#he knew that by killing hector he is kick-starting the end of his life

[phia-myth]

achilles killing hector as a metaphor for suicide

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Montaña “Monty” Rivera Species: Zombie Occupation: Unemployed Age: 157 Years Old (Looks about 37) Played By: Elliott Face Claim: Diego Luna

"I don’t hate people, I just think horses are better."

As a fresh-faced twenty-two year old in 1886, Montaña Rivera got himself a job on a cattle ranch in the New Mexico Territory, leaving his large extended family back home in Oaxaca to try and forge his own way in the world. He was a natural with the animals, finding he preferred their company to that of his fellow ranch hands. He was often harassed for it, but he tried to not let it get to him. The pay was decent, the work steady, and he’d bonded too fiercely with one of the horses to ever leave the ranch without her. 

One night after he’d been at the ranch for about a year, there was a fierce storm and the herd got loose from their paddock after some panicked cows kicked down the fence. The ranch hands were sent out to round them all up and get them back into the secondary pasture while the owner’s two sons were left to fix the fence quick as they could. Monty and his favorite mare took off after some strays that had bolted in the direction of the nearest mesa, and in his haste, he failed to notice the pit of mud in their path that had formed from all the rain, nor the thing it had unearthed. The mare reared back and the thing howled, reaching for Monty and grabbing him with human-like hands, sinking very human-like teeth into his flesh. The young man panicked as he was ripped from the saddle and slammed down into the mud, fumbling for his knife to defend himself.

He woke the next morning, caked in dried mud and blood, to find the thing—the man who looked utterly starved laying dead beside him with Monty’s knife sticking out of his temple. 

A couple weeks later, while Monty was still healing from his ordeal, a gang of outlaws attacked the ranch. Frightened but standing his ground, Monty was graciously left alive, but with a choice: stay and risk persecution from the village, or leave with the gang. He went with them, figuring it was somehow the safer of the two options, and quickly came to realize it had been the best choice he could have made. He’d found a new family in these people, most of all in their leader, Hector. Monty would go to the ends of the earth to defend the man who had taken him in that night and given him a chance to start anew, sometimes referring to him in the journal he kept as ‘my heart, my liege, mi capitán’. The lengths of his love were something he never fully understood, unrequited and unexplored, left to fester for seventeen long but wonderful years.

Until things went bad. Until the law caught up to them, and Monty gave his life to protect his family as best he could. With the lawmen dead, those that remained took his body with them to bury it near wherever they settled next, but they didn’t have the time. Two hours into their ride, Monty came back. But he came back starving just like the stranger that had bitten him all those years ago, and what had once been his family was now his supper. He didn’t regain control until his face and hands were smeared with gore and he heard a familiar voice shouting his name, looking up from where he was hunched over a corpse to see the fearless leader of their gang looking at him with horror etched in his features. The rest had fled, abandoning the caravan as they scattered into the trees, but he was there. And he was pointing his revolver right at Monty, who bleated out a soft protest before being shot several times in the chest. He begged Hector to stop, but the outlaw was beside himself, dropping the revolver in terror and kicking Monty instead. Monty wept and didn’t fight back, and when Hector finally realized he simply couldn’t do enough damage to kill Monty a second time, he screamed at him to get away from them. To leave and never come back.

Monty did, and for the next 119 years, he went back to what he knew: ranching. Meanwhile, he tried to come to terms with whatever he was now, learning how to curb the cravings and get what he needed without hurting people. For the most part, anyway. It wasn’t a perfect science and he still broke down now and then, letting the need overtake him and killing someone who certainly didn’t deserve it. Then it was time to move and start over again. Rinse and repeat. 

This time, he’s trying to settle for good. Wicked’s Rest is a place unlike any other he’s found in North America so far, catering to those with his ailment in ways he would have never expected, but… it’s still wrong, in his eyes. It’s still cruel. He has a lot of bad deeds in his past to make up for, so these days he’s running a dairy farm that's operated entirely by undead, helping them by giving them sustainable jobs and a regular source of brains and blood that keep them from having to hurt people. Or so he hopes, anyway. The harvesters at the local supernatural market aren’t too pleased that he’s been cutting into their profits by keeping a good number of undead off their pre-packaged human vittles, but that’s a problem that Monty has simply been trying to ignore while hoping that it will go away on its own.

