what your father promised me, and that’s what you’ll be. Isn’t it, Belle?”

She couldn’t speak, her body frozen with fear, and he bent to kiss her, his mouth rough and wet against hers, tongue pushing into her mouth. Her eyes flew wide at the intrusion, but she couldn’t seem to move, to push him away. When he pulled back there was saliva on her chin, and she was shaking with shock and terror. Gaston was breathing heavily, and released her arms, taking a step back from her.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and strode off towards the castle, leaving her standing frozen in place, as though his hands still held her captive.

Belle wasn’t sure how she managed to get back to her room, but once she was there she rang the bell for one of the maids and stood in front of the standing mirror, still trembing. Turning this way and that, she winced as she saw red marks on her arms where Gaston had grabbed her. For a moment she thought about trying to hide them, but then shook her head at her reflection, raising her chin. She would let her father see the marks. Perhaps there was a way out, even now. Maurice had not accepted any of her objections to the match before, but if she showed him evidence that Gaston had hurt her…

Marilee noticed her bruises immediately, of course, but to her credit, she didn't comment on them. She dressed Belle in blue silk, the colour making her skin seem even paler, the bruises more pronounced.

"Would you care for a shawl, milady?" she asked.

"I would not," said Belle shortly. "Is my father dressed?"

"I believe he's in the library."

"Good. You can just tidy my hair, I don't need it restyled."

"Very good, milady."

Marilee smoothed her hair where it was needed, re-pinning the strands that had come loose, and Belle nodded her thanks. The maid seemed to hesitate before she left.

"Best to give him what he wants, milady," she said eventually. "Easier on you. Easier on all of us. Her Ladyship worked that out long ago."

She left without another word, and Belle glared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing spots of colour bloom in her cheeks to match the marks on her upper arms. So. No help from the servants, it seems.

She pushed back, heading downstairs to the library. Maurice was looking through a large book filled with pictures of exotic birds and animals, and he glanced up with a smile as Belle strode up to him.

“I can’t marry this man, Papa,” she said resolutely. “I can’t do it.”

Maurice closed the book with a sigh, glancing across at her and looking uncomfortable.

“Now, Belle, we talked about this—”

“He hurt me!” she went on. “Look! See those marks? That was him!”

“Gaston told me what happened,” said Maurice gently. “The two of you had a lovers’ tiff and he got angry.”

“It wasn’t a lovers’ tiff!”

“He’s a big man, Belle,” he went on. “He doesn’t know his own strength. He feels terrible that he might have hurt you, he told me so.”

“Well, if he feels so bad, why didn’t he apologise to me?”

“I’m sure he will,” said Maurice soothingly. “You’ll see him at dinner, and this can all be smoothed over, I’m sure of it. It’s just pre-wedding nerves.”

“But - but I don’t want to marry him!” said Belle desperately. “Why can’t I marry for love?”

“When you show no interest whatsoever in the eligible men you’re introduced to?” said Maurice, his tone short. “I think not. You will marry for the good of our family, as I had to. As every noblewoman in this land has had to. Gaston is not a monster. He’s a fine, healthy, handsome fellow, and he’s extremely rich. Any woman would be lucky to call him husband.”

“Then maybe you should marry him.”

“That’s enough!” snapped Maurice, wagging a finger. “I sometimes think I give you too much licence to speak your mind, my girl!”

“Oh yes, may all the gods save us from a woman with an opinion!”

“One more word out of you and you’ll be eating dinner in your rooms alone!”

“Good!” snapped Belle. “At least then I can be assured of pleasant company!”

She stomped out before Maurice could retort, skirts swishing around her legs, and headed for her room, slamming the door shut once she was inside. Irritation made her pace back and forth before the fire, and eventually she strode to the tall windows, opening them out and stepping out onto the stone balcony to breathe in the cold night air in an attempt to calm herself.

The sun was fully set, the sky a rich, deep blue, scattered with stars. Belle leaned on the stone balustrade and gazed upwards.

“Gods, let me out of this marriage!” she whispered.

The stars twinkled at her, bright points of light in the darkness. One of them had a bluish tint to it, and Belle blinked as it grew larger. She pushed up straight, palms pressed against the cold stone, and her mouth opened in surprise as the blue light became a small figure, glittering in the dark. A fairy, wings fluttering behind her. She had dark curls, pinned up on top of her head, and was pale-skinned and pretty, a wand held in one small hand with a blue light shining at its tip. She was smiling at Belle, white-stockings covering slim legs hanging in the air beneath the wide skirt of a sparkling blue dress.

“Lady Belle of the Marchlands,” she said, her voice sweet and melodious. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“You have?” Belle took a step back, unsure how to proceed. It wasn’t as though they could shake hands. “Forgive me, I’ve never met a fairy before. I’m not too sure of the etiquette.”

She dipped a curtsy anyway, and the fairy bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“I’m the Blue Fairy,” she said. “Head of the Enchanted Forest Order of Fairies."

So this is the Blue Fairy? She's not what I expected.

"I don’t believe you were ever assigned a fairy godmother, is that right?” asked the Blue Fairy.

“Not - not as far as I know,” said Belle. “Is that unusual?”

“Most noble children receive our protection and guidance, but our numbers are limited,” said the Fairy. “Decisions must be made about the best use of our resources. Yours is a minor House, is it not?”

Belle felt her mouth thin. It was true that her House was somewhat diminished from what it had been in her great-grandfather’s day; the lack of sons over the past three generations and King’s wars had not helped matters. She still had pride in her ancient family name, though, and resented the implication that she had not been worth bothering with as far as the Fairies were concerned.

“So why have you come to me now?” she asked, and the Blue Fairy smiled, gently stroking the wand across her palm.

“I sense that you are not reconciled to your coming marriage,” she said pleasantly. “It’s customary for brides to be nervous, of course, but I thought I might be able to help give you some comfort.”

“It would certainly comfort me if you tell me I do not have to marry Sir Gaston,” said Belle.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Belle sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Then I foresee little comfort in this encounter.”

“This marriage is the right step,” persisted the Fairy.

“For whom?” asked Belle. “For the man who has a - a heartless disdain for his own people? For the man who - who left bruises on my arms when I dared to contradict him?”

The Fairy sighed, fingering her wand and making the light at its tip bounce and weave.

“He is a crude and rough man, to be sure,” she said. “But his is a noble House, and you could teach him to be better. Teach him to be more gentle, more kind.”

“Is that certain?” asked Belle, with some scepticism.

“There are no certainties in matters of the heart.”

“In which case it sounds like unnecessary suffering on my part.”

“You must have faith,” said the Fairy, beaming at her.

“And if all I get for my efforts is abuse and violence, what then?”

“Sacrifice for the greater good is the mark of a true hero,” said the Fairy, smiling serenely. “I see the need in you for adventure, Lady Belle. But there are different kinds of adventures in this life. Different challenges that women can face. Helping your husband to be a better man takes patience and courage. Is that not a heroic thing to aspire to?”

“And what of my own dreams?” asked Belle. “My desire to see the world, to travel, to study…”

“That may come, in its own time.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Think of the greater good,” persisted the Fairy. “If you can change this man, think of how many lives could be bettered by it! Think of what you can teach your children, how they in turn may influence their father for good.”

“So it’s not just me that would be expected to teach him how to be a decent person, but also our children?” said Belle flatly. “Where is his responsibility in all this?”

“In order to change, one must first face their own faults.”

“Gaston doesn’t believe he has any,” said Belle. “He never has. Marrying me wouldn’t change that.”

“You may be surprised at what a kind influence can accomplish.”

“In that case, why have the Fairies not sought to influence him before now?” asked Belle. “Surely his parents should have been given this talk?”

“We watched over him as a boy, and his mother raised him with love,” said the Fairy. “We did not anticipate that his own pride and selfishness would win out over her gentle nature.”

Belle sighed, and the Fairy flew a little closer.

“For better or worse, Lady Belle, you will marry Sir Gaston,” she said. “If it helps you to reconcile yourself to the fact, try to think of the needs of others before your own.”

Belle wanted to bristle at that, but said nothing.

“And this is my fate?” she asked. “To wed this - beast?”

“Think of it as an opportunity to save him,” said the Fairy soothingly. “True love can conquer all darkness.”

“And who decides on who is worth saving and who is irredeemable?” asked Belle. “If love can conquer darkness, why do I see so much evil in this land? So much - callous disregard for the suffering of others?”

“Pain is part of life,” said the Fairy.

“Only for some, it seems to me.”

“Everything happens for a reason, Lady Belle,” she said. “You must trust in the light winning against the darkness. We all must play our part.”

Belle frowned as she remembered something from her reading.

“True love,” she said slowly. “They say it’s the most powerful magic of all.”

“Oh yes!” said the Fairy, smiling widely. “Powerful enough to break any curse. To melt even the hardest heart and fill it with love. Imagine all you could do with that love.”

Belle smiled to herself, and nodded briefly.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I’ll see you again very soon,” the Fairy assured her. “I’ll attend on your wedding day to bless the union.”

Belle bowed her head, not trusting herself to give a response that would sound genuine, and when she raised her eyes again, the Fairy had gone. She frowned at the empty, darkened sky. Save Gaston from himself, indeed!

Turning around, she went back inside, closing the windows after her and drawing the curtains across. It appeared that everyone from her father to the Blue Fairy expected her to marry Gaston. Only the Dark One had promised her a way out, and by the gods she was going to take it!

#fic: key to the cell #rumbelle fic #my fic #dark castle rumbelle #forced kiss #abuse tw #gaston is a massive butt-trumpet

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cecevolume · 5 years

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Fate - Chapter One

Oofta. I have to say, the first chapter is always the hardest. Prologues are easy; you just set up the story. First chapters of the actual timeline? Ugh.

Little note: When I wrote the original, some characters hadn’t appeared in the show yet. I’m adding them in where I see fit, so Enzo will not be a vampire.

As always, I hope you guys enjoy!

CeceVolume

CHAPTER ONE

“I got friends in low places!” she sang, raising her mug with the rowdy bunch of demons she’d chosen for her drinking partners that night. They all were singing along to the song, spilling potent demon brew all over the floor while the other beings in the place laughed and danced in the chaos.

Yesterday, if someone had told Caroline Forbes that this was how she would be spending her night, she wouldn’t have necessarily been surprised; demons were especially fun to hang with on a night out. But if you said that she was doing it to give herself a cover should her friends decide to seek her out instead of her ignoring them on her phone? That would have been a stretch.

They were her best friends, after all. But just a touch on the annoying side.

“Too bad about your werewolf, gorgeous,” Enzo muttered, throwing his arm around her shoulder. Over the last fifty years, they’d partied a lot; he was one of the few rage demons she could stand to hang with for more than a day. “But that just means you can finally acknowledge your feelings for me,” he added with a smirk and swig of demon brew.

Enzo St. John was a well-known demon around Mystic Falls, one who had no problem bedding any female he turned his attention to. His thick, dark hair always looked like he’d gotten up and run his hand through it, called it good. If you caught those deep brown eyes sparkling at you, it meant one of two things: drop your panties or get the hell outta Dodge. As with most demons, he was lean, compacted muscle, the kind that made him hell in a fight.

And she’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about investigating the rumors of his…endowments.

Alas, she had found Tyler soon after meeting Enzo and he’d been a much safer choice. Now that “her werewolf” was gone, she just wasn’t willing to go through knowing that he would leave her someday, just like Tyler.

Rolling her eyes, she plucked his arm from around her. “You know,” she answered, “that’s never going to happen. I’m not trying to get attempted tonight.” As he opened his mouth to say something sly, she continued, “Or ever.”

Once again, Enzo’s arm found his way around her shoulders, this time putting his mouth to her ear to murmur, “That’s a very long time for an immortal, love, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like to eat your words.”

She stifled a little shiver but couldn’t help giving herself an inward shake. Enzo was a demon looking for his mate, just like Tyler. The accent and his do-what-you-feel attitude were tempting, but what would happen when he left her too? At least with Tyler, she hadn’t had to worry about being cheated on as well as the end that was always looming in the distance.

Giving him a small smile, she said, “How about this? If I don’t find myself a male by the time I’m five-hundred and you don’t find your female by then, we’ll try it out, see where it goes.”

Throwing back his head to laugh with a sparkle in his chocolate brown eyes, he replied, “I’ll write you in, darling.” He turned his attention back to Matt, who stood behind the bar with one eyebrow raised. “Matt, old boy! You’re our witness; Caroline’s mine on her five hundredth birthday! A round for the bar in celebration!”

All the Loreans in the bar shouted in glee, holding up their glasses in toast.

Normally, even a Born vampire wouldn’t be welcomed so whole-heartedly into the bar. Naturally, a creature that drank blood for sustenance was an unwanted patron in any establishment, much less one that actually knew they were bloodsuckers. Just the appearance of one could either clear out a place or turn it into a full-on brawl.

Caroline Forbes was special, though. Not only was Matt one of her best friends and now roommate, she was proud to say she was hard not to like. Even people who didn’t like her could at least acknowledge that she was great to party with. Life of the party, she thought to herself with a smile as she gave her beer another sip.

A chill she was all too familiar with went up her spine, making her eyes narrow as she turned in her seat. It was the sense that someone was…exasperated with her.

Swinging her attention to the door of the bar, she saw exactly who she had expected to see: Bonnie and Elena.

They stood apart from the rest of the crowd, mostly because of their reputations. They could drink and carry on with the rest of Caroline’s rag-tag team of friends, but that didn’t mean they didn’t get a wide berth the rest of the time.

Bonnie was the last Bennett witch, which made her quite possibly the strongest of her kind to ever live; the Bennetts were thought to be the first line of witches to step out of the ether. It didn’t help that the mocha-skinned woman had no problem throwing her weight around, dropping immortals left and right with just a look if they displeased her. Caroline thought it was a little over the top, but might makes right was the Lore’s motto. And this witch might just be the mightiest.

Of course, she could also chug a bottle of tequila and ask for seconds, something she had learned before she’d even met Party Girl Caroline.

While Bonnie took care of everything mystically, Elena was the warrior princess. As a Valkyrie, she had been trained since her birth forty years ago to battle with any weapon, at any time. Being the Doppelganger was just more reason to train her harder. She had no qualms about taking on the big and bad; nine point nine times out of ten, she’d end up winning too.

But she also could flip her long chestnut hair and shake her as like a champ.

Both of them weren’t shallow, one dimensional people. They had depth. Whoops, she thought with a larger gulp of beer. Guess the universe just forgets to shade in some when they spend so much time painting other masterpieces.

Caroline was more a blunt tool, untrained kind of woman. If it could do damage, she would inflict some real hurt with it. Though she’d learned to wield dual blades, she preferred to adapt to a situation; it made people more likely to underestimate her.

Yeah, walking around with a bow and short sword attached to you or magic glowing from your palms was cool, but to knock someone out with a lamppost was much more theatric. Plus it didn’t require as much talent.

Raising her hand in a wave, she called, “You guys come to drink or fight tonight?” She laughed when the whole bar—except the ever-suffering Matt, who merely shook his head with a grin—seemed to suck in a breath, waiting for the answer.

Normally, this would at least get a reaction of some sort out of the pair striding through the parting patrons. A little spark of magic or a twirl of an arrow. Just a little something to remind everyone that they were creatures with which one did not fuck.

Now, though, Caroline could see the purpose in their steps, their eyes. What the hell was going on? “Are you guys okay?” she asked when they finally got to her.

Bonnie gave a quick glance around the bar—glaring at Enzo’s back as he sidled up some nymph—before murmuring, “We have to get out of here, find some place we can talk. There are too many people here that might be listening in.” Her eyes strayed once more, as if she could pick out someone eavesdropping.

With a small snort, Caroline laughed, “Of course they’re listening; everyone here is just as much gossipmongers as a gaggle of old women.” A small mutter rippled through the crowd, making the vampire roll her eyes. “Oh, yeah, because that doesn’t make it seem like any of you were eavesdropping at all!”

Elena snatched her arm, pulling her quickly out of the stool. “Care, I love you, but now isn’t the time. Things are happening and Bonnie and I need you right now.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Enzo chimed in, “Did you read my dream journal? Dear Diary, today I dreamed a lonely witch, Valkyrie, and vampire found comfort in each other’s hot, wet—ah!”

Bonnie clenched her hand as the demon dropped to the ground, clutching his head. “Shut up,” she hissed before turning back to Caroline. “We have issues to talk about and the longer we sit here, the more problems we accumulate—son of a bitch!”

Everyone sensed it a mere moment after the witch. As a group, their attention went straight back to the front door and the two new occupants. If she didn’t see Bonnie building magic in her palms or Elena slowly unsheathing her short sword, Caroline would have laughed at the audacity then joined in the soon-to-be melee.

Two Turned vampires walk into a bar, she thought mockingly as she downed the last of her beer. “Is this one of the problems we’ve ‘accumulated’?” she asked quietly, noting Bonnie’s discreet nod in her direction. “Are we in fight or flight mode tonight?”

Surprisingly, it was Elena who answered, “Flight,” before inching closer to the bar. “Matt,” she muttered, “we could either use a berserker to clear the path or a distraction to get to the back door.”

The young, blonde vampire had never heard of a Valkyrie choosing retreat before the battle even started and had to eye the newcomers. What was so special about them?

Turned humans were notoriously arrogant; the sudden influx of previously unknown strength was like a drug to most. Usually, though, they were put down before they got too old because they were driven mad by the level of emotions and bloodlust. Their new instincts often warred with their delicate mortal minds. And a crazy immortal ended up a dead immortal.

Tilting her head, she regarded them more closely. The pair didn’t show any signs of madness, but definitely some intensity. The taller of the two ran his hand through his tawny hair, his light hazel eyes surveying the gathered group with something akin to pity. He stood just behind the other, his powerful body held tight beneath his brown leather jacket, forest green T, and jeans, as if waiting for the inevitable fight.

So he was the smart one, then. Didn’t hurt matters that he was cute to boot.

The other, though, garnered Caroline’s interest in a different way. There was something about how he held himself—loose but alert—that told her he was used to fighting and winning. Thick black hair fell in a small wave to accentuate the hard lines of his features. A smirk played on his lips as he surveyed the room with his lightning blue gaze, stopping to lock on…Elena.

