#Killing Izzy was fucking cowardice

[yuripira4e]

I think it’s been long enough to admit that I hated s2 of ofmd and the only thing it did was make me ship stizzy and go rewatch black sails

[slashgod]

Ooh drop me a word or a line and I’ll use it a prompt.

Izzy had expected some kind of big fight when Bonnet came back. A bit of bloodshed. Some grovelling. Shouts. God if either of them had shouted he would have been happy. Would have made him feel like all of this was for something.

There wasn’t any of that.

Bonnet had climbed on the ship like he still owned it. Had pulled up his rag tag misfits of a crew, and had set them straight to work.

Blackbeard had looked relieved.

Izzy spent three days and three nights holed up his room.

Knock knock. Knock.

“Captains want to see you.” Izzy barely registered that it was Lucius’ trill happy voice that called through to him. The Lucius that he had saved from drowning, hidden in the walls for weeks.

‘Great’, Izzy thought, tidying himself up to be more presentable, like he hadn’t spent the entire time crying ‘a long walk off a short plank, and it’ll be over.’

He didn’t pay attention to the crew as he walked to his death. Took to it like a man who knew the inevitable was going to wreck him, and he couldn’t give in now, couldn’t show his cowardice when it would be over so soon.

“You wanted to see me?” Had his voice always sounded this rough? Like drags from the bottom of the ocean, full of gravel and sand and broken glass.

Bonnet gives him a look, all soft eyes and softer frowns. Blackbeard has the decency to not look at all, smoking his pipe as he lounges in that pink fucking robe that Izzy wants to set on fire.

“Things are changing, Iz.” Blackbeard says- only it’s not Blackbeard. It’s Edward. Killing with kindness pops into Izzy’s head, and he scoffs. The Gentleman Pirate did kill Blackbeard, and kindness was a messy weapon. “You can stay if you accept the change.”

“And if I refuse?”

Finally Edward looks at him. Really looks. Izzy feels like Edward is holding his heart in his hand, ready to squeeze it.

“Then we’ll leave you at the next dock. You won’t be welcomed back.”

Izzy’s gaze flickers to Bonnet, who is staring into him and through him, then settles back on Edward. “I’ll stay.” And it feels as easy as breathing. Choosing Edward.

“Stede will be your captain too.” Ed pushes, puffing out little ‘o’s from the smoke he had inhaled. “We’ll be co-captains. You’ll follow both of our orders, right?”

And it’s not just Edwards hands holding tight on his heart now, Izzy realises, it’s Bonnets too. Covering Eds in a way that makes him feel treasured, instead of boxed in.

“Yes Captain.”

Bonnet steps forward, past Ed and into Izzy’s space. Reaches up a hand that Izzy instinctively flinches from. Keeps going despite that, cupping Izzy’s face just how Ed does. How Ed must have told him to.

“Good boy.”

Izzy’s knees go weak, and he wonders when it became so easy with Stede to. When he had decided he would kill for this pathetic man just as much as he would for Ed.

“There you go. Wasn’t that easy, love?” There is a twinkle in Stedes gaze as Izzy stares at him, like a secret that he barely knew was unfurling before him. He doesn’t speak this time, but does press into Stede. Curls his hands in that stupid white shirt and pulls until they’re kissing, hot and wet and loud.

That’s the thing about love. It is easy, when you give in.

[doc-pickles]

not this time around

Fun Fact: This song, as sad as it is, is one of my favorite Taylor songs. I went back and forth on whether I wanted to use this song but at the end of the day I really really did. And it hurt.

So yeah… this is sad, probably the saddest piece I wrote this week and possibly will ever write for Jolex. I had been putting off watching 16x16 (I knew what happened, I had read Alex’s letter) because I just couldn’t do it. But I did it and GOD it hurt me in ways I didn’t anticipate. Not just Jo’s hurt, but everyone’s. And the flashbacks… god it was awful.

But I knew i needed to watch it and I wrote this immediately after watching it. So this fic is written from my agony over Jo and Alex’s story coming to a definitive end. Without further ado, Jo’s thoughts during ‘Leave a Light On’ and my take on her processing Alex’s departure. 

-

Could've loved you all my life

If you hadn't left me waiting in the cold

And you got your share of secrets

And I'm tired of being last to know

And now you're asking me to listen

Cause it's worked each time before

The heaviness that had lingered in Jo for weeks on end hit an all time low when Link handed her the letter. It was an inevitability at this point, something Jo had simultaneously prayed for and hoped would never come. She brushed off the feeling and mentally prepared herself for the harsh reality of whatever her husband had gotten himself into during the few weeks he had been away from her. 

Dear Jo… 

Breath catching in her throat, Jo read through Alex’s letter with a streak of fear and horror coursing through her. The more she read, the worse the feeling got. The heaviness she had been feeling for so long was now replaced by the sensation of a lion sitting on her chest, unrelenting to her cries for help or relief, unmoving as she read line after line. And then, all of a sudden, the breath she had been holding back broke forward with a sob, her chest constricting tightly.

What's also true is I'm in love with Izzie.

The words that Alex had so simply written on the lined piece of paper reached forward and grabbed Jo, holding her heart hostage as she replayed through every conversation, every word in passing over the past eight years where Alex had assured her time and time again that he had no feelings whatsoever for his ex wife. I picture her as happy as I am with you. Jo’s eye scanned the paper, devouring each line as if the words weren’t ripping her insides to shreds. She didn’t want to believe them, didn’t want to picture Alex somewhere in Kansas with Izzie living out the years they didn’t get to spend together.

But Izzie had my kids. And I know you get what that really means.

Jo read the line once, twice, four times before the words had registered fully and she let the letter drop from her shaking hands. The fear that she had been hoping wasn’t real for years on end was in ink before her, the words screaming at her that she was right. Biting back the urge to vomit, Jo placed her head in her hands as she let tears stream freely down her face. She didn’t need to read the rest of the letter, not really. Because in any universe that included the possibility of Alex having children out there in the world, he would choose them over anything and everything that might stop him. 