Character Facts:

Personality: Humble, trusting, capable, gullible, cowardly, repentant, sympathetic, mellow, respectful, graceless

Monty used to own Prickly Pear Acres, a dairy farm found in Gatlin Fields, but it was recently burned to the ground in an attack that ended up killing most of the staff and livestock.

English is Monty's second language, and he has a difficult time reading it. In fact, reading in general (even in Spanish) is a slow, thoughtful process for the zombie, who was never taught how and has just started to pick it up.

There is a hand-poke tattoo of a prickly pear cactus on his inner forearm that he got before his first death. The story behind this tattoo is the source of the name for his dairy farm. It's a sensitive subject.

His best friend is his blood bay thoroughbred named Habanero. He’s grown so attached to the animal that he’s rarely seen without him, often riding him through town (where that sort of thing is permitted) rather than driving his truck to get places.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings.  The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

[jettingtothemoon]

Rescue You; chapter 10

➳ pairing: hector x witch|reader ➳ genre: fantasy, angst ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut, mentions of rape, slavery, spoilers for seasons 1 thorough 3. ➳ word count: 2656 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n, a witch from Dracula’s court, tries to save the forgemaster from his fate.

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, Part 2 - Save You

A Night Alone

When morning came, you were granted your own horse. Either the mercenaries had some newfound trust in you or they simply didn't want to ride with the boy. You still didn't know his name, he hadn't uttered a word since you found him. Nor had he once let go of your hand.

You were happy that you helped him, saved at least someone in the town. But, he was the only one. Everyone he cared for, everyone he ever knew, they were all gone and it was your fault. That was why you couldn't bring yourself to smile at him, all you could do when you looked at him was tell him it was going to be okay whilst fighting back your own tears.

By the time you arrived back at the castle, it seemed quieter than usual. Maybe it was just from the lack of vampires. It wasn't quite dark yet and the mercenaries were exhausted, making little noise besides the clamber of tired feet as they ventured through the castle.

You almost thought about visiting the forge, as if everything was back to normal again, but you soon remembered that you were still very much a prisoner when the mercenary in charge pulled your free arm up and slapped the cuff back on, binding your magic once again.

"Now that we're all back and safe I think it's best we get this back on you. Carmilla will flip when she wakes up otherwise," he chuckled and walked off, leaving you and the boy alone.

The small hand tugged against your own as he stepped closer to you, half-hiding behind your figure. You looked down and sighed, turning to ruffle his hair slightly before kneeling in front of him.

"It's okay. I won't let them hurt you and I think Striga will look after you too."  You wiped the tears away from his face gently with your thumbs.

Figuring out Striga's true motive was proving difficult but you figured that if she had allowed him to live in the first place, she must have had a reason. She didn't seem like one for pointless slaughter but then again, she was still a vampire.

"I'm y/n. Do you want to tell me your name?"

Although you spoke softly and his hand tightened around your own, the boy shook his head. He still wasn't sure about you, not that you could blame him. You had come with the people who destroyed his town and killed his family, not to mention you had helped them do so.

You nodded slightly to show him you understood and wiped a piece of dirt from his forehead before taking him into the castle. 

It was clear that every mercenary who was still awake or not stuffing their mouths with food was watching the two of you, making sure you were not going to try anything. Not that you could even if you wanted to. You were beginning to understand how Hector felt. How at first glance it seemed like you had freedom but there was an invisible leash around your neck making sure you behaved.

It was agonising and you felt powerless. The taste of freedom you had gained, no matter how small or false it really was, had lit a flame within you. A small flame, just barely flickering in the dark, but it was there. Hope. You had hope, you had determination. You were beginning to feel like this was just a minor setback and that you were slowly getting back on track. 

Using your magic back there made you feel alive again, it gave you hope that you could fight back. You were a powerful magician, you had just lost your confidence for a while but you were sick of being afraid of vampires. You were afraid of Dracula and now you had even grown to fear the council of sisters but if you didn't fight back then who would? Hector? He was beyond hope, what little fight he had left in him was crushed when you were thrown into that cell.

Even if he did want to fight, he couldn't. He knew that, you knew that. He might not be able to fight but you can, you just need to find a way to remove the cuff suppressing your magic. You didn't only have Hector to protect anymore, or yourself, you had this boy, the child you decided to save. You could have let him die and come back to Hector but, your humanity had gotten the best of you and you were ready to put everything on the line for the boy that clung to your hand so desperately. You were going to keep both of them safe, you had to because no one else could. No one else was coming to free you. Not Issac, not Dracula, not even Alucard, whom you had only met once or twice before.