Because of course it was Elena he was looking for; wasn’t everyone?

“Sorry, folks, we’re just passing through. Seems something of mine has wandered in,” he called to the room, raising his hands as if in surrender. “I don’t want to fight any more than the rest of you.”

Rising shakily from the floor, his rage state beginning to form, Enzo snarled past thick, strong fangs, “Fucking Damon,” before turning to his comrades. “That’s the fuck that stabbed me with a tree limb.”

Growls erupted from the room; demons might fight amongst themselves, but it was more in a sibling rivalry way. They didn’t take kindly to someone else doing it.

It was about to get very messy in the bar.

Glancing over her shoulder, Caroline saw that Matt had similar thoughts. His eyes were already flooding pure black as the specter of the bear inside him shimmered over him like a thin veil, his muscles beginning to grow. As he shattered the mug he’d been holding into tiny shards, he growled, “Go out the back. Only one vampire is allowed in this bar.”

As the trio tensed to jump the bar, the blue eyed Turned finally took his eyes off Elena long enough to say charmingly, “You might not want to push this, fellas; what’s a little stabbing amongst friends?” When that didn’t stop anyone from readying themselves, his smile deepened into something dangerous. Once again, he caught Elena’s eyes and winked.

“What the hell,” Caroline asked as she turned towards her friend, “is that all about?”

With a blush rising in her cheeks—again, what the fuck was going on—Elena muttered, “He thinks I’m his Bride, which means we gotta get out of here.”

Well, desperate times….

Leaning towards Enzo—who just needed the smallest nudge to completely lose control—Caroline whispered, “You’re really going to take that from a Turned? He ran you through!”

Enzo’s battle roar seemed to be all the spark this particular tinder box needed because all around her, chaos broke out. Matt vaulted the counter, his body nearly twice its usual size as Enzo charged the pair. All around other demons followed suit, the nymphs fading into floorboards. In the corner a pair of female werewolves snarled as the change began to take hold, their fangs shooting longer and claws curling into the wood of their table. A group of Sirens started to lose their glamour, transforming quickly into their true monstrous selves.

This was pretty much a done deal.

“Do we still have to run—”

Elena grabbed her arm and began running towards the back even as the Turned bellowed her name from behind them. Stumbling backwards as she tried to right herself, Caroline saw just as Enzo and his crew reached the pair before Bonnie shouted in her ear, “Let’s go; we don’t have time to be caught in a bar brawl!”

Bursting through the door, the Valkyrie finally released her vampiric friend’s limb and said, “Grab your keys! Time to book it to Val Hall!” When Bonnie started to argue, Elena cut her off quickly. “It’s closer and they won’t be able to get past the lightning. Plus, I’m ninety percent sure that they have a witch too.”

“Okay, ladies,” Caroline said as she ran past them, barely a blur, “we have way too much to talk about! Just get in the car!” Beeping the locks, she opened both front and rear passenger doors for the others, watching as Elena nose-dived immediately into the front seat.

Bonnie, however, stood facing the shaking bar, arms spread wide. Flames began to ignite in her hands and Caroline could have groaned. So now the witch wanted to stand her ground? What happened to not having time?!

“It’s time to go!” Caroline said sharply, drawing her friend’s attention. Blazing eyes turned to her. Waving her arms in a this-way motion, the vampire hissed, “We can always come back and whoop ass later, but right now, Elena kinda needs to leave. The last thing we need is some Turned catching her and making her his Bride.” Glancing back at the Doppelganger in her car, she murmured knowingly, “Unless you want the vampire?”

All she got was a glare, so she shrugged with a smile. “I mean, to each their own; just had to check.”

However, neither of the other women seemed to think she was funny even though she was pretty sure she was hilarious. Once again, different strokes for different folks.

“Fine.” Bonnie started back towards the car, looking only a little put out. “But only because this is the least of our worries right now,” she added testily, sliding into the backseat and slamming her door. “We have to talk about the oracle—”

Slam!

All three females’ heads twisted back to the barely surviving door, only to see it on the pavement, the blue-eyed vampire snarling atop it. He was fully vampiric now, his fangs long and lethal as black veins spread down his cheeks. His clothes and skin were splattered with blood, just to top off the whole look. “Don’t even think about it, Elena,” he growled, stalking forward. “If I have to find you—”

Rolling her eyes, Caroline shook her blonde hair. “Okay, I’m done with this melodrama. Maybe you can call her and set up a date? Instead of the whole vampire Tarzan thing? We have stuff to do and you’re really—” she yanked a lamppost out its cement base “—getting in the way of that!” Swinging the post over her shoulder, she shouted, “Batter up!”

In that moment, he charged, moving faster than even she could track. Fuck, she thought, how old is this guy? In the blink of an eye, he would be on her; if she swung, she wouldn’t get a second chance. She had to make sure he couldn’t dodge….

With a sudden hiss of pain, he dropped to his knees mere feet in front of her, fingers digging into his scalp. A look over her shoulder showed Bonnie—from the safety of the car—clenching her hand much as she had with Enzo.

“Bonnie, coming in clutch with an aneurysm!” Dropping the light, Caroline strode to the car. “Thank you. While part of me believed I could do some damage, I didn’t want to take the chance that guy took my head off.” She smiled as she climbed in the driver’s seat, casually adjusting her mirrors. “I mean, he made it out of a bar brawl with a myriad of monsters; I don’t know how much hope I would have.”

“He’s starting to get up!” Elena cried. “Go, go, go!”

Sure enough, despite the fact that Bonnie still had him, the vampire was struggling to rise to his feet, seeming to shake off the pain to focus on the Valkyrie. He lifted his arm, pointing at her shakily. “I’ll find you,” he snarled.

With a small squeak—and that wasn’t even directed at her—Caroline turned back around and put pedal to metal. The tires screeching, she took off without looking back, just letting the car hit its top speed even as it shook. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” she chanted, nearly constantly looking into her rearview. If he could resist Bonnie, what was to stop him from being fast enough to catch up?

Elena was breathing heavily, sinking into her seat in relief. “I just want to get back to Val Hall to hang with my sisters, that’s it. I need a stiff drink and a hot bath.”

Bonnie leaned between the front seats, hands on the back of each. “We have a lot to talk about. That Turned vampire is the least of our worries right now. Caroline,” she turned her full attention to the blonde woman, “the Oracle at the House had a vision today about you. She told us to watch after you, but that’s all she would give us; she says if you can avoid being captured for a week, to come to her and you’ll be ready for what she has to say.”

Caroline had to stop herself from slamming on the breaks at that. “What?!” she demanded. “And you didn’t think something like that was important to tell me immediately?! Who the hell is trying to come after me?!”

She wasn’t the one that immortals chased; there was nothing special about her. She was just a seventy-four year old Born vampire whose parents ditched her the moment she transitioned into a full immortal. Not a Doppelganger, not the most powerful witch in existence, not even a rare breed of monster that was strong enough to lift a semi. There wasn’t a single thing that would make her stand out to anyone for an abduction other than knowing several High Profile beings.

Caroline Forbes was nothing to anybody but a side character in someone else’s story. Wasn’t that exactly what had happened with Tyler? Second best to someone he hasn’t even met yet, she thought as her hands clenched the steering wheel tight enough for it to start to crack.

“I don’t know!” Bonnie said. “That’s why you need to lay low for a week!”

Elena sat up at last with a sigh, pushing her heavy chestnut hair back from her face. “Which brings us to the next problem.” Turning to Caroline, she explained, “There’s been sightings of a couple of Originals all around the county. We don’t know what they’re after but we can guess it has something to do with me or Katherine Pierce, the Queen of Illusions and Persuasion.”

That seemed a touch more important than having to lay low for a week, at least in Caroline’s mind. If someone was looking for her, it was usually to plan a party.

But when they were looking for either of the living Doppelgangers, it usually meant they were trying to do something evil; Doppelganger blood held mystical properties that’s power was through the roof. Essentially, it was the immortal way of going nuclear in a war.

And the Originals—though they normally seemed to keep the murder and mayhem to a minimum—were the Vampire Royal Family. No one was sure how old they were, but they were the strongest vampires in existence and were rumored to have untold power. Though she’d only seen them in Lorean tabloids, like for Finn and Sage’s vow renewal twenty years before, that didn’t detract from the fact that they had strength not just as a collective but separately to do whatever they wanted.

Like most Born vampires, Caroline had grown up hearing stories of them and how, even without magic, they could day-walk, that they were all the strengths and none of the weaknesses. What they wanted, they got, no matter how many innocent people they had to take down in the meantime.

So…. “That seems a little more important than watching my back,” she conceded, glancing in the mirror at Bonnie as she pulled up to Val Hall. “If the Originals are after Elena, she needs more protection than I do.”

As they stepped out of the car, Caroline noted that both Bonnie and Elena looked down at their shoes guiltily. “That’s what we thought, too,” Elena murmured, looking up at Caroline from beneath her lashes.

“Not that you aren’t special enough to get kidnapped,” Bonnie hastily added, walking over to Caroline. “Just…you know, she’s the Doppelganger. But when I talked to the Oracle about it, she said that Elena would be safe until you were able to get the information from the prophesy.”

Making herself smile and jokingly wave her hand, she ignored the insecurity in her stomach; it hurt that nothing made her different from anyone else when two of her best friends were Big Deals. But she was used to it, knew better than to show it to them. “Guys, I’m not upset,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to have a constant target on my back like the two of you; looking over my shoulder would definitely cut into my having fun time.” Linking arms with both of them, she strode towards the porch where two of Elena’s sister Valkyrie sat whittling shives. “I only have to worry for a week; you two have your entire immortal lives. I think I’ll survive.”

Insert Break

The next night, Caroline woke in a bed that wasn’t her own to the sound of Valkyrie battle cries. The sound of them shook the entire house, the lightning outside striking so often it was like there was a spotlight shining through the curtains.

Instantly, the vampire remembered what she’d learned the day before, groaning at what the fighting meant. I guess I should have known that we wouldn’t get a day off, she thought as she snatched up her clothes and matching stiletto blades. Sliding the weapons into the sheaths she’d had sewn into all of her shirts, she started out of her borrowed room and up the stairs at break-neck speed.

Bonnie had gone back to the coven the night before, hoping to get more information on what the Originals were looking for and who was after Caroline, so she probably had no idea there was even an attack yet. Luckily, going after a Valkyrie at Val Hall was one of the worst things you could do, so hopefully they didn’t need her.

Racing into the moonlight, Caroline was surprised to find…no one was there. There was nothing outside except for the constant arcs of lightning and the shrieks coming from deeper in the forest. But why would the Valkyrie lose home advantage, especially at night? There were so many Loreans that lived within those woods, yet they were leaving their house unprotected….

Shaking off doubt, she dashed towards the fight, only then noticing the beginnings of gnawing hunger. This was why she had suggested they go to the house she shared with Matt; there, they had the protection of a mortal living within the home and she had a fridge stocked full of blood bags. Plus, while the other Valkyries put up with her, they weren’t exactly happy to have a vampire in the house, no matter how many times Elena reminded them that Caroline had been raised to never drink straight from the vein.

She slowed as she realized the sounds and flashes were still beyond her, even though she had to have covered the distance already. What the hell? Are they fighting that hard? Her heart caught in her throat; the only beings that might be able to take on a house full of battle-trained Valkyrie were the Originals. And she wouldn’t be surprised if the warrior women led the attackers further away from their goal.

Before she could take off after them again, she heard a throat clear from behind her. Spinning around she saw the blue-eyed vampire from the night before.

“Sorry, Barbie,” the vampire said, arms and ankles crossed as he leaned lazily against the trunk of a tree. “I really didn’t want it to have to come to this, but seeing as my Bride is hiding behind a shield of sisters, I had to figure out a way to lure her out.” Too white teeth shown in the light as he pulled away from the tree.

Taking a step back, Caroline asked slowly, “How did you lead the Valkyrie away?”

He shrugged, following her. “A Mimic owed me a favor; it started shrieking and all the Valkyrie followed. Unfortunately, that worked against me because they brought Elena with them.”

For a moment, she could see a softening in his eyes at the mention of her friend and for that time, she wondered why Elena wouldn’t want to be the Bride of a devoted male. To have someone care about you more than they cared about themselves, to want nothing more than your happiness…so many people searched centuries for that kind of love but not Elena.

Was that why Caroline wasn’t one of the Big Deals? Was the fact that she wanted to love and be loved in return why she would never be High Profile?

Not for the first time, she asked herself if she would always have to be second fiddle to Elena.

Lost in her thoughts, Caroline missed the male moving, was quickly caught by what felt like a shackle around her wrist. She looked up at the vampire, feeling her vampire traits coming to her face. “So, you’re going to ask Elena to come to you in exchange for me? Isn’t that just so typical of immortal men? No wonder she wants nothing to do with you.”

Okay, his vampire face was a bit more daunting than hers. “I’ll do whatever I have to, Blondie, to get my Bride. Do you know how long I’ve been chasing her, what it feels like to have your body totally shut down?” He yanked her closer, baring his fangs right in her face. “I’m Turned; I’m sure you know that. I felt myself die then woke up without my heart beating, without having to breathe. For over a hundred and twenty years, I’ve looked all over for her. I’ve paid my dues and now I get my reward.”

“You do realize I won’t go without a fight, right?” she asked, faking a yawn. “Besides, if anything happens to me, Elena will never accept you.” In a flash, she had one of her blades pressed to his throat even though his grip threatened to crush her other wrist. Don’t get abducted for one week, that was the deal, she berated herself. You had one job and you already screwed it up. “So I think you’re the one with more to lose, don’t you?”

Keeping the blade against his throat meant that when he leaned forward, she had to lean back, giving her unsteady footing. Not exactly advantageous, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She still had Elena to hold over him, of course.

“Then maybe I rip your head off here and leave you for the animals to eat.” His smile turned sinister. “No one will ever know what happened to you.” Without so much as blinking, he ripped the stiletto out of her hand and tossed it away, completely decimating the bones in her wrist. As she cried out in pain and tried to yank herself away, he flipped her to her back on the ground, his hand around her throat. Crouching over her, she saw he wasn’t even the slightest bit breathless. “If you swear to do what I say, though, I don’t have to kill you. But if you don’t…they won’t know what happened to you.”

Blinking back the pain in her arm, she wanting to give some snappy comeback, to put on some bravado. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much experience with anything other than friendly sparring so she…was…terrified.

Tears came to her eyes at being helpless, once again being collateral damage in someone else’s story. “I’ll go with you just please…don’t kill me.”

#klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #a fate you can't escape #rewrite #holy shit this is actually coming along

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sublimegentlemanalpaca · 5 years

Note

I would very much be interested in your ocs

Very well.

Let me preface that a lot of these Fellows came to mind after I reached the thought of ‘hey, what if I took how people joke about me being some Eldritch entity that existed before time, space, and the universe, and ran with that? So some of these guys are more self inserty than others. All the fellows I’m about to mention are close to being the same person..or to put it a better way...they are existential echoes or perhaps facets of a greater Eldritch entity...with all of them sort of galavanting about existence, across universes and things.

One OC has some connection to the OCs of @lint-roll with their permission and following their suggestion...and I’ve been badgering them about these fellows for like a week or more.

One last bit of backstory before going into The OCs Proper if you’ll allow. Long ago one of these fellows took the Name of Alaric( meaning Ruler of All) and made himself a King with a Crown, Silvery Robes, and a Flaming Sword...he ruled over a whole world...there was an uprising and Alaric was slain. In response to the killing of their Fellow the rest of the ‘Als’ rained Eldritch vengeance on the world over which Alaric ruled. There were some survivors..but more on that later. With that said..and poorly explained I imagine..on to the OCs in question.

Algimantus Varius Eldritch: A strange fellow. Tallish, clean shaven. His signature outfit is Grey pants, Ultramarine suspenders, a salt white shirt, a Vibrant Green Long Coat (imagine Fagin’s Coat from Oliver! Or Nepeta’s Coat from that Homestuck thing), a Bowler hat, and Circular glasses of an Amber color. And of course a finely made Cane (because just about every character of mine must have the aesthetic of Cane, Coat, and Hat) Algimantus is generally polite, if a bit eccentric, and at times purposefully ignores context clues of conversations if he thinks some fun can be had with the words (even if he’s the only one who finds it funny). He looks human to be sure...but there are times...such as when he smiles a certain sort of smile, and his eyes take on a friendly glare that his Eldritch nature is glimpsed. He is a procurer, purveyor, trader, and occasional maker of Items of Mystical, Magical, Occult, and a generally Eldritch nature. He tends to cary his wares in one of those huge salesman suitcases (like in the Music Man) which reads ‘‘Eldritch’s Emporium of all things Eldritch). He has also been known to hold things in his hat. He is fond of showing off his wares, be it an ever changing set of magical rings, or a Phoenix feather Quill (perfect for writing secret messages) in his Hat. His merchandise is sold for either ludicrous amounts of money, traded for something of interest, or sold for something less material (for example a coat of perfect stealth in exchange for a person’s whisper).

The bit of merchandise he is most proud of though is his Pen Dragons. Beautifully crafted pens that turn into little Dragons. He always has his own Pen Dragon (One Estragon Alaric Pen Dragon, called Alaric) with him. A beautiful thing of Silver.

Pen Dragons: a note on Pen Dragons. They are made, not by binding the soul of a Dragon to a Pen as you’d imagine but rather a process is performed which results in the Existential echo of a Dragon, The Dragonness left in a place where a Dragon has been for a long time, and that Dragonness manifests in the Pen York become a Pen Dragon. Alaric as an example of Pen Dragonness is primarily used for writing is an avid book Wyrm. He will collect words and bits of info like his own hoard. Alaric is also very jealous of Algimantus’ Phoenix Quill and takes every opportunity available to get rid of it.

At one point Algimantus learns of a circus performer who has managed to make Pen Dragons of her own. Algimantus has searched for this person since the means of Manifesting Existential echoes is a skill he invented and only ever shared with his Fellows. He hopes to make this person a Potential Apprentice of sorts.