I wish getting everything I always wanted didn't have to hurt you in the process.

The nagging insecurity Jo had pushed back for so long came rushing back into her chest full force, almost knocking the breath out of her lungs. Why wasn’t she good enough? Not good enough for her mom, not good enough for Paul… And now she would never be good enough for Alex either. She hadn’t given him children, she hadn’t given him the family that he craved. Maybe that’s why he ran to Meredith so often, to catch fleeting moments of the feeling that he was a part of something bigger than him, bigger than them. Jo couldn't hold a candle to Izzie, to a farmhouse with muffins cooling on the windowsill, with kids running towards Alex and screaming ‘Daddy!’ as he reached his arms out to catch them.

Oh, you deserve everything good in this life, Jo. I hope you find so much better than me.

Jo tried to read the words in front of her, but she couldn’t anymore. Her tears had blocked her vision out, the words appearing blurry as she held back one sob after another until they all broke through and she was embarrassingly sobbing in the resident’s lounge. How on earth did Alex think that there was anyone better for her than him? After the hurt and pain she had walked in this lifetime, Jo knew that the best thing in the world for her was the man who laid in her bed every night whispering promises to her and kissing her so fiercely that every kiss felt like the first one. He didn't sleep in her bed anymore though, he never would again.

Jo would never again hold him like she had so many nights, she would never feel the touch of his hand against hers as they passed in the hallways. Never again would Jo be able to relish in the way Alex’s body fit together with hers so well as they made love, she wouldn’t get to laugh at his corny jokes or make fun of him when he cried at rom coms with her. 

Because Alex was gone.

A shaking breath escaped Jo, her hand clutching her heart as she took one deep breath. While it was true that she had been to hell and back and Alex had helped save her from that, Jo also knew that now it was her turn to save herself. The pain and agony of losing the person who meant the most to her in the world would not tear her to the ground. She had worked too hard to let herself fall now. She would hold her head high and she would move forward with grace.

Because Alex had left.

Alex had left, he wasn’t dead and he hadn’t been forced out of her life. He had chosen to leave Seattle, leave Jo, leave Meredith and the beautiful life and career he had fought tooth and nail for. And for that one distinction, for the fact that Alex had chosen a path that didn’t include her, she wouldn’t spend anymore tears on him because he wasn’t worth it. Because after they had built a life together, chosen each other more times than she could count, he had walked out.

And it wasn’t the fact that he had left her for his kids, she understood that more than anyone just as he had assumed. It was the cowardice and the pain he had inflicted on her by choosing to write a fucking letter instead of coming home and saying goodbye like a normal human being. They could’ve talked, could’ve worked their issues out. They could’ve stayed together and worked on building this new life...

But Alex didn't want that, he wanted Izzie and his kids. He wanted what Jo didn’t give him. So Jo would say goodbye silently, she would stand tall and proud and not drive to Kansas to try and drive him back to be with her like she so desperately wanted to. 

She would let Alex Karev go, even if it killed her.

I'm sorry. I don't know how to end this. I don't want to. Goodbye.

[spookygayferret]

Hey, I wrote a short little thing for my favorite OFMD rare-pair (Edward Teach and Lucius Spriggs). There's also some body worship and praise kink, just in case anyone was wondering.

CW: Sexual content, Izzy Hands (mentioned)

Title: A Study of Edward Teach by Lucius Spriggs

Ed couldn’t take anymore of it. He was on the edge of breaking down. And why couldn’t Izzy see that? Why didn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he understand? Didn’t he realize that Ed was fucking tired? They shouted. Izzy might have said something about loyalty, about cowardice, about the waves lapping at both their feet. And Ed might have said something about storms, about retirement, about wanting to tear his hair out. He might have put his hand on Izzy’s throat and Izzy might have gasped out a noise and Ed might have recoiled in disgust and they both might have looked at each other in mingled horror. Ed couldn’t remember. He remembered leaving and going to the captain’s quarters and wanting to be drunk. But he wasn’t yet, not even close. He hadn’t touched his rum yet and he was just dreading. Dreading the trudge back out onto the deck and Izzy’s expression when he saw Ed’s face and having to do this again in a few hours. Having to do it every fucking day for the rest of his life, until he killed Izzy or Izzy killed him or they both died bloody in each others’ arms. Ed’s fingers laced around the bottle and he willed himself to just drink. Drink until he couldn’t think anymore, until Izzy’s words were this dull hum in his head, until he could stumble back to himself and bark out orders and stop the crew from getting so fed up with Izzy Hands that they just tossed him overboard. “Have you ever been sketched?” Lucius had asked. His voice was like honey in Ed’s ears, sweet and silky. And Ed hadn’t been sketched. Every illustration of him was a fantasy meant to scare and bewilder. No one had ever sketched Edward Teach. Ed decided to take Lucius up on his offer. The booze wasn’t doing anything and he was in desperate need of a distraction.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Thirty Six: Hustler

Summary: In the aftermath of Adamant, and all that happened there, how is our assassin handling it? Is it as Cullen thinks? Is she cooling off? Or is it as Izzy fears? Is she stewing in her hatred? 

[Read Chapter 36 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Abner-

The world is an ugly place while viewing it from behind bars.

Sneers and jeers are thrown into the jail cart. A hacked wad of spit is chucked inside, followed by an explosion of laughter before the men walk away...back to their tents, back to their beds, to their campfires and heroic tales. But no fluids or curses could hurt Abner further than the beating she has already endured. They are nothing, for she has been destroyed repeatedly throughout this life, and the pain has since transcended from the agony of loss into the absolution of hate.

Life may continue outside of the iron bars, but all Abner wants is to watch it burn. Watch as the horses run. Listen to the traitors scream. She would rather see the world aflame, than to live another moment in it as it is.