The sun set not long after you returned and Striga was soon searching for you.

"I'll take the child, little one. Carmilla agreed to allow him to live as long as you do as she asks when she asks."

That was it, that was why she had allowed him to live. He was yet another tool to use against you, another piece of leverage to tie you to this place, to make you aid the vampires despite your own wishes.

"I understand."

You tried to hand him to her, knowing that was the best you could do for him at the moment, but he was reluctant to let go of your hand.

"It will be okay. I promise. Striga won't let them hurt you, okay?"

His feet shuffled on the ground and he looked up into your eyes, nodding sheepishly before stepping over to Striga and taking her hand. The vampire seemed bewildered that a small, human child had simply grabbed her hand. She clearly hadn't expected the boy to latch himself onto her like that but aside from you, she was the only face which he'd seen that didn't seem to want to hurt him. She actually smiled slightly and began to lead the boy away, turning back to you briefly.

"Oh, you have free roam of the castle once again since we are sure you won't be foolish and try to escape. Hector is waiting in his outhouse, as promised."

As soon as Striga and the boy turned the corner and out of view, you span on your heels and began to sprint through the castle. You had no idea what you were going to say to him once you got there, all you knew is that you needed to see him as soon as possible. By the time you reached the outhouse, catching your breath as you knocked on the door, your face was already dripping with tears.

The door opened slowly, hesitantly even, but as soon as it did you dived onto him and wrapped your arms tightly around him. You took in a deep breath, inhaling his scent as you nuzzled your head further into his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It must have sounded like a mumble to him, barely coherent, but he seemed to understand what you were saying. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

Hearing his voice only made you cry more and his arms held you softly as he began running his fingers through your hair.

When you pulled apart, he pulled you inside and closed the door behind you.

"It is my fault. It's all my fault. If I didn't go after that stupid book this would have never happened. I could have protected you. I'm so sorry."

He stepped forward again, drying your eyes with his hands. "I'm the one who's sorry. I tried not to tell her, I tried to hold it in but it- it hurt so much. I- I'm the one who's sorry."

His shaky voice broke you into pieces. He was feeling just as guilty as you even when none of it was his fault.

"You didn't have a choice, Hector. The ring made you. It wasn't your fault," you reassured before kissing him deeply.

It seemed too good to be true when he kissed back, lacing his fingers into your hair. You could feel him smiling against your lips as if he was truly happy. 

Somehow, between you, it was as if nothing had changed but everything had. This was quite possibly the only time you would ever be able to spend with each other again, or at least until you managed to remove the cuff on your arm. You wanted to savour every second you had with him right now, in this moment and so did he.

However, things don't go how we'd like them to, life isn't that kind, and soon you were being ripped from his hold and thrown across the room.

"You seriously thought I'd agree to your stupid reward? Hector is my little pet, he will never belong to you," Lenore snickered with clenched fists.

You wiped the blood from your face and spat, "He doesn't belong to anyone. He is a human being and the only person he belongs to is himself."

"Hmm. I still don't think you understand. Maybe my little demonstration that day wasn't enough? Hector dear, kill her," Lenore smirked, knowing that the forgemaster would have no choice but to obey her command.

This was cruel, even for Lenore. That was how you knew she was being serious. She really wanted him to kill you, she wanted to put an end to this once and for all. She wanted you out of the way and Hector loyal to her, this was the best way to make sure she got what she wanted. Teaching Hector a lesson about what happens when he loves someone other than her and getting rid of you at the same time. It was two birds with one stone.

"No," Hector spoke through gritted teeth.

You could tell he was already in pain. He was defying a direct order after all and the only way to stop the pain is to stop fighting it.

"Look at that, this is the longest you've ever been able to resist me for. Well then, while we wait for you to cave, I'll get started." Her icy words were finished with a harsh kick to your gut.

You groaned, coughing up blood as the next kick came, and then the next after that. She soon grew tired of kicking you and wrapped her hand around your throat, lifting you off your feet before throwing you across the room again.

"NO!" Hector yelled out again with clenched fists.

"Oh, just give in Hector. Come on, I'll be sure to reward you after." The way she spoke was enticing but still, he continued to resist.