Pen Aluni : The Potential Apprentice in question. Has some skill in enchantment,and drawing. Foundling of a circus where she participated in a Magic act. One day after a show involving a Dragon Skeleton she suddenly has a bunch of Pencils turning into little dragons running amok..only for them to be subdued by a silver small dragon...and to top it off some weirdo in a green Coat has shown up offering her an Apprenticeship for reasons.... I don’t know much about her character yet at present. Apologies. Her last name (meaning student ) was thought up by Algimantus. Turns out she is a survivor of the Kingdom of Alaric...

On to other Als.

Alan V Eldritch: This short fellow is prone to gambling of all sorts. Wears an Ultramarine Coat, brown corduroys, and a dull red shirt. Bowler, and a cane suited for whacking and keeping people at bay. He is commonly found conning people with that shell game thing. He is perhaps the most intentionally cruel of his fellows and takes great enjoyment in the minor and major sufferings of existence, humanity in particular. He and Algimantus do not get along exceptionally well. He has an attempt at a goatee which he swears makes him look Puckish.

Algernon V. Eldritch: Imagine a Circus Ring Master. Leave him bald, and give him a obviously fake and ludicrous mustache. Make him a bit heavier around the middle than most of his fellows and you have Algernon. He has continually tried to entertain people...and has continually failed for one reason or another. Before starting a Circus his business was that of a Fool and Gesture with the mannerisms of said profession never really leaving. Meaning he will not shut up and speak his mind no matter who its to. More so than the rest of his fellows.

Alfur and Aldread: ‘the Twins’ these two have continually set up shop as royal advisors of opposing kingdoms and have treated the wars of said kingdoms as a personal game between them. Alfur is notable for having straight hair, and wizardly robes and staff. Aldread is more of a John Dee inspired Alchemist Spy advisor. The two look practically identical save the one dresses in Blue, the other Orange. Not sure which is which.

Alfwin V Eldritch: Alfwin is the one among his fellows who has the most knowledge and closest friendship with the Elves (anywhere). Don’t know what his colors are. But I know the Elves know him, and his fellows collectively as ‘‘The Eldritch One’.

Albus Viggo Eldritch: Albus stands out with pale skin white hair and all black ensemble including Greek Fisherman’s Cap and a Peacoat. Albus’ Cane is a Cane Sword with a Kraken looking Handle. He also has Rapier about his person. Albus manages a number of Lighthouses and offers shelter and housing to the Spirits of those who die at Sea. He will often sing with his ghostly house guests, and they will usually follow him when he leaves his Light Houses for elsewhere. He has a huge Sailing Ship called the Alexandria, and has some control over the Weather able to make Zora dissipate Tempests and the like. Albus is perhaps the kindest of his fellows and is not one for Cruelty unless truly deserved. Also, I’m am told due to his pale complexion and habit of sword fighting ghosts he is sexy. The Ghosts all call him ‘Captain Jones’ with the earliest having mistaken him for Davy Jones and it just stuck. Albus is the most open about feeling horribly guilty for his part in the destruction of Alaric’s Kingdom. He made sure to ferry what survivors he could away from the Vengeance of his Fellows.

Alvis V Eldritch: Alvis is Grey. His clothes, his attire, his pet Owl, all Grey, everything save his skin (and he did try that for a while). Alvis, while not necessarily the oldest of his Fellows, has made the conscious decision to look Old. He walks with a wooden Staff, and has a large book with him at all times. He is the only one of his fellows to keep track and tabs on all the others. The rest usually go about their business meeting up on occasion. Alvis’ own business is a book store. He had played with the idea of a Library...but decided on a bookstore for one reason or another. His Bookstore can be found in many places. Almost anywhere, though you’re unlikely to meet him there. He often will sleep in the back, or reading and will often have some hired help manage things. Only getting him if someone wishes to buy from the more Eldritch sections. That knowledge costs knowledge and the knowledge given is lost forever to the buyer. As is the knowledge of having lost it. Alvis is the All Wise, he knows near everything. He and one other fellow are closest in true Eldritch nature to that Fellow of which they are mere aspects, echoes, and facets. He is not unkind, nor kind, he can be helpful but he doesn’t talk too often. All the other fellows show proper respect to Alvis. He does not know the Future...but if a thing is known..Alvis no doubt knows it. He keeps a Pen Dragon which Algimantus gave him..and a Pet Owl. No one is sure where the Owl came from. It might have just flown in one day and Alvis decided to keep it. No one is mean to Alvis’s Owl. Alvis will give info to his fellows if he thinks it will help..and he can keep Secrets. He and Albus instantly recognize Pen for what she is.

Lastly there is Alastor. When Alaric was slain the Fellow felt it as a searing pain. In retaliation he had all the fellows fall down upon the Kingdoms of Alaric and destroy it and everyone who played a part in the slaying of Alaric. Alastor, dressed in rags, not bothering with a face, and only barely attempting anything close to a human guise is the remaining vengeance personified. Alastor does not smile, nor laugh. He does not run, nor take interest in the Eldritch peculiarities of existence as his Fellows do. Alastor only searches for those who showed they could hurt him...and eliminate them with the same sword of Alaric’s which proved to be his undoing.

So...there’s all that.

Hope that’s sufficient. There will be more of course. I am writing/planning the writing of a thing which should show Algimantus making little Alaric the Pen Dragon.

Make of this what you will.

Al, the Chronographing Cottager and Prince of Naming

#The Als #my OCs #Eldritch Fellows

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jigensass · 5 years

Text

I couldn’t sleep so I decided to make this. Endgame Spoilers under the cut so you have been warned.

What's done is done.

I can't change it now. The one choice I made could have resulted in at least 4,394,307 different scenarios and it was a blessing these people, the people I trusted with my blind faith who for years before I saw as legends from social media and television, chose the one where balance was properly restored to the universe.

My name is Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange. And this is how I saved my universe from destruction.

Wong had told me about the Infinity Stones and their unlimited power. He always scolded me every time he noticed the stripes in my hair grow whiter. I could have stopped using the Time Stone whenever I wanted, but there was this urge, this itch that kept telling me I had to. As if I needed to be ready for something. That something was a fateful day back in 2018.

I was headed out to the grocery store to pick up some food with what money I made from my odd side jobs as a party magician and guidance counselor to those who had suffered severe trauma similar to mine. Very few people like me understood the true purpose of why I pulled through. It was never the magic that was the end goal, it was the truth. And from watching the X-Files back in the 90s, I learned that no one really liked the truth if it wasn't in their favor.

The truth can be harsh and a difficult horse pill to swallow. But it's always going to hit us in the face whether we want it to or not. My truth on my crusade to get groceries and sandwiches from my cohort's 20 rupees fell right through the Sanctum's roof in the manner of a green giant I had only seen once before. It shook me back to 2012 when I was performing brain surgery with a generator in the basement of a hospital while aliens were attacking Manhattan. Good times.

It was the Hulk but quickly shrank into a physicist known as Bruce Banner. He was in a fright mumbling about 'Thanos'. Nothing made sense coherently, but the only phrase that set us on alert was 'Infinity Stones'. In the present moment, I did not know where we were headed, but I had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty.

Bruce suggested that we find the Avengers again and advised to start with Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man. Luckily, someone had posted on their Instagram exactly where to find him. He was with his fiance, Ms. Potts in Central Park, being a normal person. They both seemed spooked by a ring of fire ripping through space. But nevertheless, Tony was reluctant to come to Bleecker Street.

His attitude was, as expected from old news stories I saw back in the day and from looking into a broken mirror: an asshole. Did he always treat people like this and they just....let it go? Wong and I took no bullshit and put him in place that we were serious business (as serious as anyone usually took us). So I opened old wounds and played the asshole game with him and just as quick as I was captured by aliens, Tony realized that I was on his team to get the job done by choice and not by duty.

If we never decided to even our levels onto the same playing field or chose him as our first option, we all would be dead by now.

So, I was captured and was shot into outer space on Titan. I felt everyone's emotions growing tense from the quick thinking to follow me out into space, even my own. My words were sharp when I threatened to kill Peter or Tony to keep that Stone safe from the hands of Thanos. It went against my Hippocratic Oath I vowed to keep when transferring to a Master of the Mystic Arts. At the time, I didn’t know I was going to eat my own words.

The journey continued onwards and we met up with another group who was after Thanos who 'took names and kicked ass' known as the Guardians of the Galaxy. At this point, we had ended up on Titan, Thanos's home planet. It was obvious even more emotions were getting tenser. My comrades were screaming at each other.

I had to use the resources I had. I had to use the Stone.

I meditated and dove into 14,000,605 paths that the next decisions could take. And only one was the best winning result. To this day I still dread this result because lives had to be lost one way or another. I had to weigh the odds as best as I could in our favor. (This is also my apology that my game took too long. The rat that turned on the Quantum Accelerator was precisely placed into the plan.)

I had to start by a loss, to make him feel cocky. Truth was, he wasn't cocky about it. Once done with the deed and using the Stones a second time, he wanted to die alone. He knew the power was too great for anyone, even for a human. Using the Stones multiple times had a lasting effect. I'm the living example because I lost track of my age. The only person who knows the actual number is Wong.

My move was not out of fear, but out of precision in hopes that the right path would be taken. You're probably wondering 'well if time travel was involved why didn't you choose an ending where you stayed alive to help?'

Every ending where I stayed alive and kept the Stone, Steve Rogers died from Thanos's rampage from the Mind Stone being destroyed.

In my mind's eye, I wanted no one to be a casualty that was directly tied to the endgame. I tried, but I couldn't find one. I held that in my conscience for 5 years in the Soul Stone with a heavy heart that Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff were going to die to save us all.

My mind spun and it hurt my very being. The people I would emotionally scar, the friends I could possibly tear apart. (Disclaimer: I didn't see past Tony's death so I had no idea of what Cap was going to do).

So when Wong and I went to the funeral, it surprised me that his family took it...so well? It still weighed in my mind that I was responsible for this whole mess and being the person I was, should take some action. But “what’s done is done”.

As we were about to head back to Manhattan, my friend looked into my eyes and saw the guilt still swimming away. Personally, I was very emotional when I lost patients on the table and losing friends like this hurt just as much.

"Go," I remember him shaking my head back towards the cabin. "It's best you tell them now the whole story. They will understand for they knew the risks."

His permission had me power walking back to the cabin to see Pepper cleaning up from the dinner. I knocked on the door and poked my head in to see Morgan tinkering with her mother's helmet on the table.

"Mrs. Stark- Virginia, may I have a word?"

#endgame #endgame spoilers #spoilers #doctor strange #pepper potts

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despressolattes · 6 years

Text

Side Character [ LEGACIES ARC ] CHAPTER THREE

Hope told me all about her shared kiss with Landon before they attempted to compel him. They sent him on the way, but there was a problem: a knife from the artifacts. We weren't even sure of the origin of the knife, or the importance, but we did know one thing: Landon Kirby stole it, and since he never returned home, he was never compelled.

Hope's mad about it because she finally let someone in, and they ended up lying to her. I overheard a conversation with her and Alaric from last night where she had said,

"My cousin may be okay with letting people who lie to her in, but I'm not. I'm not that stupid."

I know she was referring to Roman. She could say she forgave him all she wanted, but there would always be a part of her that's mad at him for his role in Hayley's death. I didn't tell her I heard it because us fighting is the last thing needed.

Especially when we were going to meet with Matt Donovan, Mystic Falls's Sheriff, about the bus that Landon was on where a lot of people died.

Landon was missing.

Roman and I walked towards Alaric's car, his arm around me. As we approached, I saw Hope had just arrived, and that someone was under the car doing something.

I turned to me boyfriend, smiling up at him. I moved one of his curls out of his face, before leaving my hand on his cheek.

"Have fun today, okay?" I said, kissing him.

"You mean losing to Mystic Falls High?" he asked, talking about the annual rugby game our school plays against Mystic Falls High.

We have to lose every year since we can't use our supernatural abilities. Sure, we could probably win if we tried hard enough, but we also kind of sucked. We only went because Alaric wanted us to keep up appearances so we looked like a normal school.

If we looked normal, then people wouldn't ask too many questions.

"I do," I replied, laughing.

"Good luck with... whatever you're about to go do," he said, glancing at Hope. "Not too sure she'll be too happy you're kicking her out of this mission."

I sighed, frowning as I looked at her. "Well, I told Alaric all about the spell I saw her rip from that book... I left the whole black-magic with Josie part out, but a death spell? This anger she has, this hatred, Alaric and I both agree this isn't Hope, it's Uncle Niklaus, the parts of him she takes after."

"Just stay careful, I love you."

"I love you, too."

He kissed my forehead and I walked over to Hope. She was talking to Rafael, who ended up being the person underneath the car. I grabbed her elbow as she and Rafael bickered back and forth.

"Hey," she said, before going back to look at him.

"We need to talk," I told her.

She glanced at Rafael one more time before she and I took a few steps backwards.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I saw the spell you have in your jacket," I told her, and she looked anywhere but at me, her lips pursed together as she realized she was caught. I grabbed her arm to reel her attention back on me. "And I told Dr. Saltzman."

"You did what?!" she whispered yelled at me, looking at me with her angry eyes.

"Hope..."

"Lilah, why would you do that?"

"Because he and I both agree you shouldn't go on this mission."

"Excuse me?" she asked. "No, I have to go. I'm the reason Landon even got access to the knife-"

"Hope-"

"No!"

"Listen," I said, glaring at her. "You're angry, and you're hurt, and you're a Mikaelson. Three things that shouldn't be mixed together, ever. So, I'm sorry, be angry with me, that's fine, but you are off this mission."

As I walked towards Rafael, a rock came up and almost tripped me. I huffed and turned around to see Hope with her angry smirk and her arms crossed.

"Don't tempt me, Hope," I yelled, angry with her attitude. "You got this whole 'I'm mad at the world' thing going on, and I'm sick of it!"

She stared at me with her wide, angry eyes, and I kept yelling at her from afar. I didn't even care who was looking anymore.

"You refuse to make any friends! You alienate everyone! I stick by you because you are my best friend, because you are my damn cousin! I get it, you lost a lot, you've gone through a lot, suck it up! So have all of us! I lost my mom in birth, Hope, and was held captive for sixteen years. Then I lived a thousand watching over my family from afar, and when I finally get to be apart of that family, my own dad takes his life to be with yours because of a stupid, stupid decision you made to take that stupid dark magic out of the Originals."

I stood there breathing heavily and with tears forming. Roman, who didn't get too far before he heard my screaming, was by my side the second I got loud. He held me every time I lunged forward, pointing at her in my hysteria.

"Your point is?" she asked, her stubbornness ticking me off more.

"My point is that you need to get off your damn high horse and understand that other people have suffered, too, and this anger you have, it's gonna get you nowhere."

She scoffed. "While we're talking about grudges and parents dying because of others decisions, let's remember who got my mom killed in the first place."

She directed her last comment at Roman, who tightened his grip on me. I loosened myself from him and vampire sped towards her, landing my palm to her pale cheek. She she held her face and looked back at me, I spoke with gritted teeth.

"Leave. My. Boyfriend. Out. Of. This," I said to her. "He didn't know what he was doing, and he lost his mother that day, too. He lost his father at the hands of our family. If anyone should have grudges, it should be him and Antoinette."

"Enough!"

Everyone's heads turned to see Alaric staring at us with disappointment.

He looked at everyone else, and said, "Get to class!"

When everyone but Hope, Roman, Rafael, and I were gone, Alaric finished speaking with a sad tone of voice.

"Mikaelsons, the both of you, pure Mikaelsons," he said, using our last names to mean a bad thing. "You guys get your hysteria and your anger from your bloodline. Now, Lilah, get in the car, Hope, cool off."

"She still gets to go after the scene she just made?" Hope asked.

"She's not the one with a vendetta against Landon, so yes, she gets to go," Alaric said. He looked at Rafael. "Fix my car, and get in."

I asked, "We're taking Raf?" at the same time Hoped exclaimed, "You're taking Raf?!"

"He might be of some help, since he's so close with Landon."

Hope pouted, and I stepped into Roman's embrace again. I moved my head so I could look up at his face as he held me, and he looked down to bring his lips to mine. I held his face, and said, "I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be," he shook his head, placing his chin on my head. "Now, go be a hero and find Landon. We have things to talk about tonight, it seems."

four

this was intense, and it was definitely the scene I've been wanting to write. The Lilah and Hope relationship dynamic now that Hope is trying to seem heartless, trying to hold grudges. The problems they've both been keeping at bay, finally setting sail.

#sidecharacter:legacies #legacies #hope mikaelson #rafael waithe #landon kirby #josie saltzman #lizzie saltzman #alaric saltzman

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years

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Tired, Hungry, and Chiefly

This chapter is my pride and joy. You think you’ve seen Eret be bad at women? No you haven’t, he peaks here. Wait, no he doesn’t, there’s that time he’s gonna super awkwardly bring up marriage at a bad time but whatever. And the poor boy can’t be trusted with his little mini stoick thing he’s got going on. Someone help him. The baby boy.

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“Is it broken?” I feel stupid asking the question as I stare at the dam Sven wants help with. I’ve never looked at a dam for this long before, of course I understand the basic idea of it, that it stops water from flowing and makes a pool that we can draw from more easily, as evidenced by the channel taking water down the hill to the fire suppression system. But there’s also water trickling through the front of it, a smaller stream than the one uphill, sure, but isn’t it supposed to stop the water?

“No,” Sven shakes his head, “we just need a bigger reservoir behind it, the chief gave permission for a secondary channel down by the hanger in case of fire and when we try to fill both,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t work.”

“Ok…” I sigh, “dumb question, but why don’t we just stop all of the water coming through it? Can’t we grab this water.” I dip my toe in the trickle through the front of the rocks and Sven looks at me like I’m stupid.

“If we fully dam the creek and get more rain than we expect, that’s a flood for sure.”

“But wouldn’t it just go the new way you tell it to?” I point at the diverted channel and Sven shakes his head, obviously frustrated.

“Well, no, it’d flood the dry riverbed and eventually the North fields and the village itself, most likely.”

“So we can’t do that.”

“No.”

“What exactly do you need again?” I rub my forehead like that’ll make it think faster or de-clutter the thoughts that are already there. I’ve been on my own with this stuff for a week and a half now but it feels like a lifetime, or at least like I have a lifetime worth of everyone else’s problems jamming up my brain. Bang nudges my hand and I pat his nose.