She can feel her heartbeat in her ears while she focuses on the braziers and campfires, a dark opera of destruction playing endlessly in her mind. Unsure if this world deserves saving, for all it does is spiral into hell at every chance.

But shuffling at the door to the jail cart attracts her glare. What now? A soldier coming in for a real go at her this time? She is ready.

Instead, another sneering face is shoved inside and her blood boils at the sight of him. One of the world’s chief traitors and ruiners. One of the reasons why no Gods dare protect this ungrateful place, whether they exist or not, for men like him are hellbent on destroying their gifts.

“We caught him trying to escape back to Tevinter on foot. Guess the piss ran outta juice, scouts were finally able to see through his fade steps and cloakin’,” says a soldier to the jail guard.

“I don’t know why the Inquisitor doesn’t just kill the bastard now,” the jailer scoffs.

“Perhaps, because she knows a man of my talents could be of use to her, you insolent peck.” The magister sneers more, but flinches when the guard gestures to strike him. His cowardice brings them all laughter, and they close the iron gate with a reverberating crash.

Erimond settles in the far corner, opposite from Abner. Leaning against the bars with his knees brought to his chest, he crouches in much the same posture as her. He glances over, then pauses before a jarred double-take. “I saw you there,” he says. “Are you not with the Inquisition? What did you do to end up in here?”

The sound of his sniveling voice makes her skin crawl. His beady eyes glaring in her direction infuriates her. Abner shifts and leans toward him, ensuring he can see the fires of damnation raging in her eyes. She speaks slowly so that the demon may understand. “I swear to the Gods...the Creators...the Ancestors...the Maker...to the Lady of the fucking Skies - If you so much as look at me again, I will tear out your eyes.”

Erimond grunts and rolls his shoulders, but looks away and does not speak another word. Abner settles back into her corner, returning her stare to the camp beyond the bars. Her eyes lock on the fires, and her imagination finds its gruesome home of burning pandemonium once again.

A distorted, shadowy figure walks from the fires, blocking her view as it approaches. Soon, she’s able to make out the shape of the dwarf who should be as angry as she, and she feels a sense of relief wash over her like icy fire. Abner crawls to the bars, wincing at the pain calling out through her body from dried-up and bloodied wounds, screaming bones, and tender bruises.

Varric shakes his head at the sight of her. “I can’t believe they have you caged up like this. Hasn’t anyone come to check on you?”

“Inquisition soldiers give no shits for someone who threatened their savior.”

Varric grunts. “Turns out Rusty wasn’t sent by the Maker. We found her memories in the Fade. She walked in while Corypheus was using that orb on the Divine. She touched it, and it caused both the explosion and the mark on her hand. No Maker. No Andraste. Just...a shitty place at a shitty time.”

“Figures.”

His eyes scan the dried blood on her skin and clothing and his expression falls even deeper than where it was. “If she knew you were being treated like this…”

Abner scoffs and spits through the bars at the dirt. “She put me here.”

“Well, you…”

Gripping the iron bars she presses her face between them. “She left him there, Varric. Of all the people who should be just as fuckin’ pissed as I am, it’s you.”

“You didn’t see it...that demon...there’s just no way…”

“He’s not dead!” she curses through gritted teeth. “How can you think he’s dead? Did you see him die?”

“I didn’t have to.”

Abner slams her palms into the bars and the cart rattles with a low hum. “Fucking bullshit!” she screams. “He’s not. I know he’s not. We have to save him!”

Dipping his head, he inches closer to the cart and drops his voice to a barely audible, raspy rumble. “The more you talk like that , Killer, the longer they are going to keep you here.” Abner’s stare burrows into Varric’s whiskey brown eyes. He sighs at her stubborn anger, pain and sadness within him causing the whiskey to glass over. “You need to...accept it.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” she says, sitting back against the bars.

“Hawke wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself.”

“Oh, and he wants you to abandon him?”

“That’s not--”

“Just go,” she murmurs and looks away. The one person she thought would understand is just like the rest of them. Fools. Floundering idiots incapable of saving this world. They don’t deserve him. If roles were reversed, he’d do whatever it takes...

“Ki-- Abner , I...”

“Go,” she commands with a sore but razor sharp edge. Abner’s body then balls up into itself. She doesn’t watch him leave, instead, smears away tears before they have the chance to fall. “Fuck them. Fuck them all,” she whispers to herself. Lightly rocking, she attempts to block out the wailing in her mind and find some peace in something...perhaps sleep...

It takes a long time to drift asleep in that rotten iron cage, her wounds pinging through her body relentlessly. But when she finally finds her dreams, she also finds her hut.

Furs hang from the walls. A small fire crackles in the center. There is the faint smell of burning blood lotus drifting through the air from the augur’s hut nearby. And her heart breaks for a fraction of a second when she realizes the soft murmuring sounds in her ear are from the lips of her mother. Abner realizes she is sitting on her mother’s lap as the woman whispers stories in her ear, and she wraps her arms tightly around her warm, loving figure.

She listens to whispered tales of elves from long ago. Great Creators who cared for their people, and the tall spires of a magical city where elves were happy and free. She whispers about the deception of the Gods, how they were locked away from their people, and how that lead to the fall of the world. And she’s warned about the evil trickster that roams the dreams of children who have been naughty. The wolf, dreaded and feared, fixing to trap dreamers much like he did the Creators.

Her mother’s voice is calming. Welcomed. It matters not that she is chastising Abner to stop throwing heavy rocks at the other village children, no matter how mercilessly they’ve teased her.

She whispers her lessons in her native tongue, low enough to hide it from Avvar ears, strong enough to teach Abner who she is. “ For all the pain the elves have suffered, if not for the treachery or the shem’s invasion of our lands, I would have never met your father. I would have never had you. ”

There is an ache in Abner’s heart. “ What if no one deserves this world anymore. What if I want to stop them all...forever? ” she asks her mother and the woman stills.

“ The hardships are what make us strong, da’len. We can never erase the past, nor should we. Instead, we fight to uphold what is right, not matter the cost to ourselves.”