Hector had never felt such pain in his life. It was as if his body was on fire, his head threatening to shatter from the heat. It was like nothing he had ever felt before and the more he resisted, the worse it got.

"I- Won't- Hurt- Her-" he groaned as grabbed the ring on his finger, tearing it from his hand.

"Hector!" you screamed upon seeing the surge of magical energy bursting out from the ring, the blinding light encasing his entire body.

You expected him to collapse there and then, knowing that his chances of surviving such a thing were low. Lenore's eyes widened and, for the first time, she looked scared because Hector was still standing. The ring was discarded on the floor beside him and in its place, a ball of flames sat in his hand.

"No."

Before he had the chance to throw the flames at her, Lenore was gone. Hector quickly rushed over to you, falling to his knees beside you. "y/n! Are you okay?"

"I- I'm fine," You grunted, holding your throbbing abdomen as he helped you to your feet.

"What were you thinking? That could have killed you.," you scalded, though your weak voice had the words losing their effect.

He sighed and wrapped an arm around you for support, "I know but I couldn't let you die. I- I love you too much to let that happen and to be the one to do it... I would rather die myself."

He finally said the words you had wanted to hear for a long time. You finally knew exactly how he felt and finally, things were beginning to look up.

"My night creatures should be able to cause enough of a distraction for us to get away but we need to leave now," he explained, half-carrying your limping body away from the outhouse.

Cezar was soon running up to you, sensing that his master needed him. The little dog reminded you of something, someone you couldn't leave behind.

"Wait," Hector stopped as you reached the stables, looking at you with worried eyes, "There is a boy here, a child. He was in the town we attacked, I- I can't leave him behind."

Hector seemed hesitant at first but he could see the fear in your eyes, fear for the safety of that boy. And so, his own eyes softened and he asked, "Where is he?"

"With Striga."

"I'll get him. Stay here with Cezar, I'll be quick."

You reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him as you pulled him back into a kiss. "Be careful."

The forgemaster nodded and ran off into the chaos to search for the boy.

Maybe he never really needed you to save him. Maybe he just needed a push to save himself because, not only had he saved himself from his fate, he had saved you and now he was running inside of the castle to find a boy he didn't even know.

He was looking less like a damsel in distress and more like a hero, a hero he was always meant to be. You were not only grateful but proud of him. You had always thought he was the one who needed saving but in the end, it was you.

Hector was still much training away from being a powerful magician but he had a fire in his eyes that you had never seen before. He was no longer the man who betrayed humanity to help Dracula, nor was he the slave he had been for much too long. Why? Because now he had something to fight for. 

With most of the vampires away beside the council of sisters themselves along with his army of night creatures, you were not worried that you wouldn't escape because you knew you would. You knew it was going to be okay, at least for now.

Soon Hector was with you again, carrying the scared child with him. He placed the boy onto the back of a horse and then approached to help you up. "Can you ride on your own?"

He sounded concerned, knowing from experience that Lenore packed a hard punch.

"Yeah, I think so. You ride with the kid, I'll follow behind. If we make for the forest we should be able to get away before they fight their way through your night creatures."

He nodded and kissed you one last time before, passing you Cezar and climbing up onto the back of his own horse with the young boy.

You galloped away from the castle as fast as you could manage, holding the little undead dog in your arms just as you had done when you first arrived here. 

You rode for hours, only slowing to a trot when daybreak finally came. It would be like this from now on. Riding most days, avoiding Carmilla's men and mercenaries on the daily until you managed to flee the country. You, Hector, an undead dog, and a voiceless boy. It wasn't how you had expected it to be but here you are and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Where are we going? When we get out of Styria that is? We can't run forever and eventually, they will find us," Hector asked, watching as the small boy slept by the campfire.

"I have somewhere in mind but you're not going to like it."

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, Part 2 - Save You

a/n: so that was it, the end of rescue me but don’t worry, there is still far more of this story for me to tell. how do you guys feel about hector, reader and the young boy coming across yet another broken soul in need of help?

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: It's the beginning of the end.

Varian’s feet were glued to the floor. The absolute shock of seeing Merrick— if he was here, where was Arianna?— standing in front of him— how had he gotten here so quickly?— was more than enough to leave Varian stunned. His brain was trying to parcel through too many questions at once, he couldn’t keep track; his mind was firing on so many synapses at once that it wasn’t registering any of them.