“You ok, chief?”

“Acting Chief,” I correct, because the opposite of what people say almost always sounds better. Acting Chief sounds ineffective when I don’t know what to do but Chief sounds like I should know what to do. There’s no winning with it really. “Just a headache. I’m fine. It’ll be better when we figure this out, so what exactly do you need? Again? Again again? Sorry.”

“We need the pool behind the dam to be bigger.” Sven speaks slowly in a way that would usually offend me, but it’s about all I can keep up with right now. “So conventionally, that means we need to make the dam wider and taller, but I don’t know what rock to use and we can’t spare the dragons to go off island for it.”

“Right,” I look around like I keep forgetting to, the absence of wild gronckles fluttering around more ominous than it should be. “What kind of rock do you need?”

“Any of the bedrock around here works best. Big pieces,” he holds his arms out wide to tell me how big, “are good, but I’ve used them all.”

“Big pieces…” I think to myself for a minute, but I’m apparently too tired to be contented in thinking about a list of places I’ve seen the biggest, hardest rocks and my mind tries to wander. The chief would know the answer, if he were saying anything other than the blandest small talk I’ve ever had to suffer through. Fishlegs might know, Hel, Rolf might now and I should probably check in on the dragon catalog anyway. That’s just another thing that got pushed aside in all of this, that and the fact I haven’t talked to Fuse about our plan in weeks. Fuse…Fuse! “Oh! Fuse Thorston is about to blow out that wall at the edge of the wood bin, by the new dock, I wonder if there’s a way to make it crumble into big enough pieces for this.”

“That’s an idea,” Sven shrugs, and in some ways I like talking to him more than other people, because he tells me when my ideas are stupid instead of just taking pity on the young, frazzled Acting Chief and letting me get away with being wrong. “I’ve used a lot of her rubble before, it’s usually a little small but it’ll do.”

“I’ll ask her if there’s any way to make it bigger.” I swing onto Bang, “and I’ll let you know what she says.”

“We need this by the end of summer!” He calls the deadline after me like I’m not stressed enough about it and I steer Bang a little higher than is really necessary, closing my eyes as we cut through a cloud and cold water condenses on my face. My beard’s getting long again, just on the cusp of annoying, and I make a note to shave it later, you know, if I have a single instant at home and awake enough to remember.

The easiest way to avoid Aurelia and the chief’s sad, dead eyes is to get home late and wake up early. Unfortunately, there’s more than enough to do to fill pretty much all of that time, so that means I don’t see Stoick or Mom either. And maybe that’s something I’m avoiding too, because at this point I’ve left her alone with this far too long if she isn’t as ok as she’s been acting. I hate that somehow, I’m at this point where I’m in a position to doubt what my mom tells me, to read into it more than she might want me to.

But she’s been ok. She’s been keeping up with the house, Stormfly’s saddle is shiny and her axe found its way back inside after spending a couple days in the demolished trunk out front. Maybe she’s doing what I’m doing and keeping busy to avoid thinking about anything and maybe that’s all anyone can do sometimes.

I land at the edge of the square, pointed towards the Thorston house and walking quickly enough to avoid any reasonable interruption, but when someone grabs my hand with an irrationally strong grip and crows in my ear, I know it’s not reasonable.

“Oh, Eret, I just need to ask you for the quickest favor!” It’s Mrs. Ack, her wrinkled arms almost mystically strong as she hooks her elbow through mine and reaches up to pinch me on the cheek. Or she tries, I think she gets mostly beard because of her height and slumped back and the fact that there’s not much unbearded cheek at the moment. It hurts anyway and I rub my face when she lets go.

“I’m a little busy right now, Mrs. Ack.”

“It’s really the smallest favor,” she drags me towards the farm stand on the other side of the square and I look almost wistfully over my shoulder at the barely visible roof line of Fuse’s shed. It’s quiet there. I bet if I asked, she’d let me hide for half an hour. I wonder if she’d mind if I took a nap, honestly. “I was just thinking to myself how I’d bought too much heavy food when I saw you landing just nearby.” She squeezes my arm the way she pinched my face, “you just remind me so much of your grandfather.”

“Stoick the Vast was known for his food carrying abilities?” I laugh and try to loosen her grip on my arm, but it’s pointless. I’ve learned that in the last couple of weeks. Vikings are stubborn and cutthroat and can’t fathom being wrong, but when it comes to Viking women, that’s all a horrible understatement. And it gets worse with age, for me to tell a woman over eighty that I don’t want my cheek pinched at this exact instant is essentially an act of war.

“He was always so ready to help.” Mrs. Ack has no visible problem picking up a basket and setting it in my arms and before I can start walking towards her house, her arm is back through mine even though she’s dragging me more than she appears to need help walking.

This is the part of being even acting chief that I wasn’t prepared for. When I was helping the chief out, I usually had a directive, I was doing one small thing to completion to the best of my abilities. But when I’m alone out here, I’m always being pulled a million ways at once, and it seems like the strongest pulls, literally when considering Mrs. Ack’s fingers digging into my arm, come from the least important places.

But I don’t exactly resent the few smaller errands I end up with a day, the grocery carrying is new but there’s always a terror in Mrs. Ericson’s tree or a yak in Mrs. Jorgenson’s house that they end up wanting help with. And they usually feed me and try to coerce me to stay for tea and even though they’re pushier than most of their husbands, they’re generally more complimentary on the kind of job I’m doing and at this point, I’ll take what I can get. If my praise is coming in the form of Mrs. Hoarkson shoving her homemade apple bread into my mouth and commenting on how I can’t keep growing if I’m running myself into the ground, at least I’m both full and tired.

“I’ll take that back,” Mrs. Ack drops my arm and nimbly plucks the basket from my hands with one arm, setting it inside her house on the floor and shushing an old Nadder that whines when disrupted from its nap in front of the fire. “Do you have time to come in for a cup of tea? I have leftover pie from last night and if I may say, you’re looking too skinny, chief. You can’t spend so much time taking care of all of us that you forget to eat.” She pats my face again and I laugh.

“I’m just skinny, Mrs. Ack, unfortunately no amount of pie is going to change that.” I take a step back and avoid another cheek pinch, if only narrowly. “And maybe some other time. I’ve got a lot to do today—”

“Can I at least send it with you?” She walks further into her house and starts wrapping up something in waxed parchment. Her husband grunts about giving away all the food and she shushes him. “It’s just Eret, Sigurd, if he doesn’t slow down and have some pie he’s going to blow away the next time he takes off!”

“I’m really fine.” I take a step back from the door but she practically sprints after me, shoving the food into my hand and patting my arm.

“Come by any time, chief, we’ve always got an extra seat at the table since our Burpa moved in with her son last year.”

“Thanks.” I’m probably not going to take her up on that, but at the same time it’s nice to know I have some option to be very well fed even if tensions get too high at home. “Have a good rest of your day.”

She squeezes my arm before letting go and I hear her chewing out her husband interspersed with brief seconds of praise that I try and take in while they last, because if I let them sink in maybe it’ll be a cushion the next time someone directly calls me stupid or naïve or laughs when I try to tell them to do something. I unwrap the pie almost immediately, eating it as I walk back across the square towards the Thorston house.

“I thought Mrs. Ack was going to lock you up inside her house and never let you out.” Someone appears beside me fast enough to startle and I drop my pie, barely catching it in the other hand and crushing it slightly.

It’s Ruffnut and when she looks at my clumsiness with vague disgust, it makes her look more like Fuse and less at the same time. Mostly it makes me miss Fuse’s fond annoyance at my antics, even though it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen her.

“She seems convinced she can feed me out of my skinny phase,” I look down at myself, the bony lines of my ribs practically visible through the shirt that’s somehow tight on my shoulders and loose everywhere else. Maybe it’s a holdover from when Mom was…incapacitated and the chief was getting someone else to do all the laundry. It must have shrunk and then stretched funny. “I told her it’s not a phase. What can I do for you, Mrs. Ingerman?”

“Oh come off of that,” she rolls her eyes, “I wiped your butt. It’s Ruffnut, whether you’re some fancy chief or not.”

“Acting Chief.”

“Yeah, you are acting like a chief but I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Do you need something?” I shove the slightly crushed pie in my mouth and almost choke on a crumb, coughing after I manage to force it down.

“I was just checking that you’re actually that clueless,” she shakes her head, “and not letting yaks into the Jorgenson house just to check up on the misses.”

“That was so weird,” I laugh, “it left really willingly too. Which was good because I know about as much about livestock as I do about—”

“Women?” She raises an eyebrow and everything about the way she’s looking at me makes me uncomfortable. It’s like she’s both on my side and against it and I have no way of knowing which way she’s facing at any exact instant. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“I was going to say being chief but, I mean—”

“Women works better.” She rolls her eyes and shifts her basket to her other hip. She looks young like Mom, but in a different way, like she stole it from other people’s youth by teasing them until they willingly handed it over. “Don’t let some grandma pinch your arm off before my niece comes to terms with how clueless she is, alright?”

“I uh…” I frown, “I’m going to go talk to Fuse now if she needs help with something. Not that I usually have more clues than she does, but—”

“That’s gotta be the Astrid part, right?” She’s talking through me more than at me and I get that all too familiar feeling that everyone knows something I don’t. “Hiccup figured it out eventually and it wasn’t as obvious.”

“You’re being super cryptic and not helpful at all…”

“Odin, that’s always weird,” she shakes her head and sighs at me like I’ve caused her great personal distress. “When you do the…the talking thing, like that. Ugh. Anyway, I’m not going to ruin the surprise for anyone, so I’ll see you around. Also, just in case you didn’t know, Terrors don’t actually get stuck in trees. They can fly, just, by the way.”

“I know terrors can fly,” I call after her but she doesn’t stop, a fact I’m frankly glad about because I wasn’t enjoying that conversation. “But I did think that one was weird,” I mutter to myself, licking a spot of filling off of my thumb and feeling oddly like I’m being watched. It’s probably Mom, probably ready to jump out and tell me off for my manners, because even chiefs can’t escape those.

Right before I turn to walk up to the Thorston place, I spot Hotgut out of the corner of my eye, landing hard in front of the forge, belly probably full of something heavy and explosive. Fuse slides off of her and I change direction, clicking when Bang doesn’t follow immediately. He’s been sluggish too, well, that and clingy to Mom any second I let him out of my sight.

Smitelout drops whatever she’s doing, literally, and leans over the window to talk to Fuse. Fuse has one of those wrinkled drawings and Smitelout frowns at it, trying to smooth it on the windowsill.

“Ok, but how does blowing up an island help anything?” Smitelout asks at full volume right as I get there and I shush her, earning a spectacularly dirty look.

“There’s a thermal vent under the island that it seems like the dragons are trying to get to.” Fuse explains casually, voice low, and I hope she’s not still dwelling over Aurelia. I hope this isn’t fake confidence, because that’s not something she’s ever supposed to have.

“How could you know that?” Smitelout scoffs at an appropriate volume and I lean in slightly like my back could possibly shelter anything we’re doing. The drawing is just a shell, thankfully, nothing that’d give it away as anything out of the ordinary.

“We found some old drawings that said that island wasn’t there a few hundred years ago and now the sick dragons keep diving into the volcano—”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Let’s blow the bitch then.”

“We’re trying,” Fuse rubs her temple, dirty bandage on her first finger stretching halfway up her nail. Her fingertip leaves a dot of soot behind next to a freckle and I don’t believe she’s ever been clueless in her life. “That’s what that baffle you worked on is for, it’s a directional amplifier and I can’t get it quite right yet. We need something really big to get a vertical fracture that’ll actually opens something up—”

“And that’s your shit,” Smitelout cuts her off and I glare at her, “and the twerp likes hearing about it, apparently, weird flirting, again—”

“Can you just help without all the commentary?” The arm closest to Fuse feels hot, like I can tell she’s uncomfortable, like bringing up flirting makes it worse for no reason that makes sense. Maybe it’s because it’s Smitelout and because Aurelia just did what she did, maybe Fuse feels weird trusting someone who’s clearly delusional.

I can’t say I don’t share that fear.

“You need six of these?” Smitelout looks at the drawing again, “I assume you can’t pay, given that this is some kind of secret…”

“How much do you want?” Fuse rolls her eyes and I shake my head, leaning my elbow on the counter.

“It’s Smitelout,” I scoff, “the answer is probably your house, your shed, everything in your shed—”

“I’ll do it for free if you go away, Twerp.” Smitelout looks smug, like she pulled one over on me and I sigh.

“I think I might be able to manage that,” I push off of the counter and look at Fuse, half frozen for a second as I dig for something in the mess of my short term memory. “I had to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t remember,” I laugh, “it’s been a day. I think your aunt might have threatened me.”

“Which Aunt?” She frowns and I didn’t know she had more than one.

“Which do you think?”

“Oh my gods, go flirt somewhere else,” Smitelout bellows, smacking her hammer against her anvil like she can spook us away like wild Terrors, “you’re scaring away customers.”

“Nope, just your personality, Lout.” I start walking with Fuse anyway, unsure if I should address the flirt comments or not. “I don’t know why she finds the idea of me flirting so funny. Like yeah, it would probably be a disaster, but that seems to be the only thing she can find to make fun of. Which…come on,” I gesture to myself and wish I hadn’t said anything. She glances at me like I’m crazy, cheeks suddenly red like she’s thinking about making the quietest escape possible and I scratch the back of my neck, “uhh, that thing I had to talk to you about though. What was it? I know this…”

“How would I know what it is?” She frowns, eyebrows knit together and how did Smitelout think we were flirting? She’s looking at me like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever seen.

“I know you don’t know.” I smack my forehead a couple of times with the heel of my hand, “I swear, I get why the chief carries a notebook around all the time now, how am I supposed to keep everything straight?”

“Maybe get a notebook.”

“Super helpful, Fuse, I hadn’t thought of that.” I gripe, and I keep going back to the flirting comment, because it’s so stupid and disruptive because I know I have something real to talk to her about and now I can’t think of it. “Wait! I remember. Sven needs rocks to shore up a dam and I asked you to go ahead and column the corner of that wall and I was wondering if there’s any way you could like…leave bigger sized rubble when you take it down so that we don’t have to find dragons that can search for stone off island.”

“How big?” She slows down, dragging her feet slightly as that practical engine lights up behind her eyes. I hold my arms out and accidentally bump her in the arm but she doesn’t notice or if she does, she doesn’t care because Smitelout is an idiot above all things.

Some things remain the same, at least.

“About like…eh, maybe? I think a bit bigger or smaller would be fine, but we don’t want like…pebbles.” I sigh, “I’m not being descriptive enough, am I?”

“No, I get what you’re saying.” She bites her lip, snaggletooth peeking out slightly as she narrows her eyes, counting something only she can see. “Maybe some smaller charges at the top and bottom spaced a little wider than that. There’s always going to be that vaporization bubble but if I could try and get sort of a grid on it…”

“Vaporization bubble?”

“Some of the rock vaporizes if it’s close enough to the bomb.” She grins, her eyes lighting up like I just told her she could blow something entirely new up. I’m glad she’s looking better, like she’s not dwelling on Aurelia, and I’m really hoping the Mrs. Ack’s of the island hold off long enough that I can ask her about it.

“That’s awesome.”

“Right?” She laughs before falling serious for just another moment, “and I can try it, I mean, no promises. I’ve never tried to control rubble size before except, you know, making it smaller than could fall on someone and kill them but…I’ll try it. I’ll let you know when he could expect it to be done when I figure that out.”

“Thanks,” I laugh, “did you know that you make things really easy? There’s more arguing in carrying old Mrs. Ack’s groceries than in getting you to do something crazy and impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know if I’ll get it right the first time but if building materials are a thing we’re looking to optimize—”

“Something crazy then.”

“They’re not very big charges—”

“Ok, there we go, there’s the Viking stubbornness.” I laugh and she doesn’t seem sure if she should laugh with me. It’s frustrating, because I can’t tell if that’s just Fuse being Fuse or if she’s still upset and I wish I were funny enough to draw that line a little more clearly because all that’s left for me to do is ask, and that feels like ruining probably the only pleasant conversation I might get to have today. But it’s the right thing to do and as I’m becoming a boring slave to that idea, I sigh and try to figure out how I can best get this over with quickly. “Also, just…how are you doing?”

“Why are you saying that so significantly?”

“Because I should have just asked how you’re feeling about the whole Aurelia thing and I’m an idiot.” I sigh, trying to read her face as the question sinks in.

She thinks about it a little longer than she usually does and shrugs, “I’m not happy.”

“I’ll talk to her again when I see her, alright?”

“If you’ve already talked to her, I doubt you’d have anything new to say for trying it again.”

“Not everyone’s brain works as fast as yours, Fuse, I’m frequently left coming up with excellent come backs days to weeks after a conversation actually ends, so I’d be willing to bet I’d surprise myself.” I can feel myself talking funny, not funny like I’m trying to sound like someone else, just…odd. It’s like I want her to correct me, to tell me that I’m smart or something, which is kind of a failed attempt from the start in a conversation where I couldn’t remember an important conversation from three hours ago. “I won’t though, if you don’t want me to or—”

“You’re checking in on me.” She stops and cocks her head, braid falling over her shoulder. It’s tangled and only holding onto what seems like about half her hair at this point, the rest tucked behind her ear and sticking to the front of her vest.

“You were upset.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, not directly, but…I still care when you’re upset. You’re my friend. One of my best friends, really.”

She halfway smiles, brows still furrowed like she’s waiting for me to say something else and unlock a last, mystery piece of some puzzle.

“What?” I wipe my beard, “do I have pie on my face?”

“Thanks,” she grins, slow and quiet like her smiles ever are and I feel better for opening my mouth, for once. I don’t have to worry how she’s feeling because I know. “And no pie, you’re clean.”

“Thanks,” I say because that feels like a compliment even though it’s not, really, unless I’m someone who doesn’t believe in myself to get food into my mouth without messing it up. Which, fair, but not necessarily encouraging.