“How do we know what is right?”

The door of their hut creaks open with the hulking figure of her father stepping inside. His smile is warm, but as he hears the Dalish words whispered, his mood sinks. “Dinasha, still yourself. If the others were to hear you…”

“Hush, Agner, the child needs to know where she comes from, no matter what your brutish shem clan thinks. I am Dalish. I am Sabrae. I will teach my daughter what I will.”

“We’ve been quiet, papa,” Abner says. She grins mischievously and shrugs up at her father. “If anyone hears, I’ve some rocks to knock the nasty outta their heads.”

Dinasha squeezes Abner’s rebellious, young arm. “Have you learned nothing from what I’ve said today?” Abner cringes through her mother’s scolding, but continues to grin at her father.

“I heard my little fighter bloodied noses today…” her father begins sternly, then smiles, kneels before them, and embraces both women in a giant hug. “What God has shown His favor on me to bless me with two such strong-willed women, eh?”

The love of her family surrounds Abner’s heart and in that moment she feels a bittersweet sense of home . She squeezes her eyes shut and relishes in the feeling. Love. True, unconditional love. All she’s ever needed she found here...in her parent’s arms. And at that moment, a breeze bursts wildly through the windows of the hut, whipping through the hanging furs, spreading ash across the floor, and circling around the three of them. But this wind is not filled with the scent of burning wood, charring meat, mystic hints of blood lotus, or anything else expected from her village’s many scents…

The air fills her lungs aggressively. The scent, different, but still familiar… A muskiness to it, with rich leather undertones, and the electric spark of... magic …

Hawke.

A message sent to her through the Fade, and at once, she remembers that she is dreaming and realizes that he is calling out to her.

He is alive.

Abner’s eyes fly open, but instead of the hut, instead of the champion, instead of anything else she could have been expecting, she is in a charred wasteland. The bodies of what were once her parents are bloodied and broken at her feet alongside many other clan members that lie limp on the ground surrounding her, remnants and pieces of darkspawn also scattered throughout.

Tears stream unrestrained from her eyes. She is about to fall to her knees and reach for her parents once more, when a rough hand grabs her arm and yanks her backwards.

A large man covered in bloody furs, yells in a booming, earth-shaking voice as he drags Abner kicking and screaming through the dirty carnage. “Cursed child! Look at what you’ve done! The Gods turned their backs on us because of your wretched birth, and now look! Our clan is destroyed by monsters! You should have never been born. Or at the very least, you should be lying dead with your treacherous father, you lousy little halfling.”

He stops dead in his tracks, turning and leveling his evil eyes with hers. “I would kill you now if the others didn’t feel some sort of misguided kinship with your father. Lucky for you, there is a man from another clan who has been interested in you for a time. Ignorant Agner refused their offerings…” He smiles wickedly at her. “But I won’t, Abner Half-Heart. Your curse is now theirs to bear.”

Suddenly, her young body is flung through darkness and lands on a hard stone floor with a sharp smack. Everything is dark around her. Black, wet, and cold. But she can sense him, barely making out the sinister shape of his dreaded body as it walks closer to her. Abern’s trembling arms push her up, watching Ofred’s menacing face as he looms over her. Eyes glowing red again, he arches his body to kick her back down.

“Fenedhis lasa!” she says with a spit from her bloodied mouth while snarling at the giant. “I welcome death as long as I bring you with me! Na din’an sahlin!”

“I thought I’d’ve beaten that Dalish filth out of you by now,” he growls.

A gust of air bursts into her lungs once again, filling her with the knowledge of Hawke. Filling her with the realization that this, too, is a dream. As Ofred arcs his hand back to bring it down upon her, she clenches her eyes shut and screams with every fiber, every inch of her hatred and frustration, and Ofred’s strike never falls.

Taking in a deep, steady breath, Abner opens her eyes. The nightmare has ceased, but she is still in the Fade, finding herself in an eerily familiar moonglade. Blades of tall grass rustle in a light breeze, and a milky glow washes over everything from a lazy moon.

“Tell me, what have the humans ever done for you?” a silky voice purrs from behind her. She turns to see the Fadewalker in all his mystic savagery. His fingers idly playing with a tiny glass orb, flitting it around in a small elegant dance. Through dark, draping dreadlocks, his eyes peer at her - a subtle glow to them, almost as milky as the moon.

She does not answer and instinctively keeps her breathing even, waiting for his motives.

“Your Elvhen blood is so much stronger in you,” he continues. A sly and crooked smirk glides up his cheek. “Normally, I frown on the mingling. Human blood tends to erase the evidence of Elves.” His fingers snatch the clear, sparkling orb into a closed fist and he leans down closer to her. “But not you.” His slender dark hand slowly snakes through the damp night air and flicks at the shell of her ear. “If not for these, there’d barely be proof at all.”

Abner furrows her brow and swats his hand away. “What do you want?”

The Fadewalker’s grin evens out on both sides and he spins on his heel, walking away casually through the tall grasses. Turning his head to his shoulder and twining his arms behind his back, he says, “I warned you to be weary of that mage-boy pet of yours. Now it seems your humans have left your pet behind. How does that make you feel?”

Abner slowly follows him through the clearing, watching him through suspicious eyes. “They tell me to let go.”

“And?”

“All I see is evil and egos. Hypocrisy and death. I feel like I want it all black.”

He turns back toward her, stopping them both. “So I ask again, what have humans ever done for you?”

“Do you know where he is? How to get to him?”

He ignores the question. His smug grin settled confidently on his face, he raises one eyebrow and waits.

Abner sighs. “They’ve taken everything.”

“Oh, but you’ve yet to unlock your potential. If you feel broken, it is because a part of you aches for what was . But that can change. You can be whole.” A single finger slides below her chin, confidently lifting it up to him. “What if I told you, we could rise up? Bring the world back to how it was meant to be, and bring glory back to our kind. No more taint and humans to take us apart. All you need to do is leave the human behind, and in turn, embrace the Elvhen.”