“Eret,” my mom appears beside me and rests her hand on my shoulder and I jump like she just caught me doing something wrong. I turn to look at her and she’s giving Fuse a pointed look and I step out from under her hand.

“What? What’s up?”

She raises her eyebrows at me and looks at Fuse again like it’s something she can’t say in front of her and I almost blurt out that I tell Fuse everything anyway, but that’s volunteering her for something without asking first and with my family involved? Well, it could be bad.

“Can I come find you later?” I ask her and she looks between me and my mom, shrugging.

“Sure, I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “good. Thanks for, you know, making it easy and stuff.”

“Sure…” She lingers for a second, glancing at my mom before deciding not to say anything else.

“What?” I turn back to my mom, trying not to let a sudden flash of irritation creep its way into my voice. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t you have some work to be doing?” She raises an eyebrow like she knows something I haven’t told her and I look over my shoulder like Arvid or Aurelia is going to be lurking there, armed with something they promised not to share when we were on better terms.

“Like what? Do you need something?”

“You volunteered for this, Eret—”

“What are you talking about?” I gesture after Fuse, “I was just talking to her about the wood bin, she’s doing something the chief asked her to before—well, he asked her to and then Sven needs rock for some dam and I was asking if she could, I don’t know, help me out with that and she said she could.”

“And Smitelout—”

“She was overcharging Fuse for the special thing I’m asking her to do,” I half lie, “I fixed it.”

“And Mrs. Ack—”

“Come on, Mom, you’re going to say I’ve been goofing off with Mrs. Ack?” I roll my eyes, “she asked for my help with carrying something, I’m just trying to help people which, last time I checked, is the gist of my job.”

She stares at me for a second like she’s looking for a lie and I scratch my face, taking a step back and looking over my shoulder for Fuse. Maybe I should have asked about that nap in her shed, because I’m about that exhausted at this point.

“Can Fuse do it?”

“Can Fuse do what?”

“Whatever you asked her to do.” Mom raises an eyebrow, “because you were asking her to do something, right?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s going to try. Apparently it’s going to vaporize some rock but—”

“That’s encouraging.” She sounds angry in a way that almost means something and I wonder what I’ve missed at home while avoiding it as much as possible.

“I thought it was kind of cool, honestly.” I mime my hands blowing apart and make a sound like what I’d imagine vaporizing rock would sound like. Kind of a whoosh. “Just…as a concept. Just…boom and the rock is gone. And the crowd goes wild…”

She’s unimpressed.

She purses her lips at me and crosses her arms.

“Have you told Sven that Fuse is working on it?”

“Well, no, because she just finished telling me that she could do it.” I gesture up the hill where Fuse went, “and then you interrupted the end of our conversation and that brings us up to the present.”

“Is that an attitude?”

“Is trying really hard to be cooperative even though you’re interrogating me for no reason an attitude?” My voice cracks slightly and I clear my throat. “Because if so, yes, this is an attitude.”

“I like this attitude. It’s good. Keep it up.” She nods at me and I fidget slightly under the odd weight of her gaze, like she’s trying to scan my brain for something I missed.

“I’m just trying to keep things together.” I shrug, “I’m probably messing everything up but…”

“Go talk to Sven, maybe make sure he has a secondary plan in case Fuse can’t do what she thinks she can.”

I cross my arms, “the secondary plan is send dragons off island to search for stone.” That’s a challenge I hate posing, I hate wanting her to say something other than I know she will.

“Well, what’s wrong with that plan?”

“Lack of dragons, Mom. That’s one question I do know the answer to.”

She frowns but I’ve hit the one subject she won’t argue with me about because like everyone else I’ve tried to talk to, she’s not willing to admit I have a point because somehow, that magically might make it right. I don’t think it works that way but Hel, I could be wrong. Maybe if I found some optimism I could turn this whole thing around. Maybe Acting Chief means the kind of power everyone wants it to be.

“Fine. Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?”

I shrug, “I don’t know, Mrs. Ack did invite me—”

“You should come home for dinner. Stoick hasn’t seen you in days.”

“He hasn’t seen Bang in days, you mean.”

“Well,” she tugs on the tight shoulder seam of my shirt and frowns, “you two are kind of a package deal so…”

“I’ll be home.” I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Good. I’ve got new clothes for you.”

“Fine.” I take a step back and she looks almost hurt, “I mean thanks. I’m sure they’re good.”

“See you at home.”

#eret iii #festerverse #fuse thorston #smitelout jorgenson #he's trying so hard at chief guys #he's doing such a good job #with the middle aged women crowd #they love him

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originalhybridloverfics · 7 years

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Good to You CH15

If you like to be tagged just message me the name of the fic to let me know.

Notes:

Okay, so I'm nervous about this chapter. Once you read it, I think you'll know why. If you don't like the direction all I'm going to ask is that you don't be rude about it.

[Fair Warning] If you're a huge Hayley fan or you not a fan of baby plots you probably don't want to read further.

There's a lot of Harvest flashbacks in this chapter. Feel free to skim over it if you don't want to bother reading that. The flashbacks or in italics. I tried to make sure it wasn't that confusing.

I had planned to get this out sooner but I was in a foul mood earlier. I apologize for any mistakes or errors in advance.

Last but not least, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!!

Elijah observed Davina calculatingly. He knew Rebekah and Klaus were trying to ensure his freedom but he saw this as an opportunity if he could sway Davina to their side they would gain the upper hand on Klaus and ensure the safety of Klaus’s child. However, if he couldn’t he would have to do whatever he had to to make sure his family came out on top including doing whatever was necessary.

His gray skin from not feeding a stark contrast against the suit he wore.

“You're the one they call honorable,” Davina stated knowingly.

Elijah smiled in response. “Yes, that's what they call me. And yet, I followed my brother here to New Orleans to engage in a war. So, I ask you; does that sound honorable to you?”

“You don't look well,” Davina commented, taking in his gray skin and disheveled appearance.

“Well, only this morning I had a mystical dagger embedded in my chest, so I'd say I'm holding myself together quite well.” He paused momentarily choosing his words carefully. “Davina, I believe that you and I have the power to end a war between witches and vampires before it truly begins. I, by keeping my brother in line; you, by behaving like your true self—not some tool for Marcel or the witches.”

“And why should I trust you?” Davina questioned with narrowed eyes.

“Well, for one thing, in spite of a ravenous hunger, I have not tried to take your blood.”

“Why not? I'm the only one here.” She pointed out.

“Even in my present condition, I would not feed from a child.” Elijah declared.

Davina picked up a hat pin pricking her finger with it. A drop of blood clung to the end of the needle and she walked forward placing the drop on Elijah's lip, testing his control. Testing him.

After a moment, Elijah's skin returned to its normal slightly complexion.

Davina looking pleased that he hadn’t attacked her with the taste of that one single drop of blood.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus paced back in forth in the back kitchen of Rousseau's, blood splattered on his neck, dripping down the corner of his mouth and splatters on his hands.

When Sophie came in carrying bags of produce, she dropped everything to the floor at the sight of Klaus covered in blood.

“Oh my God. What did you do?!”

“No, it’s not what I did.” He strode forward, wrapping his hand tightly around her, yanking her forward, glowering down at her. “It’s what didyou do? You and the witches? I warned you if anyone was too threatened Caroline’s life there would be a price to pay in blood.”

Sophie swallowed. “Who did you kill?”

“Two witches from your precious coven. You’ll find the first one's body on your doorstep and the second one on Agnes’s. In pieces, I might add.” He nodded his head at the table and to her horror, there was a set of bloody eyeballs on the table along with a ripped out tongue."

Sophie gagged, bile rising. “Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick.” She said revolted.

“Be quick about it then.” He said before speeding away and she suddenly found herself in front of the Victorian mansion the Mikaelsons were currently occupying. She jerked forward with the change, the bile she felt churning in her stomach coming up as she retched into a rose bush next to the large Mikaelson Mansion.

When she was done, she barely had time to wipe her mouth before Klaus was dragging her inside and pushing her into a chair, pausing as he looked out the window and caught sight of Rebekah and Caroline outside. He shot her a look of warning. “Wait here!” He ordered before disappearing out the door expecting her to obey his command.

He was gone only two minutes when Hayley came bounding into the room closing the door a look of anger plastered on her face.

“Hayley, what the hell is going on?” Sophie asked her in alarm.

“What is going on is that Agnes set me up to be picked off by a group of witches!”

“What?” Sophie shook her head. “She wouldn’t. That would jeopardize everything.” Everything she and Jane-Anne did, everything they have done would have been for nothing.

“I didn’t sign up for this. You promise to help me with my family, my pack if I helped you and your sister. And I have done everything you asked of me but I did not sign up to be slaughter out in the swamps!” Hayley's voice started to rise due to the anger she felt at almost dying. “I fucking became an incubator for children that aren’t even mine! And for what? Just so I could be killed because suddenly Agnes decides she doesn’t want Klaus’s children being born!”

“Would you lower your voice!” Sophia snapped, looking out the window that overlooked the green field outside and she could see Klaus approaching Rebecca and Caroline who looked like they were in the middle of sparring. “If Klaus hears you I’m dead and you will be too as soon as those babies are born. He can’t ever know the truth. He’s already killed two of the witches of my coven for what happened.”

“I know he can’t ever know the truth. I don’t need to be told that.” Hayley lowered her voice. “If Klaus ever found out that we stole Caroline’s children from her, their children, before either of them ever knew about them death would be the least of our worries.” Hayley was sure of it. She was sure Klaus would make them suffer long before their death ever came.

“And that is why he can never find out,” Sophie stressed, turning away from the window to look back at Hayley. “Everything from the moment we met would have been for nothing. Do you have any idea what I had to do to ensure that those babies came into existence after you told me about Klaus Mikaelson's one weakness.” Sophie shook her head. “I needed more than one bargaining chip, more than one baby vamp. I had to plan and manipulate everything to go exactly accordingly to plan, down to every little detail and it wasn't easy. It was near impossible."

“They're not just bargaining chips.” Hayley found herself saying. “They're more than that. They're innocent.”

A look of surprise and knowing came over Sophie. “You’ve come to care for them like their actually yours, haven’t you?”

Hayley looked away from her not wanting to admit it. Did it matter if she did or not? She was basically a womb snatcher or something.

“It’s okay if you do, Hayley.” Said Sophie in a moment of empathy for the wolf. “It’s natural to feel love for children you're nurturing with your body.”

“But their not mine,” Hayley said, conflicted.

“Not biologically.” Said Sophie. “But you’re the one carrying them, you’ll be the one to give birth to them. In that way, they’ll be yours.”

Hayley looked down her hand instinctively rubbing her stomach. “I can’t imagine giving birth to them and having them being taken from me.”

Sophie placed her hand on Hayley’s shoulder. “If no one finds out the truth they won’t have to be.”

Hayley nodded. She just had to make sure Klaus never found out the truth about the pregnancy and when all was said and done, when Sophie kept her end of the deal she would leave and she would have her own pack and her own family in the children growing inside of her whether they were her’s or not.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus stood back watching as Rebekah tried to correct Caroline’s leg stance and her arms.

“Don’t tense up,” Rebekah instructed. “You’re body will react quicker and better if you relax.”

“Kind of hard to relax if you’re being attacked,” Caroline responded, rolling her arms and trying to force her body to relax as Rebekah had instructed.

“Not if you’re confident you’re going to win.” Rebekah retorted.

“That depends on if that is confidence or arrogance?”

Rebekah grinned. “In my case? Confidence.”

“I’m sure.” Caroline found herself returning Rebekah’s grin with one of her own.

“Alright. So there are a few things you want to keep in mind when fighting old vampires. One; whatever you do if their really, really old, I’m talking centuries, do not give them the chance to knock your head clean off your shoulders.”

Caroline’s face scrunched up at the image. “Decapitation? Yeah, definitely wouldn’t want to lose my head.” She mumbled.

Klaus found himself letting out a chuckle at her mumbled words, he tried to cover it up but he had already drawn the attention of Rebekah and Caroline.

“Nik, been maiming again?” Rebekah asked sarcastically indicating the blood on him. “Or are you just going for a new look?”

“Couldn’t let the witches think they were going to get away with what happened without consequences.” He responded unrepentantly.

Caroline frowned. She couldn’t say she was surprised by this. But still, it didn’t mean she liked it. “Do I even want to know who you killed?”

“Probably not.” He responded easily. “Getting an early start on training I see.”

“Well, we were until you showed up.” Said Rebekah.

“Well, you’re gonna have to postpone it.” He stated. “Sophie’s here and she has some explaining to do. Figured you both would like to hear what she has to say.”

“How considerate of you, Nik.” Retorted Rebekah. “I guess there’s a first time for everything," she walked forward brushing past him.

Klaus looked at Caroline. “Will you be joining us?”

Caroline nodded, walking forward and falling into step beside him. “Do you actually trust anything Sophie says?” She didn’t, maybe that was her being petty about Sophie forcing her into this situation but there was just something desperate in the witches actions. At least they were to Caroline.

“If I don’t trust my own family, I’m definitely not going to trust her.” Klaus held the front door open for her.

Caroline paused in the doorway, searching his eyes. “But you trust me.”

“Well, you’re you,” Klaus told her with an ease that if she had still been human would have her heart pounding in her chest. As it was, a feeling of warmth filled her chest.

She bit her lip with a faint smile, walking into the house. “So where is Sophie?”

Klaus placed a hand on her lower back as they walked further into the home. “In my study.”

When they arrived at the study she saw only Sophie and Hayley. “Is this something Hayley should be here for?” She wondered. She thought Hayley should still be resting after what she went through in the bayou at least for the sake of the twins well being.

“No. She should be resting after her ordeal that the witches put her through.” Rebekah stated

Hayley rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

Sophie shifted around cautiously, her eyes on Klaus. “Look, I had nothing-“

“We had a deal!” Klaus cut her off angrily. “You protect my unborn children, Caroline remains unharmed, I dismantle Marcel's army. And whilst I've been busy fulfilling my part of the bargain, you allowed Hayley to be attacked and almost killed by a gaggle of lunatic witches.” His eyes flashed black and amber momentarily. “If she died my children would have died. Caroline would have died!”

Caroline felt a shiver course through her with the anger in which he spoke of the possibility of her death. Like it was not an option for him.

“I had nothing to do with it, I swear.” She defended herself, feeling a real flash of fear at his hybrids eyes that had shown briefly. “Hayley and I are linked, remember? She dies, I die.”

“Then who were they?” Rebekah questioned, eyes narrowed.

“They are a faction of extremists. Sabine stupidly told them about some vision she had about the twins.”

“What kind of vision?” asked Klaus, stepping back to stand beside Caroline, reaching to the desk and opening the drawl, removing a white cloth, wiping the blood from his hands and mouth that he had gotten on him earlier when he killed and mutilated the two witches.

“She has them all the time,” Sophie informed them. “They are totally open to interpretation. I'm guessing she's wrong on this one.”

“Well, how, may I ask, was this particular vision interpreted?” Klaus insisted on his line of questioning.

“Pretty much that your children would bring death to all witches,” Sophie told him.

“Figures as much that your children would follow in your footsteps.” Caroline cast a look at Klaus, while the words could be interpreted as harsh, it was said without any malice and she even had a small smile.

Klaus returned her smile with a full one. “Ah, well. I grow fonder of the twins by the second.”

“Sophie, look, I promised Elijah that I would protect the Mikaelson miracle twins whilst he tries to win your witch Davina's loyalty,” Rebekah informed her. “Why don't you tell me just how extreme this faction is?”

“Elijah's talking to Davina?” Sophie asked surprised by this information.

“Yeah. As we speak, I imagine.”

“I'm guessing she'll have plenty to say about that crowd.” Murmured Sophie.

“Do tell.” Said Klaus.

“I… wasn’t always an advocate for the witches,” Sophie admitted.

Klaus moved around the room, grabbing a chair and pulling it forward. “Why don’t you have a seat, Love.” He grasped Caroline's hand pulling her forward.

Caroline looked at him in surprise at the gesture.

“Sounds like we’re in for a story you shouldn’t be spending it standing.” He insisted.

Hayley quirked a brow at them. She was already sitting but she doubted even if she wasn't that Klaus would've shown her the same consideration he showed Caroline.

“Thanks.” Caroline took the seat, appreciating his kind gesture.

“I don’t see you offering me a seat.” Rebekah cut in, sending Klaus a dry look.

“By all means, if you like to sit down take a seat, sister.” He responded, hands on the back of the chair Caroline sat in.

Sophie paused as she watched Klaus with Caroline, how he kept close to her when in the same room, the way his eyes constantly flickered to her, taking everything in about her.

She kept the frown from her face, seeing the way he was with her and his earlier threat she prayed that he never found out the truth about the pregnancy.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

8 Months ago

Sophie danced to the music behind the bar of Rousseau’s as the crowd cheered loudly.

“Woo, drink up everybody!” Sophie shouted to the cheering crowd. “This is how they party in Rio!” she poured the liquor down her throat straight from the bottle.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“My sister was devoted, like our parents, and our upbringing was very strict, which drove me nuts. The minute I turned 21, I left the Quarter to travel... and play.” Sophie said.

Caroline raised a brow, she would not have taken Sophie for a party girl. Not with what she knew of her so far.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie poured alcohol into another girl's mouth before kissing her after the girl swallowed the drink down.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“But, I wanted to be a chef, so I came back to Rousseau's.” Sophie continued with her story.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Oh, Jane-Anne!” Sophie greeted when her sister walked into Rousseau’s to find her.

Jane-Anne smiled, hugging her sister. “Welcome home, Soph. Can we go someplace to talk?”

“Just tell me.”

“The elders called a vote. We’re moving forward with the Harvest.” Jane-Anne informed her.

Sophie looked at her sister, stunned. “What?”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“What the bloody hell is a Harvest?” Rebekah demanded, having never heard of it before.

“It's a ritual our coven does every three centuries so that the bond to our magic is restored. We appease our ancestors, they keep our ancestral power flowing.” Sophie explained.

“And why haven't I heard of this?” Klaus wondered, it sounded like something he would have heard of before.

“Because a Harvest always seemed like a myth. A story passed on through generations like Noah's ark, or the Buddha walking on water.” Said Sophie. “The kind some people take literally, and some people don't.”

“So was there any truth behind it?” Caroline wondered. “And what exactly does the ritual entail.”

“Nothing pleasant,” Sophie admitted, unable to keep from grimacing.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Several young witches kneeled in the grass just outside a farmhouse. An older witch held a knife in her hand as she drew a small cut in the first girl’s hand, she had long dark curly hair. “To be reborn, we must sacrifice,” Bastiana stated like a vow. A chant.

“To be reborn, we must sacrifice.” The young girl repeated.

Bastiana moved down the line to the second girl. “To be reborn, we must have faith.” Bastiana cut into her hand much like she did the first girl.

“To be reborn, we must have faith.” The second girl repeated.

“Do you have faith in the Harvest?” asked Bastiana as she cut into the third girl’s hand.

“Not for a second!” Sophie declared as she approached the older witch quickly from behind the girls.

“Sophie!” The first girl said in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Sophie's eyes were set on the older witch anger in her dark eyes.

“Saving the community you renounced.” Bastiana looked at her with contempt.

“You're all ridiculous.” Sophie looked at the first girl who had spoken her name. “Monique, seriously?”

Monique frowned and with a look of reluctance admitted. “My mom told me I had to.”

“Yeah. Well, your mom and I are gonna have words.” She responded angrily storming off toward the house.

At the end of the line was Davina watching as Sophie stormed away.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“They had the girls of our community preparing for months. Four would be chosen for the Harvest. They said that it was an honor, that they were special. I thought it was a myth.” Said Sophie.

“Was it?” asked Rebekah.

A look of guilt flickered across Sophie's face, her frown deepening but before she could answer, Klaus's cell phone ringing sounded through the room.

He glanced at the screen and Marcel’s name flashed across it. He swiped his thumb over it before placing it against his ear. “Marcel. Bit early in the day for you, isn't it?”

“I know, I make this look easy, but I still have an empire to run.”

Caroline looked over her shoulder at Klaus, curiosity written across her face at hearing Marcel’s voice for the first time even if it was filtering through a phone call. Admittedly she was rather curious about the man that was a lot like a son to Klaus, she wondered what he was like having been raised up by the Original family.

“Rather you than me. All that responsibility seems like such a bore.” Klaus spoke into the phone easily.

“Well, this might spice things up,” Marcel responded. “ I just heard about a bunch of dead witches out in the bayou. The kinda damage a werewolf might do, only there was no full moon. Plus two more were found in the witch Quarter mutilated. I have an informant out there in the Bayou I need to meet and I would love for you to go with me.”

“Dead witches in the bayou. Sounds like less of a problem, and more like a cause for celebration.” Klaus said in response to Marcel. "As for the dead witches in the Witch Quarter." he turned his gaze on Sophie. "Seems to me someone was sending a message."

Sophie glared hatefully at him and it gave him a sense of triumph, he smirked smugly at her.

“Well, something killed them. And may still be out there. And with your blood the only cure for a werewolf bite, I would love for you to accompany me.” Marcel insisted.

“Oh, why not? Haven't been to the bayou in ages. I'm on my way.”

“Peace out, brother,” Marcel responded before hanging up.

“You can't go out there now.” Sophie protested as Klaus pocketed his phone. “I need to gather the witches' remains and consecrate them. If I don't get to them before sundown, we'll lose the link to their magic.” she glared at him. "That goes for the witches you killed as well."

“Those witches tried to kill Hayley. I'd prefer for Marcel's informant not to find anything that would lead him back to us, to Caroline, to Hayley, or to... you know,” He pointed at Hayley’s stomach. “that.”

Caroline snorted earning a glare from Hayley.

“You are all class.” Hayley snarked.

Klaus pointed at Sophie. “Stay put.” He ordered. “And save the rest of your story 'til I return.” He turned and looked down at Caroline placing a hand on her arm. “A word before I go, Sweetheart.”

Caroline's brow furrowed unsure of what he had to talk to her about but stood, curious about what it could be. She followed him out the room and outside onto the porch.

Klaus turned to face her. "I know you're dead set on not hiding away as you put it and I'm not going to try and tell you what to do. Just don't be reckless. I hate to have to kill everyone in this bloody city because something happened to you."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "I'm not reckless."

Klaus raised a brow at her. "Since you've been in New Orleans you have been."

"No, I haven't," she replied indignantly. "Things are just crazy here."

Klaus would have argued with her more about it but Marcel was expecting him. "Just be careful, will you."

Caroline felt her instinct to argue with him fade at the genuine sound of his voice which held concern. "Yeah, I will." she watched him carefully, eyes flickering across his face. "I thought you would insist I stay put like you have been ever since this all started."

"Oh, I want to," Klaus said with a shake of his head. "Believe me, I want to. But your you're own person and you have the right to make your own decisions and I'm gonna do my best to respect them." he smiled wryly. "I don't know how well that will go. You're just gonna have to be patient with me."

Caroline laughed. "I'm sorry." she laughed. "It's just really ironic you asking for patience when I'm pretty sure you don't know how to be."

Klaus' eyes lit with amusement but he loved hearing her laugh and the way her eyes lit up. "Yeah, yeah. Just be careful."

"I will," she told him. "And thank you for understanding I make my own decisions. I hate when people tell me what to do."

"I know." he leaned forward, brushing a kiss across her cheek, close to her mouth. "I'll see you later." he walked down the porch steps.

"Why do you do that?" Klaus turned back to her on the bottom step, his brow furrowing questioningly. "I mean, the kissing my cheek thing."

Klaus smirked. "I love pressing my lips against your skin."

Caroline opened and closed her mouth, her cheeks heating up as she watched him turn and leave. She blew out a breath as she remembered vaguely what it had been like to have his lips against her skin that one night when she threw caution to the wind and slept with him. It seemed so long ago but she could still remember the way he had kissed her, the way his mouth felt against her skin, the way his tongue tangled with her own.

A heated flush traveled through her. "Damn him."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel swept into St. Anne's church.

"Look who's back." Father Kieran, stopped sweeping the church floor. "Here to visit your prisoner in the attic?"

"Lay off," Marcel responded, he didn't need Father Kieran judging him. "She's not a prisoner. And I'm moving her tonight. Too many people know where she is."

"I have been hearing about what you've been up to since I've been out of town. Using that girl to keep the witches from doing magic?" His eyes appraised Marcel accusingly.

"All respect, Father K. If you're going defend the witches' rights, we got nothin' to talk about," Marcel stated, continuing on his way up to the attic.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah walked around the attic of the church that was serving as a room for Davina, who was drawing, he picked up Tim's damaged violin, holding it in his hand. "Do you play?"

Davina looked over at him, her gaze falling. "That's... not mine."

Elijah took a seat in a chair and started tinkering with the violin for a moment but when he heard approaching footsteps outside the room he hid away in the room just as Marcel entered.

"Good news, Little D. I'm moving you out this pile of dust." he announced.

"Are you serious?" Davina's eyes lit up with hope. "When?"

"Tonight." He said, missing the way she faltered. "I just need to lock in the arrangements. How's our Original?" he gestured to Elijah's coffin and took a step toward it.

"Uh, don't disturb the body!" She quickly stepped in front of the coffin. She didn't want Marcel to know Elijah was up or that she was talking to him. "I have a spell in progress." she lied.

"Bet you do. Pack up, 'kay? Only what you wanna take. I'll buy ya anything else you need." He told her moving back toward the door.

"Okay," she answered just before he left.

Once Marcel was gone Elijah emerged from behind a corner. "You didn't reveal that I was awake."

"We're not done talking yet," Davina stated, it was the only reason she hadn't said anything to Marcel.

Elijah picked up the violin again, retaking his seat. "You and Marcel seem very close."

"Marcel's my family." Davina declared with a certainty, a feeling she felt in her bones. No one could tell her otherwise.

"And yet Marcel is someone who delights in harming the witches. Those people, I would think, you would consider family. This doesn't trouble you?" Elijah inquired, trying to figure the young witch out if she was as loyal to Marcel as she seemed to believe herself to be.

"No. They deserve it."

Elijah could hear the defiance in her tone. "Why would you say that?"

"'Cause they're liars." Davina accused. "All of them."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Bastiana touched each of the four girls kneeling in the grass on their foreheads indicating that they had been chosen. Monique, Davina, and two other girls had been chosen for something that was considered a great honor among the witch community.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"They made me and my friends do this Harvest ritual. They said our participation would bring our family strength, health... that we'd forever be celebrated as saviors of the community." Davina shook her head, anger written all over her features. "But all they really wanted was more power. So, I left before they could get it. Now, they're running out of time, because after the Harvest, comes the Reaping. And if they don't complete the Harvest, there won't be a Reaping. Soon, all the witches in the Quarter will start to lose their power. Eventually, they will cease to be witches altogether."

"So what does it take to complete this ritual?" Elijah inquired.

"I have to die." Davina answered, shocking Elijah.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie was in Lafayette cemetery, packing a little bottle into her backpack, preparing to go out to the Bayou, she heard someone entering the mausoleum behind her only to see Hayley enter.

"Hey. What the hell?"

"You're going out there anyway, aren't you?" Hayley questioned but didn't wait for an answer. "I wanna go with you."

"No, thanks. Already got assaulted by Klaus this morning and two of my coven is now dead. Don't need a repeat." she responded, plus she didn't want everything she and her sister sacrificed to be for nothing.

"What if whatever is responsible for all those dead witches is still out there? We've already established that it likes me and hates witches, so you'll be safer with me." Hayley bargained.

"Sorry if it's not happening. I won't risk losing everything we've tried to accomplish up until now."

Sophie had every intention to push past her but Hayley blocked the exit, forcing her to stop.

"Listen. We're in this together. The whole reason I came to this stupid town in the first place was to learn more about my family. You and your sister promised if I help you, you'll help me. I've been keeping to my part," She motioned to her stomach pointedly. "Now it's time you do too. Your sister's the one that told me Marcel ran the werewolves out of the Quarter, into the bayou. And, last night, I'm pretty sure that some guardian-angel-wolf saved my life. So, I'm coming with you."

"Could you two be more idiotic?" Rebekah walked in.

"Clearly." Caroline appeared. "Their planning to go out to the Bayou aren't they?

Hayley and Sophie both froze. Hayley hoped they hadn't overheard too much but when she saw no signs of real anger she figured her and Sophie's secret was still safe, they shared a brief moment, sighing in relief.

"Two can play the follow-game, you know!" Rebekah told them, looking at them like they were two of the stupidest people she ever met. "You heard Klaus, he and Marcel are headed right where you're going."

"So distract them," Hayley told her. "Because unless you wanna see lock a hormonal, pregnant werewolf in a tomb, I'm coming with you." she told Sophie before turning back to Rebekah. "And wouldn't Elijah be mad if he hears that the babies and I died of asphyxiation?"

"Yeah, I'm nowhere near ready to die so that won't be happening." Caroline said with a pointed look. "Which is why I am here in the first place. If you're doing something stupid and reckless, I'm coming to make sure you don't get killed." Caroline wasn't about to let Hayley and Sophie get her killed because Hayley went and got herself killed. And she cared about what happened to the babies.

Hayley shot her a glare. " I know to keep myself from being killed."

"I won't be taking any chances." said Caroline, crossing her arms over her chest challengingly.

Rebekah looked between Hayley and Caroline annoyed though she could see where Caroline was coming from, if her life was linked to a pregnancy she wouldn't have let Hayley out of her sight.

Sophie rolled her eyes and sighed again, resigning to having Hayley, Caroline, and Rebekah come along with her. She and Hayley would have to be careful with what they say, couldn't have Caroline or Rebekah find out their true connection.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus stood just outside of the bar in the Bayou his phone pressed to his ear. "What's the matter, Rebekah? You cross that I'm out with your ex?"

" What is all that dreadful hillbilly ruckus in the background?" Rebekah demanded, hearing the god-awful country music in the background.

"According to the dreadful signage, it's Big Auggie's Bayou Bar."

"Well, order up a few rounds of moonshine and steer clear of the dead witches for a few. The witch is on a burial mission, your baby mama is on a spirit quest, and Caroline is insistent on her not getting herself killed and in turn her killed." Who would have thought she and Caroline would agree on something. "and I'm keeping Elijah's promise to keep her safe, so stall, please? "

"Caroline's out in the Bay-" the sound of Rebekah hanging up on him, had his jaw clenching in annoyance and anger. He was choosing to trust that Caroline could handle herself. He pocketed his phone, entering the bar.

"Everything okay?" asked Marcel taking notice of Klaus's sour mood.

"Oh, just the usual. Temperamental sister." He dismissed, taking a seat at the bar next to Marcel. "So, where's your informant?"

"Tomas?" Asked Marcel. "He's out sniffin' around. Grab a drink, and then we'll chase him down."

"Well, I suppose it will give us a chance to talk things over, like why you haven't returned Elijah. Maybe your young witch has grown partial to his company. She must get so bored."

"You never stop, do you?" asked Marcel.

"You never answer, do you?" Klaus shot back at him.

"Why're you so curious about Davina?" Marcel questioned with suspicion.

"If I had a 16-year-old, all-powerful witch at my beck and call, you would wonder about her, too. " Klaus responded with ease.

"You're never gonna get her." Marcel said confidently, a spark in his eye.

"Okay, okay. I'll ask the harmless questions, then." Klaus conceded. "How did you meet her?"

Marcel laughed. "That might surprise you." he saw no real harm in answering this question. "This was eight months ago, before I banned the witches from using magic. Relations between vampires and witches weren't what you'd you call friendly, by any means, but let's just say we were a little less... divided. In fact, some of us were getting along just fine."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The water cascaded down her body as she slanted her mouth against Marcel's, their skin slick and wet from the running shower beating down on them. After, Marcel laid back in his bed, while Sophie dried herself off beside him, venting to him about her coven. "Ugh, it's so screwed up, I'm dealing with whacked-out, militant witches."

Marcel smiled. "Hey, you witches all got a little crazy in you."

Sophie continued. "And my sister has really gone off the deep-end this time."

"Jane-Anne's got martyr written all over her, that's for sure."

"They've got every 16-year-old girl in our coven dying to be one of the four chosen for this crazy-ass ritual." Sophie complained.

"Anything I can do to help?" asked Marcel.

"No, you've caused enough trouble with them." Sophie responded though she did appreciate the offer.

"What, little old me?" He asked with an air of innocence and confidence.

Sophie giggled. "You're a dick. You always stir it up with the witches. Which is why this," She leaned over, touching her mouth to his, "stays between us." she slanted her mouth over his kissing him deeply.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"You and Sophie?" Kaus smirked. "You hypocrite. You torture those witches, and yet there you were, getting positively Romeo and Juliet with Sophie Deveraux."

"Oh, hey hey hey, it wasn't like that." Marcel denied with a grin. "It was a... mutually satisfying hook-up."

"So, if Sophie didn't turn to you, her secret vampire lover, in her hour of need, what did she do?" asked Klaus.

"She did what any good girl do. She went to her priest."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie, Father Kieran, Jane-Anne, Bastiana, and Agnes were gathered inside St. Anne's Church.

"You've never cared about witch business, Sophie. And now, you have the gall to reveal our private dealings to an outsider." said Bastiana glaring at the dark haired woman.

"You have to find another way." Insisted Father Kieran.

"You think we do this lightly?" Bastiana demanded. "The vampire presence in the Quarter is growing stronger, we need more power to fight them off. Harsh times call for harsh measures."

"This is a little more than harsh, Bastiana." Sophie responded, how could Bastiana not see how wrong this was.

"You don't understand, because you don't believe. You've never believed." Jane-Anne told Sophie. "But I believe enough to put everything on the line for this. And being chosen for the offering – it's an honor."

"It's a myth, Jane-Anne." Sophie wanted to make her sister see reason but she didn't know how to.

"What you are planning to do is not only wrong; in my city, it's illegal." Father Kieran declared, it wasn't something he could knowingly allow.

"In your city full of vampires?" Jane-Anne countered.

"The vampires and the human faction have an arrangement, just like we have with you all." Father Kieran responded. "Protect the locals, protect our homes, we look the other way. What you are planning goes too far."

"We are simply taking what we need." Argued Bastiana. "Our connection to our ancestors weakens over time. You sow, and you reap; that's the way the Harvest works."

"I am the only ally the witches have in this town!" Father Kieran reminded heatedly. "Do you really wanna face Marcel without me? Because that is what you'll be dealing with if you go through with the Harvest."

A young man overhears them arguing and approached them. "Everything okay in here, Uncle Kieran?" He questioned in concern.

"We're just finishing, Sean. Right?" Father Kieran glared at the witches. "I believe I've made myself clear."

"We'll take this matter to the elders." Agnes responded turning to Sean and grasping his hand in hers. "Continue your studies, Sean. Your uncle is an excellent role model." she smiled something beguiling. Sean nodded and as she turned to leave, she muttered a hex under her breath, hexing the young man. Father Kieran would regret putting his nose in their business. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with the Father.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"The witches were furious with Kieran." said Marcel. "Sophie tells me that the witches put a hex on his nephew Sean, made it seem like he was slowly losing his mind in order to distract Kieran, while they kept planning for the Harvest."

"So they attacked Kieran's nephew." Klaus realized.

"Yeah. Kid wasn't the same after that, ended up going postal, killing all his fellow seminary students, all of them, and then himself."

"I might have read about that. The boy... killed a twin, or he was a twin or something." he said knowing the boy was Cami's twin.

"Ah, no no no, they said he had a twin sister." Marcel said,

confirming his suspicions.

Marcel sipped at his liquor, while Klaus downed all of his in one gulp.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah still tinkered around with the broken violin as Davina had started packing her suitcase.

"So, enlighten me. What did you mean when you said you had to die?" Inquired Elijah.

"That's what the Harvest was." Davina informed him. "They said they'd put us four girls in a state of, like, peaceful limbo as part of the offering. And then later, at the Reaping, we'd awaken and be reborn. I never got as far as the limbo part, which means the Harvest isn't complete. That's why the witches are so freaked out. The Reaping is just around the corner, and if they don't finish it before then, it's over. All I have to do is wait it out."

"And then what?" asked Elijah.