“Yer mad.”

The Fadewalker releases her chin and produces the small orb again. With a pass of his other hand, the orb changes from clear glass, to a larger, darker, textured orb with a green-glowing light weaving though ridges much like those found on a fingertip. She watches, mesmerized as the dark thing turns above his flat palm. “With this, we can bring back the days of Arlathan.”

“That’s…” Abner dares to reach toward the glowing magic. “That’s the orb Corpheus…”

Before she can finish, before she can touch it, the Fadewalker snatches it away and makes it disappear, startling Abner and releasing her from its trance.

“A mistake,” he scoffs, his face now fallen into one of disgust. “He doesn’t know how to use such magic. He should have been destroyed by it.” Mumbling under his breath, he stares down at the ground and says, “He would have never discovered it, had I known.”

He looks at her again, grinning. “We can get it back. We must get it back. It belongs with the Elves.” He places a hand on either of her shoulders. “You have a strong connection with the Fade, can't you feel it? Imagine a world wherein you were never separated from it. You belong here. Elves belong here. We can bring it back.”

Abner holds her breath and stares at the man. It was him. Whoever he is, he started all of this. She studies him closer and everything rushes in at once, hitting her so hard that if not for his hands on her shoulders, she may have fallen over.

Her voice is soft, breathless. The word, “Fen’Harel,” sounds almost like the rustling grass, as if the grasses have been whispering it to her all along.

“I have many names, but yes, some know me as thus.”

This man… the trickster… he is too dangerous… too powerful… Abner’s mind stretches and contracts and stretches and contracts while trying to comprehend how her mother’s old stories could have been real. “You...trapped the Creators?”

Fen’Harel sighs with a roll of his eyes. “The Dalish have many things wrong with their history . I removed tyrants, traitors, threats against true Elvhen.”

She listens as he boasts, releasing her from his grasp to pace through the moonglade and tell her stories of that old magical city and how it had become corrupted. He tells her how they can bring back the world without the corrupt and that their people can be magnificent once again, rather then kicked and beaten, or slaughtered for their mere existence.

She watches him as he rants and dreams, trying to convince her of what she could have, what she could be. As the reality and gravity of the situation slowly settles in, as Abner puts fragmented pieces together in her mind, she realizes that no matter what she wants, no matter what the Thedas of now deserves, or what the Thedas of before was, she must keep a watch on this man. If not her, than he will find others. Perhaps he has. Perhaps he has been building an army of rebellion within the dreams of those he deems worthy...or manipulable. He is obviously powerful, if he is who he says he is. If he is who she thinks he is. Is he a God? A protector? Or is he a ruiner. Another being set to destroy the world for his own personal gains.

A man like this is dangerous if left unchecked, and advantageous if he is the one instead, manipulated...

“How am I supposed to help you?” she asks, cutting him off from his speech. If she works this delicately, perhaps she can find a path to Hawke and save Thedas at the same time, either from itself...or from a wolf. No matter the cost, no matter what it does to her, she must dig and scheme and fight for what is right.

Fen’Harel turns to her with a smile. “I cannot walk the lands as freely as you,” he responds, “and through the Inquisition, you can get close enough to Corypheus to steal back the orb.” He produces the round glowing image of the magical artifact between them again, its green glow reflecting off their skin and surging in their eyes. “You need to tell them what they want to hear, get back in their trust and work alongside the highly-ranked once again.”

“I’m in a cage.”

“Yet, you know what they want. Use them as they’ve used you.”

Or...use them all.

[highgaarden]

ok so bc I'm all like DON'T GIVE UP THE SUPERPOWERS wrt Caro rn I thought why not request a canon-compliant superhero non-AU for Caro where somewhere down the line she decides to ~use her powers for good~ and do the vigilante thing, mask and everything (no stupid impractical costume tho). Extra points if she and Bonnie form a whole Witch/Vampire superhero team. Klaus can read abt it in the paper and figure out it's Caro+Bonnie and be amused and be into it. ♥♥♥

i tried my best. also, i have no clue what’s going on in the originals, but from scraps i get an a very helpful explanation from my friend anne, i sort of got the gist of it, tried to work more of the plot into this, and then decided to just… not. much apologies, please be kind to my v. confused self should you decide to leave a review.

12:51;

or: a superheroes origin story in five parts. 

Klaus/Caroline, Bonnie/Damon | wc. 3705 | ch. 1/5

read on: AO3 / ff.net

.

.

—

PartOne

InWhich Everybody’s Week Must Have Been Pretty Rough

—

 .

.

The weekend after Klaus escaped from his wall, he sat down in his studywith three bottles of liquor and double that amount of fresh blood, a steakcooked medium rare, and five years’ worth of newspapers to catch up with theworld.

Freya regarded him curiously. “You could have done away with the mess.We just ordered those new tablets.”

Rebekah was much ruder about the piles he left. She was probably stillmad she had had to miss four seasons of Supernaturalin order to save his skin.

Klaus didn’t answer them. He continued skimming the pages with aprevailing interest, rubbing ink and paper between his fingers. He soon foundthat he hadn’t missed much in his Marcel-imposed exile; that the mundanities oflife had persevered through the years.

His thoughts started to wonder when he was three-years deep into hiscatching up. Nothing caught his eye, and he was starting to feel the gratitudeof being able to sit in a comfortable armchair as opposed to being shackled toa floor dusted with rubble chip away.

Until he saw it.

He read the little opinion piece, then read it again, and a third timefor good measure.

And then he called Damon Salvatore.

—

At that point, not even Damon knew of their little hijinks despite havingmoved himself into their apartment. He used the pretence of “keeping an eye onthem” to make it past the front door. The living room became his sanctum santorum, and the couch he tookrefuge in constantly smelled like booze and Doritos.

Caroline was not happy with this arrangement, and made sure to be veryvocal about it every chance she got.