"They're punished, and I'm free." She stated, she hoped and dreamed of that day when this stupid nightmare she'd been living would finally be over.

"From Marcel?" Elijah questioned.

Davina shook her head. "Of magic." she corrected. "All our power will drain away. I'll be normal." she smiled slightly at the thought.

"Is that what you want?" asked Elijah rather surprised she would want something so mundane. "To be normal?"

"I just don't wanna be what I am. I can't control it sometimes. Magic. I..." Davina's eyes grew wet, a feeling of guilt in her chest. "hurt people. Even when I don't mean to."

"Why don't you tell me about your friends." Elijah suggested encouragingly. "You must miss them."

"There's Tim. He doesn't know about any of this witch stuff. He's normal. My best friend, Monique. She was a part of the Harvest too." She replied before adding. "She's lucky. No one ever fought for me, but someone fought for her. The only one who ever spoke out against the Harvest was Monique's aunt."

"And who is that?" Elijah wondered.

Davina sighed. "Sophie Deveraux."

Elijah looked at her in shock at the name and everything he was learning about the Harvest and everyone involved.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie, Rebekah, Caroline, and Hayley walked through the Bayou to look for the dead witches.

"So, this Harvest thingy—tell me more." Rebekah told Sophie.

"Klaus said to wait." Sophie insisted.

"Yeah, you seemed to listen to everything he says." Caroline drawled out sarcastically. "Or we not out in the swamps?"

"Exactly," Rebekah waved a hand at Caroline. "here we are, amongst the crawly, buzzy creatures."

"We're here." Hayley announced suddenly.

Caroline looked around and it was definitely the place where the witches were killed. Their bodies or what was left of them littered the ground in bloody ripped apart pieces, heads torn from the bodies.

Sophie's stomach churned in disgust, feeling sick to her stomach at the sight, she knelt down digging around in her bag for the ingredients she needed to consecrate her fallen witches.

Hayley's eyes widened as she caught sight of a huge pawprint in the mud. "Whoa." And not far from the pawprint there were three bloody scratches marking the bark of a tree.

Sophie's brow furrowed. "Is that a wolf track?"

Caroline's head whipped around when she heard a crunching noise like sticks being stepped on. Her eyes zeroed in on an approaching male as Rebekah called out. "Who's there?"

"Rebekah."

Rebekah followed Caroline's line of sight.

"What the hell? An Original?" The vampire questioned.

Caroline felt her chest tightened they couldn't let anyone know they were out in the bayou. She ran at him but he booked it.

"Caroline, no!" Rebekah cursed, under her breath. "Fuck.

Caroline could hear Rebekah calling after her but she ignored her and pushed faster to catch up to the guy and by some miracle she did, stepping in his path.

"Get out of my way" he growled.

"Can't do that." she tensed when he advanced on her and it was like her body acted on instinct alone. When his hand reached out to grabbed her she grabbed his wrist before he could touch her, twisting it behind his back, she shifted behind him bringing her knee up before bringing it back down on the back of his leg, she heard the bones breaking as he collapsed to his knee with a cry of pain, acting quickly she gripped his head and gave it a violent twist, snapping his neck, she pushed him away, his body crumpling to the floor.

"I gotta say you're a quick learner."

Caroline looked to her left and saw Rebekah standing there. "I just reacted to my instincts." She let her instincts take over and it felt good. Fuck, did it feel good to be in control again. "Is this going to be a problem? Should we call Klaus?" She didn't wait for Rebekah to answer already nodding to her own question. "I'm gonna call, Klaus."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus glanced down at his phone ringing, Caroline's name flashing. "I have to take this." he didn't bother waiting for Marcel's response as he walked outside. "Caroline, is everything alright?"

" Depends on your definition? " She responded.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?"

" No, I'm fine but I might have taken down one of Marcel's guys out in the bayou ." She hedged cautiously. " Well, Rebekah thinks he might be Marcel's informant."

Klaus rolled his eyes heavenward. "And where was Rebekah during this encounter?"

"He caught me by surprise ." Rebekah huffed and realized Caroline must have handed her the phone.

"Let me understand this: against all logic, you, Caroline and Hayley went to the bayou, where you ran into a man you think may be Marcel's informant, and Caroline took him down?"

"She was quite efficient but now we have a problem, what do we do with him now that he saw us?"

"I'll handle it, but I'll need a distraction," he told her. And he wanted to see that Caroline was unharmed with his own eyes.

"I'm on my way." Rebekah hung up.

Klaus frowned, he would have rather talk to Caroline before she hung up. He pocketed his phone before going back inside.

"Your sister again?" asked Marcel as Klaus retook his seat at the bar.

"She craves attention. So come along, you were just getting to the juicy bits."

"I can't joke around about this." said Marcel on a more serious note. "I've done a lot in my day, but I do have a rule about kids."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"No one but Sophie ever questioned the Harvest." said Davina. "Not even my own mother. So neither did I. We thought it was such an honor, we had such faith." Her face twistedth bitterness. "We were so stupid."

"So how did it begin?" asked Elijah.

"We were led out like princesses. My mother was so proud."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Night had fallen, and the four girls were led out into the Lafayette Cemetery by the elders to start the Harvest. There were birdbaths with liquid that was lit on fire burning around them, creating a bright orange glow.

Bastiana started speaking. "Our magic fades as our ties to our ancestors weaken over time. We beseech them, accept this offering as a sign of our faith."

The girls knelt in a row in the middle of the crowd of people, of witches gathered.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Bastiana, one of the Elders, called upon the four elements to bind our past and future magic together. Earth, to connect us to our ancestors. Water, to heal the community. Wind, to carry us to our ancestors and back. Fire, to purify." Davina went on to continue telling Elijah her story. "After all our preparation, we knew exactly what to expect. For weeks they told us that the magic in the knife they used to cut our palms would put us to sleep, and that later at the Reaping, we would all be resurrected. They said we'd awaken, and all be together and more powerful than ever. And it was just like we rehearsed it. All that was left was a little cut on our palms for the blood sacrifice."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The first girl in the row stood up to begin the Harvest but it was interrupted immediately after when Sophie ran into the cemetery. "No! Stop! Bastiana, stop! You have to stop, Bastiana, please don't do this!"

A male witch wrapped his arms around Sophie restraining her, covering her mouth with his hand so she couldn't intervene further or scream creating a larger scene.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Even after Sophie tried to stop it, we didn't suspect anything." Davina stated.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"To be born, you must sacrifice. Do you have faith?" Bastina asked the girl.

The girl nodded in response and held out her hand for the blood sacrifice. But instead of taking her hand Bastiana slit the girl's throat, the young witch falling to the ground. The other three girls started to scream in terror, but they were restrained so that they couldn't run away. Davina's mother stared straight ahead at her daughter screams, unflinchingly.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Everyone involved in the ritual knew that this would happen." Elijah realized.

"Except the four of us. They weren't putting us to sleep, they were slaughtering us!" Davina said with pure betrayal.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The next young witch was pushed forward and Bastiana slashed her throat despite her protests and her fear.

"No, no!" Davina screamed.

"Monique Deveraux." Bastina said.

"NO, NO, NOOO!" Davina screamed as a man forced Monique forward.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"I begged for someone to help. My own mother turned away from me." She recalled how much it hurt that her own mother didn't lift a single finger to help her. "Sophie screamed and screamed for her sister, anyone, to do something."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

" What is wrong with you!?" Sophie screamed at them all in horror.

A worried look flickered across Jane-Anne but still, she did nothing. Said nothing.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"But no one did." Said Davina, not a single member of their coven.

"And yet you survived." Elijah said pointedly. "Therefore, someone or something intervened."

Davina nodded. "Yes. Someone finally did."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Monique, run away! Run away!" Sophie shouted right before a shrill whistle cut through the horror and a group of vampires descended, killing the witches, led by one man. "Marcel."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"You're the one who stopped it." Klaus stated, appraising Marcel closely.

"Kieran knew every detail from Sophie. After his nephew's massacre in the church, he was so torn up. He left town just before the Harvest. But on his way out, he came to me, and he asked me to stop the Harvest. He knew I didn't want the witches getting any more power. And I do have a rule about people abusing kids, so, I did what he asked." Marcel shook his head ruefully. "But I was too late."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The vampires attacked the Elders. One of them ripping into Bastianna's throat, draining her dry before letting her dead boy fall to the ground, the magic knife she used to slit the girl's throats clattering to the ground. Agnes acted quickly picking up the fallen knife, grabbing Monique, slashing her throat clean open.

Davina screamed, hysterical and trying to break free of the arms around her as hard as she could. "No, Monique! Nooo! Let go of me! Stop it! Stop it! Let go of me! Stop it!"

Marcel watched as she screamed and rage and fought back, thrashing, headbutting the guy holding her in the face. Marcel sprung into action, killing the man quickly and taking Davina protectively into his arms. "I got you." He murmured, doing his best to assure her that she was safe. That he would protect her.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"There was something about seeing Davina fight." Marcel said, sloshing his drink around in his glass. "She didn't just go along to the slaughter, you know?"

Klaus smiled slightly thinking of a younger version of the man sitting next to him. "I do... Marcellus."

A somber look came over Marcel. "I felt like she and I... we were kindred spirits. "

Klaus could understand where Marcel was coming from. He had felt the same when he met him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel held Davina protectively to him while Sophie knelt on the ground, holding Monique's body in her lap. Grief-stricken, Sophie looked up at Marcel and Davina. Davina extended her hand out toward Monique. A light inside Monique leaked out from her body and into Davina's outstretched hand, Sophie and Marcel stare at her in utter amazement.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Every girl who died released her power on to the next. When I was the last one, I suddenly had all of it, all the power that was supposed to be released back into the earth to appease our ancestors." Davina explained.

"So... the Harvest was actually working?" Elijah inquired.

"Something was working." She couldn't be sure it was the harvest and she did not want to find out. "And I knew that I was supposed to be killed so the Harvest could be completed and we would all be resurrected. But, they lied to us about how they were killing us. How do I know they weren't lying to us about coming back?" She paused, falling silent for just a moment before admitting. "But mostly, I just didn't want to die. So, I let him save me. Marcel saved my life."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel watched the look of surprise flicker across Sophie's face and vamp-sped himself and Davina out of there before the witches could take her back and complete the sacrifice by killing her.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah felt a strong wave of disgusted by how Davina, someone who was still a child in the larger scheme of things was treated, he felt an equally strong wave of sympathy for her it was no wonder the girl latched onto Marcel and trusted him to keep her safe.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“You were quite the knight in shining armor, though Davina must realize you owe her as much as she owes you. You never could have banned the witches from using magic without her.” Klaus stated.

“She's not exactly besties with them.” Marcel responded. “I'm protecting her. A lot of them would like to get their hands on her and kill her to finish the Harvest. If they don't, the other girls stay dead, and they lose their power.”

“And if they do, you lose yours.” Klaus said knowingly.

“And Davina loses her life.” Marcel stated.

“Isn't this like old times?” Rebekah said in greeting announcing her arrival. “Just how drunk are you two?”

“Skating on the razor's edge.” Klaus responding intentionally slurring his words as if he was actually drunk. “I'm gonna use the loo. Back in a tick.”

“I haven't seen him this lushy since the '20s.” Said Rebekah, once he got up from his seat, disappearing from sight.

“So you came to take him home?” asked Marcel.

“Why else would I be here?” She responded.

“I don't know. Maybe to make sure I didn't get too drunk and spill secrets better left unspilled about you and me. I know better.” He told her.

“I hope so because you don't wanna end up on the wrong side of me.” she threatened.

“Oh, Rebekah Mikaelson.” he said, locking his gaze on hers. “You do not wanna be on the wrong side of me.”

The two stare at each other intently, gazes lock, a quiet tension falling over them.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus walked outside glancing around before taking off heading for tha Bayou. It didn’t take long for him to hear Sophie complaining. “Marcel is going to notice his guy missing. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, I should have just let him go back to Marcel with what he saw.” Caroline retorted. “That would have been a much better option. Wouldn’t it? All you care about is consecrating your dead witches.”

“If I don’t their power could be lost forever.” Sophie insisted.

“And won’t that be tragic you could no longer control peoples lives to suit your own agenda.” Caroline sniped.

“Could you two stop arguing for five minutes.” Hayley snapped annoyed with their bickering. “You’re going to lead someone straight to us.”

“Too late for that.” Klaus stated, watching as Caroline whirled around her annoyed expression quickly fading.

“Klaus.” She said and there was an edge of relief in her voice that he enjoyed.

He moved toward and glanced at the body she stood over. “I take this is, Marcel’s informant, Tomas?”

Caroline nodded. “I just acted when I saw him and I have no idea what we’re supposed to do with him now.”

Klaus settled his hand on her shoulder. “No, you did good. You weren’t hurt were you?” He asked his eyes looking her over carefully.

“No, it was over really fast,” Caroline said, a little surprised that she had taken care of him so quickly.

“Don’t sound surprise, Love.” He grinned at her. “I think you’ll find you’re more than exceptional when you set your mind to something.”

“Are you going to flirt with Caroline until he wakes up or can we get to the issue at hand.” Sophie waved a hand at the currently dead vampire.

Klaus shot her a glare. “Mind your tongue.” before ignoring her completely turning back to Caroline. “I’ll take care of this.” he told Caroline. “Do try not to get in any more trouble, will you?"

“No promises there.” Caroline knew how much trouble and her seemed to go hand in hand these days. “What are you going to do to him. You can’t kill him, you’ll tip Marcel off.”

“Let me worry about that,” Klaus stated, scooping up the body, throwing it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you back at the house, Love.”

Caroline watched as he sped away.

“It’s like we weren’t even here.” Sophie grumbled. It was like he had Caroline blinders or something. If she was near that was all he cared about.

“It’s not surprising.” Hayley glanced around the forest. “Now that that’s taken care of we should hurry this long before more of Marcel’s men show up.”

Caroline had to agree. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be so lucky in taking the enemy down so quickly but man did it feel good.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus glanced around at his surroundings outside the bar, making sure no one was around before stuffing Thomas’s body into the back of his car, carelessly, shutting the door. That was one problem taken care of.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah proudly presented Tim's violin to Davina. “You may return this now to its rightful owner. It's restored.”

Davina accepted the instrument, staring at it with a sad expression. “I don't even know if I'll see him again.”

The room started to shake as if there was an earthquake. Elijah and Davina looked around worriedly, the window shutters burst open as the shaking abruptly stopped.

Elijah looked at the young witch in worry realizing she couldn’t control the power that she had. “Davina, this power that you contain, drawn from your fallen friends—it's too much for you. You need control which requires study and practice.” This was a way for him to gain her trust and possibly an ally in her. “Now, my mother was a very powerful witch. She left behind her grimoires, a legacy of books filled with spells. These books contain all of the tools that you might need to control your magic. If you free me from here, I can share them with you. However, if you leave now with Marcel, we'll never see each other again, and I cannot find you, and I can't help you.”

Davina glared at him. “The witches manipulated me. You know how that ended.”

“This is not manipulation. This is one thing in exchange for another. I'm offering you a deal.” Elijah responded, hoping she would consider her options.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus entered the bar again only to find Marcel was gone just as Rebekah was returning from the restroom.

“That was fast work, Rebekah.” He praised almost tauntingly.

“Where's Marcel? In there, touching up his lipstick?”

Rebekah shot him a disgusted look. “Credit me with some taste, it's filthy in there. Where'd he go?”

Klaus’s eyes narrowed. “He didn't tell you he was leaving?”

“No.” she frowned. “Do you think he realized we were stalling him?”

“No.” but then it occurred to Klaus. “Unless... he was stalling us.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel bursts into Davina's room. He wasn’t sure how much time he had until Klaus realized he had been stalling him. He was completely unaware of Elijah hiding in his own coffin. “Okay, now's our shot. You ready to blow this joint?”

Davina smiled. “Can't wait.”

Marcel grabbed Davina's suitcase. “We'll leave Elijah behind as a parting gift. Might buy me a little forgiveness for pulling one over on his siblings. Let's go.”

The two leave the attic with Davina giving her room a final parting glance before she followed Marcel.

Elijah waited till they were out of earshot before pulling himself out of his coffin.

Downstairs, Marcel walked ahead of Davina but she stopped suddenly in the middle of the church's main room, and he turned to look back at her, concerned. “What's wrong? What's happening?"

The church started shaking, ”I don’t know. Something’s wrong.” her body tensed up as she started spasming.

Marcel ran up to her, to help her in any way he could.

“Marcel. There's something dangerous out there.” she warned. “Take me back!” she demanded before losing consciousness.

Marcel caught her before she could collapse to the ground. “Damn it.” He picked her up carrying her back to her room.

Elijah, smiled waiting in the doorway, he hid before Marcel reached the room.

Marcel placed her on to her bed, tucking her in, and looking at her with a tender look for just a moment before taking his leave.

Once he was gone, Davina opened her eyes and lifted her head, dropping the act.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel and Davina entered the attic room for the first time. “No one's gonna look for you here. It's only for a little while, 'til I get you out of town and someplace safe.” he reassured her. “For now I can get you whatever you want. What do you like to do? “

“Draw.” she whispered, nervous.

“An artist, huh? That's cool, okay. I can buy out Vincent's for you tomorrow. Maybe get you some curtains, or–”

“Marcel?” She interrupted. “You know what I really want?” she paused for just a beat. “I wanna make them pay.” and Marcel nodded in response.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Davina sat up in the bed when she was sure Marcel was gone. “Elijah?” she called out.

Elijah emerged from where he had hidden himself. “I'm pleased you stayed.”

“You'll keep your promise about your mother's spell book?” Davina questioned.

“I will.” Elijah said. “You know, difficulties aside, I value my family above everything. I am sorry that yours failed you.”

“Your brother Klaus handed you to Marcel in a box, yet you still don't give up on him?” Davina questioned, having trouble understanding how that was possible.

“Well, I've given up on giving up.” said Elijah. “It's an affliction. I will fight for my family until my last breath.”

“And I'll fight the witches until mine.” Davina declared. She wanted them to pay for everything they have done.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Now what? You just gonna leave her up there for anybody to find?” Father Kieran questioned as Marcel was leaving the chuch..

“I'm not in the mood, Kieran.” Marcel responded annoyed.