Sometimes it ranged from loud, to shrill, towake-your-neighbours-up-at-3am-because-Damon-you-fuck-you-left-your-underwear-in-my-laundry-basket piercing.

Tonight, Damon had the apartment to himself, and was glad for the peaceand quiet. Caroline was out on a date, and Bonnie was at the library borrowinga book. She was always at the library borrowing books, and he liked tellingpeople how bookish she was in a tone that was both patronizing and fond. It hadtaken some time, but he had finally perfected it.

In the middle of his Grey’sAnatomy rerun (“Denny? You chosea dying sack of meat over Alex? Really,Izzie?” he yelled at the tv), his phone rang.

It was Klaus. He hadn’t heard from the fucker in more than a decade, andwas immediately suspicious.

“City Morgue,” he answered cautiously.

“Just to be clear, you’re still second best,” came the familiar gout ofKlaus’s voice. “I only called you because Stefan’s number seems to not beworking, mate.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s not,” Damon said. “How do you still have mine?”

“If I wanted idle chit chat I would’ve resurrected Finn again.”

Damon muted the tv and got to his feet. “And yet here you are, makingidle chit chat.”

“I merely called to enquire about Caroline and Bonnie’s wellbeing.”

“They’re fine,” Damon said shortly.

“You best make sure they’re getting adequate rest for all thecrime-fighting they’re doing,” Klaus said, and killed the line.

Damon spat out his bourbon.

That’s how it all started, really.

—

Caroline was having a crummy night. The sole of her shoe had torn awayas she was chasing her assailant across the rooftops of Midtown, and it nowflapped with every step she took, and slowed her down considerably.

“I’m gonna get you, Raul!” she yelled, to make up for how she was losinghim, fast. “Your album sucked!”

Raul the Eurovision Vampire came to a screeching halt. He was screechingquite literally, because of all the insults Caroline had hurled at him in thepast week of stalking him, this one hurt the most.

“And your win last year?” Caroline continued as she hauled herself overa crumbling ledge. “Total pandering.”

Raul hissed and bared his fangs. “You know nothing of talent, sillygirl. If you did you wouldn’t be spending your nights in cowardice, hiding yourface with a gaudy mask. A poor man’s Catwoman.”

Caroline bristled, because it had taken her and Bonnie splurging on asewing course in Uptown to get their stitching just right.

“And you would’ve gotten more than a deal sponsoring mattresses afteryou won Eurovision,” she retorted, and Raul actually looked pained.

Actual, legit pain.

Caroline sighed. “Look, I’ll cut you a deal. See this stake here? Iwon’t stick it in your heart if you meet my conditions.”

Raul warily eyed the stake she was twirling between her fingers.Normally he would have told her to kiss his ass, but he was cornered, and hedidn’t fancy becoming a splat on the sidewalk.

That, and he was afraid of heights.

“And the conditions are?” he asked finally.

Caroline took a moment to rip the failing sole completely off her shoe.It came off with one clean pull, and when she looked up Raul was still there,which meant there was still hope for a redemption arc for him.

She gave him a winsome smile. “Do you have a pen?”

—

Bonnie slid in through her bedroom window, heady with glory. She hadgotten better at sneaking in and out at odd hours, but evidently not by much,since she managed to wake Damon up.

This was because he was in her bed when she threw herself on it.

“Damon, what the hell?”

Damon awoke with a snort. “A-ha! Proofof your foolhardy life choices!”

Bonnie rolled her eyes and unhooked her cape. She made a mental note to passCaroline twenty dollars. “Took you long enough to realize.”

“I am living with hoodwinks.”Damon pouted. “How could you not have let me in on this secret?”

“Damon, you helped me with laundry last week. You literally foldedpieces of my costume. It had my alter ego name on stitched across the front.”She swung her feet and walked to the paper partition by her dresser, where shewiggled out of her outfit safe from Damon’s prying eyes into a worn Whitmoresweater and blue shorts with lightning patterns on them.

“Are those anti-aging potions you’re brewing finally screwin’ with yourhead?” Damon was still on a roll. “You know how I had to find out? Klaus!”

“Klaus is alive?” Bonnie asked.

“Yes, and even in his state of barely living he ousted you and BlondeDistraction’s sly night crime-kicking.”

Bonnie started to respond, but then got sidetracked. “Blonde Distraction?”

“Uh – yeah.” He fiddled with his phone. “Blonde Distraction and FeistyFire.”

“That is fucking terrible,” Bonnie said mildly. “And not even ournames.”

“That’s what I call you in my blog, which I only update when I’m drunk. I’vebeen following you for years. Checkout the threads!” Damon waved his phone in her face.

“Are you drunk right now?” she asked.

“Yes,” Damon said sulkily, “but only half-stupid. You were never at thelibrary, were you?”

“Well, you were really sweet about it—”

“And you kept missing all those scrabble/pizza nights!” Damon howledinto his hands, betrayal gutting him like a fish.

“Damon,” Bonnie narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired. “The next time you spendthe night in my bed, I’m burning your brains out.”

“Reduced to being treated as one of your petty criminals,” Damonsniffed. “So be it. Our friendship always had an expiry date, huh?”

Damon slinked out of her room. Bonnie considered calling after him, butfigured she’d reason in the morning. For now, she had a huge bruise in her sideto nurse, and sleep was calling.

—

It started with scaring off new vampires from innocent clubgoers, andthen keeping the pasty creep-o’s who lived in the apartment adjacent to theirsin line when bodies started piling up in their shared dumpster.

Caroline hadn’t blown all her cash for an apartment in New York just forit to be crawling with the diseased, depravity and blood, so she took it uponherself to clean it up. An act of charity, if you will.

At night, she donned a mask and put on sensible boots. No stupidimpractical spandex for her, nor did she for a minute entertain midriff-baringleather, no matter how hot she might have looked.

Sipping from her thermos of warmed AB, she kneeled by stone gargoylesand prowled through the night. Afterwards she would either jump from rooftop torooftop, or practice her parkour, feeling invincible and (not gonna lie) reallyfucking cool.