“You were supposed to get her out of New Orleans after the Harvest.” Father Kieran reminded him. “We failed those other three girls, we didn't fail her. That is why I came to you for help. That was the plan.”

“Plans change.” Marcel told him.

“Especially after you found out how powerful she was.” said Father Kieran with judgment.

“Let's get something straight.” Marcel tired of the Father’s judgment. “For eight months since you left, I've been running this town just fine. I don't need you coming back and gettin' in my business. I will do what I want, where I want. Got it?”

“You wanna be the boss? You wanna call the shots?” Father Kieran shot back defensively. “Fine. But I call the shots with the humans. And you don't wanna make an enemy of me. So, I would suggest one thing—stay away from my niece.”

“Fine. Who the hell's your niece?” Marcel asked.

“Cami.” Father Kieran answered causing Marcel to stop in his tracks, processing what Kieran just revealed to him before huffing in frustration and leaving.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Night had fallen, Hayley, Caroline, and Sophie were returning to Sophie's truck

“Those people, all this, because of a vision about these babies, you don't think it’s true?” Hayley wondered.

Caroline frowned at Hayley. “These Babies? That’s how you address your children?”

Hayley shifted, uncomfortably, glancing quickly at Sophie before looking back at Caroline. “I meant my babies.”

“Look, I love Sabine, but she's the witch equivalent of a drama queen.” Sophie cut in quickly, hoping to distract Caroline. “I've learned to take little stock in whatever she says or sees. Just kinda wish she'd kept her mouth shut.”

“The Harvest ritual. You said you didn't believe in it. Were you right?” asked Hayley.

“No. I saw it with my own eyes.” Sophie answered. “It was working. It was real.”

“So, how can you be so sure Sabine's vision isn't?” Asked Hayley.

Sophie didn’t have an answered because the truth was if it was true those babies would have to be killed.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true are not,” said Caroline strongly. “Your children are going to be a target simply because Klaus is their father. You shouldn’t be worrying about something that might not come to pass and focus on keeping them safe.”

“And you would be so willing to protect them?” asked Sophie. She wondered how Caroline could speak so fiercely about children that she didn’t even know were actually her’s.

“Yes.” Caroline said without hesitation. Beyond the fact that Klaus fathered the twins Hayley carried they were two innocent babies who didn’t ask for any of this for that fact alone she would protect them.

Hayley’s hand drifted to her stomach self-consciously, feeling protective of the babies inside of her even as guilt filled her.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel walked into the courtyard of the Abattoir not surprised to find Klaus waiting for him.

Klaus stood on the top of a cement barrier. “Taking me on a field trip to distract me. Pathetic. And obvious—I taught you better than that.”

“You taught me to protect what's mine.” Marcel countered. “You will not take Davina from me—end of story.”

“An immutable law of nature, Marcel, is the strong always take from the weak.”

“Oh, if you were so strong, you wouldn't have run away from New Orleans like a little bitch, all those years ago.” Marcel responded with ire.

Klaus jaw clenched at the insult, jumping down from where he was standing, his fist slamming into Marcel. “You've been playing king with a bunch of children for too long. Don't mistake me for one of your nightwalker lackeys, Marcel. I can take Davina anytime I like.”

Marcel lunged for Klaus in retaliation but was knocked back down, hitting the ground, he looked up and Elijah stood there.

“Do forgive me, Marcel. If anyone is to teach my brother a lesson... it's me.”

Klaus stared at his brother in shock, his jaw clenching. He had spent so much time trying to get Elijah back yet here he stood in front of him and if he was honest with himself he wasn’t all too pleased to see him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“You did good out there today, Caroline.” Rebekah told Caroline grabbing three glasses, they had returned to the Mikaelson mansion. “I didn’t expect you to take down Marcel’s informant so easily.”

Caroline smiled at the compliment as Rebekah poured several drinks as she started speaking to Hayley. “I don't care if we have to get you a leash, that was your last trip to the bayou.” Rebekah said to Hayley as she poured three glasses. “What is it with you and those wolves, anyway?”

“I feel like we're connected somehow. I don't know. Maybe it's just some pipe dream that I have of finding any real family out there.” She hoped she wasn’t deluding herself that she could find any semblance of her real family out there. She didn’t want everything she had done to be for nothing. “But sometimes, when I feel like it's me against the world, it keeps me going.”

Rebekah gave Hayley a sympathetic look and handed her a drink.

“She can’t have that!” Caroline protested as Hayley side-eyed Rebekah.

A look passed over Rebekah as she remembered that because of Hayley being pregnant that she should not be drinking. “Oh, right.” Rebekah shrugged and gulp down the glass she poured for Hayley in one go. “Well, if you ask me, family is a pain in the behind.” She held a glass out to Cariline as Hayley rolled her eye.

Caroline accepted the drink. “Thanks.”

“And as for being in it alone, how dare you? I don't ruin a perfectly fabulous pair of boots traipsing through the bayou for just anyone.” Rebekah told Hayley sending her a pointed look.

Hayley smiled and Rebekah downed her second drink. The conversation between the girls was interrupted when Klaus came walking through the front door.

“Klaus.” Caroline smiled. “Finally, I-” she trailed off as Elijah walked in behind him with a huge smile and she tensed instinctively, remembering how he had invaded her mind.

“Elijah!” Rebekah broke out into a smile, running to Elijah and hugging him tightly. “You’re safe.”

Caroline not really wanting to stick around for Elijah’s reunion, downed her glass before reaching for the bottle, walking past Elijah and Rebekah, offering Klaus a faint smile as she passed him, heading outside.

Klaus brow furrowed as he watched her head outside. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Rebekah was thrilled Elijah was back but he was surprised by Caroline’s reaction. Caroline had not gotten the chance to get to know Elijah yet but still, she seemed less than pleased about his return.

Klaus threw one more look at his siblings, watching as his brother went in obvious search of Hayley. Klaus turned, walking back outside. He didn’t see Caroline right away, which had him tensing. He scanned the grounds and caught sight of her walking to the apple tree and taking a seat on the ground with her back against it.

He tilted his head watching her a moment as she took a drink from the bottle of bourbon she had grabbed, he frowned wondering what was wrong.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Caroline sat back against the tree, her hands peeling at the label of the bottle she held.

She was happy for Klaus and Rebekah. That they had gotten their brother back but that didn’t mean she had to like it. It was conflicting to be happy for them but also not liking it. When Elijah was around she felt like she had to have her guard up every second, not wanting him to mess with her head again.

She looked up at approaching footsteps to see Klaus. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Wanted some fresh air.” she said in answer.

Klaus didn’t think she needed to come all the way out here for fresh air. He took the last few steps forward taking a seat beside her against the tree, his arm brushing against hers. “What’s wrong?”

Caroline turned her head to look at him and found his intense blue gaze on her expectantly. She looked away, avoiding, his eyes. “Nothing.” she dismissed.

“I don’t believe that.” Klaus shook his head, he turned his body toward hers, reaching to cup her cheek and direct her eyes back to him. “Tell me what’s wrong? What’s bothering you?”

Caroline stared back at his searching his gaze and felt compelled to tell him the truth. Not because he was trying to compel her because he wasn’t and she knew he wouldn’t. But because of the concern in his gaze, left her with the feeling of being pulled toward him in the best way. “Your brother? Elijah. I don’t like being around him. I don’t trust him not to try and mess with my head like before.”

“You mean when the witches had you and he searched through your memories?” Klaus frowned. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Having someone mess with your head?” He recalled how she reacted when she learned he was compelling Cami, a woman, she didn’t even know. Her dislike for the way he controlled his hybirds. How determined she was to not let Silas into her head again.

“No one likes having their head mess with.” She avoided looking into his eyes by looking over his shoulder.

Klaus felt anger boiling at the surface, a quiet rage feeling his chest but it wasn’t for him or his family or his plans. No, this anger had far more importance. There was only one reason why Caroline could possibly feel so passionately about this. Someone had messed with her head and since vampires couldn’t compel other vampires it had to have happened when she was still human. “Who?” his voice was low with anger, taking on a darker tone than he usually used with her.

“What?” Caroline brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who messed with your head when you were still human?” He demanded, his hand gripped her arm. “Who compelled you?!”

Caroline glanced down at his hand, his grip tight before dragging her eyes back to his. Klaus realizing he might be hurting her lessen his grip and brushed his hand down her arm until he could grasp her smaller hands in between his larger one. “Tell me?”

Caroline was sure if she told him the truth he would kill Damon and she couldn’t allow that. Not because he didn’t deserve it because there was a part of her that would always believe he deserved whatever he got for what he did to her. But because of how much Stefan loved his brother and she wouldn’t wish that loss on her best friend regardless of her anti-Damon feelings.

“Caroline..” His thumb brushed against her wrist, making goosebumps rise on her flesh. “Tell me.”

Still, she hesitated even though he was looking at her so imploring sounding completely earnest and genuine.

“Please, Caroline.” his other hand reached out to cup her cheek. “I need to know.” He had to know so he could make the person pay in the worst way imaginable.

Caroline opened and closed her mouth, her hand reaching up to grip the one he had on her cheek, seeing the concern, the need to know who hurt her, Caroline felt herself giving in. “You can’t kill him.”

“Kill who?” he just needed a name and they would pay for their mistreatment of her.

“You have to promise me you won’t kill him.” If she was going to tell him she had to know she wasn’t signing Damon’s death warrant.

Klaus clenched his jaw, reluctant to make a promise he was certain he would break.

“Promise me.” Caroline insisted, her hand tightening around his.

Klaus breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling with the movement. “I promise.”

Caroline watched him for any sign that he was lying before nodding more to herself than him. “Damon.” she admitted slowly. “It was Damon.”

Klaus' eyes thinned, jaw clenching, he had to keep his hands from, tensing not wanting to hurt her as he slowly removed his hand from hers, not certain his anger wouldn’t get the better of him in a moment of impulsiveness. “What he did he do? What manner did he compel you?”

Caroline frowned as she looked away, her eyes closing as she forced the memories of those few weeks with Damon to the back of her mind as they started to surface.

“Caroline.” Klaus’s hand squeezed around her own, bringing her eyes back to him slowly.

“When I met Damon I was still human. Honestly, I was an insecure mess. I felt like everything I did back then was in competition with Elena. So when Damon showed up showing an interest in me it felt like a win.” She murmured quietly. “But it wasn’t. That first night I slept with him on my own but he fed on me and when I woke up I was terrified, I remember what he had done.”

Klaus felt rage coursing through him that Damon would dare feed on Caroline, prey on her insecurities. But he forced himself not to react physically, feeling there was more to the story and we wanted to know all of it. He didn’t want Caroline shutting down on him now that he convinced her to tell him something so personal. “What happened after?”

“I fought him but he attacked me again and later he compelled to be okay with the fact that he was a vampire. He fed on me, treated me like a human blood bag.” She shook her head in disgust. “He had me run stupid errands for him, he was cruel, I was nothing but a puppet that he could feed on anytime he wanted.” Her fist clenched, muscles tightening, her stomach turned like acid. “It went on for a few weeks” she muttered in utter disgust.

“Damon controlled you, he took your choices away.” The words were said through clenched teeth, his voice lethal.

Caroline nodded slowly. "Yes, he took my choices away. My actions were not always my own."

The thought of anyone taking Caroline's choices away from her, controlling her actions, feeding on her like she was nothing but a walking blood bad angered him. He wanted to tear Damon apart.

Klaus reached up, cupping her face, his other one wrapping around her hand. “You deserved so much better than what Damon Salvatore did to you. No one should have treated you like that.” he paused, his hand tightening around her hand as he felt it tremble in his grip. “Does your mom know?”

“No.” Caroline gave her head a shake. “I never told her.”

“What about Stefan? Elena? Do they know what he was doing to you?”

Caroline admitted in a whisper. “They knew what was going on.”

“And they did nothing!” Klaus responded heatedly unable to keep his opinion to himself. “Because of your friends, Elena, you had to pretend like nothing was wrong!”

“These friends of yours that you’re so determined to stay loyal to they don’t deserve you none of them. You’re worth so much more, Caroline,” he cupped her face with both his hands. “You deserve people in your life who will always put you first. You deserve someone who would show you even a fraction of the loyalty you have shown your worthless friends.”

Caroline bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “And that someone’s supposed to be you?” she asked her voice somber.

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be.” Klaus told her. “But more importantly I will never let anyone treat you the way you’ve been treated, I will never let anyone hurt you.”

His words hit her in the chest, causing the pain she felt to lessen. She knew he meant every word and she felt a gratitude that what she’d been through hadn’t just been swept under the rug because it was convenient. She couldn’t stop her self as she reached out, gripping fistfuls of his shirt and tugging him forward, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Klaus’s hands fell away stunned by her embrace but seconds later he wrapped one around her and stroked a hand through her hair as she buried her face in the crook of her shoulder. “I promise, you’ll never have your choices taken from you again.”

And when the time came and he saw Damon again he would make him pay, he wouldn’t kill him.

He would make him suffer in ways he never imagined. His eyes blackened taking on the look of his hybrid eyes, hugging her more tightly to his body as he continued stroke a hand through her blonde strands.

Caroline's arms tightened around, feeling a wave of comfort as his hand's stroke through her hair, his strong arms around her making her feel like there was not a single thing on this earth that could hurt her in this moment.

It could have been seconds or minutes or longer but footsteps sounded before they were being interrupted. “Niklaus, come inside, I have information to share.”

Caroline pulled away at the sound of Elijah’s voice and tried to compose herself, putting more distance between her and Klaus.

“Not now, Elijah.” Klaus snapped, annoyed with the intrusion.

“This is important Niklaus.” Elijah insisted, looking between the two.

Klaus snapped his gaze around to his brother. “I said not now, Elijah!”

“No, it’s fine.” Caroline stood up, brushing grass from her pants. “It could be important.”

Klaus stood, taking her hand in his and catching her eye. “ You’re importan t, Caroline.”

Caroline shot him a warm smile, appreciating his words. “So is this.” She looked at Elijah her warm smile fading. “We’re coming.”

Elijah observed the two, his eyes zeroing on his brother’s grasp on Caroline’s hand with a thoughtful look before he nodded, walking back toward the house.

“Thank you.” Caroline told Klaus, taking a step closer to him when Elijah was gone and brushed a lingering kiss to his cheek, her free hand, gripping his shoulder.

Klaus nodded in surprise, squeezing her hand, his eyes taking her in, feeling more connected to her than he had before.

Caroline gently removed her hand from his and nodded to the house with a small smile. “We should join the others.”

Klaus nodded reluctantly, grabbing up the last bit of the bottle finishing it off and tossing it aside, before placing a hand on her lower back as they the walk back to the house. A comfortable silence between them.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The Mikaelson siblings, Hayley and Caroline sat around the study in various places, Elijah stood behind the desk in the room, explaining everything that he had managed to learn from Davina. “Everything that brought us here to New Orleans was a lie.”

A trickle of fear traveled down Hayley’s spine. They couldn’t know the truth about her and Sophie, could they? The truth about the babies she carried?

“This story that Sophie Deveraux fabricated, this struggle for control of the French Quarter, this war between vampires and witches, wasn't over territory at all, this was over Davina.”

Relief hit her like a wave but she did her best not to outwardly show it. She was just glad that they hadn’t found out the truth of her envolvement with Sophie or how she had stolen something, two something’s that were never meant to be hers but was a price she was willing to pay if it meant she got her family back. Her pack.

“So all of this for one girl?” Caroline asked, trying to understand. It was a lot to go through all to get to one girl.

“She isn’t just any one girl.” Elijah responded.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“I swear, I had no idea that the Harvest could possibly be real!” Sophie argued, to her sister in the back room of Rousseau’s. Her face was filled with guilt and grief, eyes wet with tears.

“But the one thing that you were sure of is that I was wrong and that I would risk Monique's life on a maybe. And now my daughter is dead.” Jane-Anne cried, face grief-stricken.

“Please tell me how to fix this.” Sophie pleaded desperately.

“Now that Marcel has Davina, how we are even supposed to find her? If we don't finish the Harvest, Monique and those two other girls are dead for real.” Jane-Anne responded, sounding defeated, lost.

Sophie stepped toward her sister, grabbing her hands. “Look at me. You and I are gonna find a way to get Monique back.” She said firmly, face set in determination. “It'll be our little secret. We'll do it together. I'll seal off the cemetery from the vampires, find Davina, stop Marcel and finish the ritual once and for all. Even if I have to slit Davina's throat myself.”

Jane-Anne nodded, holding tightly to her sister’s hand as she gave her something to hope for. A chance to get her daughter back. No matter the cost.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Eight months ago, Sophie Deveraux and her sister Jane-Anne lost everything. Now, four months after that, a young pregnant girl wanders into their restaurant. Suddenly, all hope is renewed. Jane-Anne actually sacrificed her life so that her sister could use Hayley to find Davina. If Sophie Deveraux is successful in capturing Davina, she can return Jane-Anne's daughter back to life.” Said Elijah with weight, looking at each of them. “We thought we'd come here to wage a war for power. This is about family. In order to return her niece to life, Sophie Deveraux will fight to the death. That makes her more dangerous than anyone.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie kneeled in front of Jane-Anne's grave at Lafayette Cemetery in the pouring rain, crying. She was not going to let her sister’s death be in vain. She would get her niece, Sophie back at any cost. And she didn’t care who she had to sacrifice to do it.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Hayley slipped out of the room with the excuse that she was tired but the truth was she needed a moment, breathing deeply, she pushed down the fear that they would find out the truth. She knew if Klaus ever did find out she would be as good as dead. No amount of pleading, begging or negotiating would save her.

She prayed to a god she didn’t even believe in that if Klaus ever did find out the truth she would be long gone.

Notes:

The Klaus and Caroline scene discussing her experience with compelling was not what I wrote at first. I changed it cause I didn't want to offend anyone but I will be posting the original scene I had planned separately if you want to check it out. It may be triggering so if you're easily triggered you shouldn't read it or if you're a big Damon fan.

Thanks for reading and the continued support for this story. It keeps me motivated.

#Klaroline #klaus x caroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #TVD #the vampire diaries #the originals #klaroline fic #good to you

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