At around 1am she got the read from Bonnie (in other words, Bonnietexted her in their coded-emoji) that their target for the night had arrived.

From five stories above she followed the sound of his footsteps throughthe alleyway, waiting to catch a heartbeat. When none came, she knew that hewas the one. His steps faltered when he heard a noise behind him. Caroline tookthe opportunity to jump down on him.

“Hello,” she smiled sweetly, when he was thrashing and spittingunderneath her. She was sitting on his back, which couldn’t be comfortable.

“Killing. Maiming. Money-laundering.” Bonnie came slowly from the mouthof the alleyway, her cape flowing behind her. “That last one’s kind of random,but the other shit we have on you—yikes.”

Caroline gathered his hair in her gloved hands and yanked hard. Thevampire cried out, enraged, but didn’t look away from her piercing gaze.

“You’ve got a locker full of civilians waiting like lambs forslaughter,” she said slowly, so he might not miss the threat in her voice.“Tell us where they are and you get to live.”

“I’m gonna have to call your bluff,” he rasped. “I’ve cut a pretty gooddeal, and ain’t no stinkin’ blonde and her twitchy sidekick are gonna stop me.”

Bonnie’s face darkened.

“Oooh,” Caroline whistled. “Bad choice of words there, bud. She’s not mysidekick. We’re partners. I kick ass, she takes names. Sometimes I take names,and she kicks ass. Though ‘kick’ might not be the right verb here…”

“I prefer not having to touch you scum,” Bonnie said, and from herfingers erupted flames.

Caroline smiled, eyes shining brightly in the fear that Bonnie hadincited into the now-still vampire.

“What are vampires most afraid of?” Caroline whispered into his fear.

“Werewolf venom.”

Caroline clicks her tongue. “No, the other thing.”

The vampire, cold sweat on his forehead, hesitated. ‘Uh—stakes?”

Caroline knuckled the base of his skull. “Fire, you moron. She’s waving it right in your face!”

It didn’t help that he passed out immediately.

Bonnie sighed and dropped her hands. The alley dimmed once again. “Canwe talk about this whole intimidation tactic thing?”

Caroline refused to look her in the eye.

—

It took about twenty minutes for him to come to, by which time Carolinehad gotten bored of sitting on his back and had decided to chain him to thedumpster instead.

After they heckled and tortured the information out of him, Carolinepulled out the usual contract – stating that no further harm would come to himfrom their hands if he got the hell out of the city and signed along the dottedline – when he started monologueing and posturing in a way that was really, really familiar.

Caroline pulled the pen away from his trembling grasp for it. Shesquinted in the dark alley, trying to make out his eyes.

“Caroline?” Bonnie asked, but Caroline barely heard.

The vampire was still monologueing, and Caroline felt a rising anger.She knew a compelled gaze anywhere.

“Damn it, Bon.”

Her fist swung out of her own accord, knocking the vampire out cold.There was a satisfying crack accompanying the slump of his neck, and Carolinedusted her hands off.

Bonnie eyed his body with distaste. “Harsh, Care. Don’t you usually waitfor them to sign the contract first?”

—

True to his word, Damon had indeed started a blog following the accountsof Blonde Distraction and Feisty Fire (not their actual names, but given thefact that he only ever blogged when he was drunk, he never bothered to learntheir real names) and their vigilante crime-fighting on his blog, WatchOutVillainz.com.

It was a smorgasbord of garish colour, Comic Sans, and badly-wordedheadings.

Klaus would never admit it, but he loved reading it.

He followed it with the same tenacity Caroline had for new episodes ofThe Bachelor, and one night even set up a username for himself to partake inthe lengthy discussions over who Blonde Distraction and Feisty Fire might be.

His username was entirely anonymous, and he enjoyed having a persona toparade as he took down trolls and ventured the tags, verbally maiming anyoneand everyone who dared speak ill of Blonde Distraction or Feisty Fire.

Granted, he didn’t care much for the witch, but thought that Carolinewould like it if he were to stand up for her too, so he did.

Damon showed up at his hotel room one night sullen-faced. “Get off mywebsite.”

“Make me,” Klaus said, typing progressively faster on his keyboard.

Damon failed to make him, and returned home, turning all his loyalfollowers on one hybrid_master_127. Unfortunately, Klaus seemed to have accrueda cluster of minions of his own in his short time of perusingWatchOutVillainz.com, and they threatened to hack into the mainframe of one ofhis life’s most precious work.

Damon, having limited knowledge of IT, highly doubted the existence of amainframe and whether or not it could be hacked.

In the end decided to play it safe, and Klaus stayed.

—

The way Caroline figured out it was Klaus who had been sending thugvamps her way was almost as fast as him discovering their true identities asthe Vigilantes of the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.

A week after Damon had almost thrashed his hotel room, Klaus opens thedoor to his magnificently ransacked quarters. Caroline was sitting on whatappeared to be the cracked granite of his bathtub, in his living room, with herlegs crossed. She was still in her mask and boots.

“What is wrong with you?” sheyelled. “Why can’t you pick up the phone and call like a normal person?”

“That would have ruined the fun,” Klaus replied. “Besides, would youhave answered?”

Caroline hesitated.

“I thought so.”

“You never answered any of mycalls.”

“I was chained up in a wall, love.”

Caroline considered this. “Hm.”

Klaus picked his way towards her, straightening lamps as he went. Minutegoosefeathers floated about his shoulders; the pillows had all been spearedonto the ceiling fan like kebabs. “It was all too easy to suss out it was you.”

Caroline refused to bite. Instead, she stayed silent, watching him comecloser and closer.

“You offered them redemption instead of gutting them alive, in documentform to boot.” Klaus sounded reproachful and he righted an upset table to hidehis exasperation. “Furthermore, Bonnie made no secret of her pyromanicabilities. She was always very artful with that certain power of hers.”

“You compelled yourself a massacre just to draw me out,” she hissed. “Ihappen to take my craft very seriously—”

“I know, love. I’m not laughing.” And indeed he wasn’t. In fact, he sortof admired the spirit in which she undertook her task. In all honesty, he believedthis to be a phase—it took him a while to process the fact that she’d chosen tospend her eternity (or at least, a significant early part of it) doing this.

“So why are you here?” Caroline asked.

“Because.” He paused. Why was hehere? Papa Tunde’s torment had left him withered and raw; Hayley and Freya hadgone to the ends of the earth to release him and when he’d woken up Hope waswell in her teen years. Despite the world staying to same, too much of what hecared about had changed. He needed—he needed to make sure, needed to see forhimself, how she was.

Perhaps she was right. A phone call would have worked better.

“I wanted to offer my services,” is what he decided on at last.

Caroline snorted so loud he thought it was a piece of his ceiling fallingon them.

—

“I know all the criminals in this city,” he insisted, dogging her downthe street. Caroline walked remarkably fast in the night. She had left her maskin the debris of his room, stating she had ‘plenty more’.

“I’d rather go to vampire jail,” she told him sedately.

“Ah, that rather poorly masked vampire rehab you set up,” he said,falling into step with her. “The Elizabeth-Bill Institute for the MorallyBankrupt. I was just short of amused as to what an easy target you madeyourself.”

“And yet the only person who managed to figure it all out was you,” shesaid.

“Well—Kol did, too. We were playing crime-bingo with your exploits.”Klaus grinned. “I was one money-launder away from a win, so I decided to pullthings to my favour.”

“I’ll wall you in myself,” she seethed.

“Oh, where will you possibly find the time in between all thiscrime-fighting?”

Caroline whipped around, fangs bared. “Leave me alone, Klaus.”

“How are the twins?” he asked gently.

“None of your business.”

“They should be around Hope’s age, shouldn’t they?”

“Stop talking about them.”

Caroline took a detour through an alleyway, and with more agility thanKlaus expected, climbed her way up the side of a building, all to get away fromhim.

Klaus weighed his options, then hefted himself up after her.

He found her sitting on a rooftop edge, the city pulsating beneath them.He sat down beside her and was surprised when she offered him a thermos ofblood. It was still warm.

“Where were you keeping that?” he asked admiringly, studying her outfit.

She sent him a look that could kill, and went back to countingheadlights. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she said quietly, after a while.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. He cleared his throat and glanced ather. “When did it start?”

Caroline shuts her eyes. “A few years ago. Josie and Lizzie were growingup pretty fast. Alaric—he, well. Didn’t want me to have…” she gestured vaguely,��words were exchanged. I decided that if I could do my part to help in anyother way, I’d do it.”

“You’ll soon be bored with the futility of it, I imagine.”

“I’ve got an end goal in mind,” she said absently.

After a fashion he realized she had stopped counting headlights and wasfocused on a window in the building across the cobweb of streets. Two girls,remarkably alike, were pulling the curtains closed for the night.

“They’re nocturnal creatures,” he said softly. “If I could venture a guess,just like their mother.”

Caroline didn’t answer. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder. Hestiffened in surprise, but she didn’t comment on it, neither did she move away.“Next time, just call. You can’t base my reactions on the girl you knew tenyears ago.”

“Some things will always remain singular,” he said. He wasn’t speakingabout her. She hoped she saw it in the look he was giving her.

Caroline pulled away slowly. For a long time, she only looked at him.Klaus took a chance and reached for her hand, after which she tangled herfingers in his. They stayed that way for only a short moment, but the feelingof her palm, soft in his, lingered long after she’d slid her thermos back intoits hiding place on her body and left.

—

Damon had taken to fixing them breakfast in the wee hours of the morningwhen they finally returned. He reasoned that it was the least he could do, whatwith all the slander he keeps slinging their way on his website.

“To blindside the scrutinizing eyes of the public!” he insisted,flipping pancakes.

However, when Caroline returned home with an extra guest, his spatulafell onto the island with a smack.

“I refuse to feed him,” he told Bonnie. So offended was he that Carolinehad brought Klaus home that he refused to speak to Caroline too. Looking rightthrough them, he pointed out, “And I only made pancakes for three.”

Damon gestured angrily at the table, where three immaculate plates piledhigh with pancakes and cream had been set.

Klaus scowled. “But there’s four more, burning, by the way, on theskillet.” He tried not to sound too indignant.

“You kidding me? These are all for Bonnie!”

As the two immortal beings squabbled, Caroline speared a triangle ofpancake with her fork. Bonnie sipped her glass of orange juice. It felt strangefor the apartment to be so full, especially with the presence of Damon’s entireliquor cabinet dotting every corner.

Klaus finally wrestled himself a seat next to Caroline, but not beforeflicking off Damon’s shirt that had been slung over the back of the chair with dispassion.

“That’s it! I’m done! You can make breakfast yourselves from now on!” Damon yanked off his apron and was gonewith a huff.

“Does this happen a lot?” Klaus enquired, sniffing around a piece ofbacon.

“More times than you can imagine,” Bonnie said.

—

In the coming days, Klaus visited more often. His hotel room had beenproperly demolished, he took to reminding Caroline, who sighed and held out atowel for him to use her shower.

Bonnie delighted in the fact that she now has leverage against having abroody roommate/parasite, seeing as Caroline had one of her own now, too.

Damon continued to be miserable.

Klaus continued to goad them with his offer.

Caroline and Bonnie continued their crime-fighting.

“Let’s not make this routine,” Bonnie told Caroline as she garrotted avampire who had been hell-bent on chowing down on a family of four. “By nextweek we kick them out.”

“You got it, Bon,” Caroline said, waving the contract in the chokingvampire’s face. “We’re burning the couch. And can we finally talk about that cape of yours?”

Bonnie rolled her eyes, but nodded her agreement as the vampire veryreluctantly signed her name along the dotted line.

—

tbc

9B��`