Eugene and Rapunzel were already reaching for their weapons, frying pan and sword ready. Varian stuttered to life enough to begin grabbing for his alchemy belt, only to realize that he didn’t have anything left. He’d used the last of it against Cerise. The feeling of dread in his guts only multiplied at that, especially when Merrick began to move.

The mage pushed himself off the wall, casual and calm in a direct contrast to the Coronians in front of him. Merrick paced outside the threshold of the door, eying the invisible line between the rooms. Varian was reminded of a prowling animal, like Hector’s bearcats. With a small, testing motion Merrick stuck a boot out, smirking when it crossed the barrier with no trouble. Merrick did a little hop over the barrier, as if expecting to be stopped, and delighting when he wasn’t.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” he asked them. When none of the Coronians replied, he continued on his own. “Because it’s been a hot minute, let me tell you. Ol’ Geldam had this place locked tight for centuries, trying to keep me and mine out.”

He shrugged, looking around the room with a sense of smug satisfaction. When his eyes landed on Varian, his grin sharpened.

“Good thing his descendant turned out to be a bit of an idiot, huh?”

Rapunzel scowled, pointing at Merrick with her frying pan. “You leave him alone!” she demanded.

Merrick paused at his place at the top of the stairs. He focused on her frying pan, like one would stare down the barrel of a gun. He pursed his lips, arching a brow.

“Hm, right,” he said, “You two are still here. I’ll be real I was hoping it would just be the crow alone, but I can make this work.”

He brought up a hand, waving flippantly. On cue, a group of people appeared from thin air, the room shuddering with the series of loud pops that rang through the air. Varian flinched at the loud noise, whirling around and tensing up when he saw they were surrounded. He turned back, letting out a shout when he saw figures sneaking up on his friends.

“Look out!” he yelped, a second too late. Rapunzel and Eugene let out twin cries when they were grabbed from behind, their arms drawn back. The clatter of sword and pan against marble were damning, rattling around in Varian’s skull and finally shaking him to action. He ran for the closest weapon— Rapunzel’s pan— only to feel a hand on his wrist jerking him to a halt.

Merrick held quick, even when Varian tried to pull away. The alchemist hadn’t even noticed him moving, when had he even—

“Ah-ha, nope,” Merrick chided him, “None of that, thank you. You’ve got a job to do.”

“Let go!” Varian demanded, trying to yank his arm out of Merrick’s metal grasp. “Let go!”

The man scoffed, shaking Varian’s wrist roughly. “Let go,” he mocked, “Sheesh, get something original maybe. At this rate it’s not even fun, just pathetic.”

He dragged Varian back toward the tomb, rough and uncaring when Varian nearly fell over. Instead, Merrick merely wrapped an oppressive arm around the alchemist’s shoulders, keeping him in place. Varian cringed, unable to keep from tensing under the deceptively casual touch. Merrick may have been playing like things were fine, but Varian could see the underlying danger.

“Don’t touch him!” Eugene shouted; his cry cut off when the man holding his arms yanked him back. The brunet yelped at the feeling of his arms being drawn too far, stressing his shoulders and forcing him to be quiet. Merrick snickered, turning back to Varian.

“Do you know why we led you here?” he asked. “Because I assume you’ve figured out that mommy dearest isn’t around, hm?”

Varian swallowed the knot in his throat, shuddering. All of this had been for nothing. He’d lead Rapunzel and Eugene across the map and directly into a trap, gods he was so stupid—

“Why?” is all he was able to choke out, tears starting to well up. He’d wanted so badly for it to be her, been blind to everything, Eugene and Rapunzel had both tried to warn him and he’d just ignored it, and now they were all paying for it. The crushing feeling of failure, an old friend by now, sprung to life in Varian’s chest, cloying and overwhelming. He’d been such an idiot. Merrick, uncaring of the crisis he’d just sparked in Varian, only snorted, gesturing to the coffin.

“Because of your blood, of course,” he said, as if that explained anything. When Varian remained quiet, Merrick continued. “Geldam was a tricky old rat, I’ll give him that. He stolefrom my family, and to protect his ill gotten gains, he created this place.”

He gestured around the tomb, and to the center dais. “We’ve been trying to break into here for yearsto get our property back. But once it was locked down, only one of his heirs could open it with blood, willingly given. He knew exactly what he was doing, that bastard. Knew that no one from his family would open the tomb, or his coffin.”

Varian shuddered, leaning away from the podium. Merrick seemed delighted with his fear, patting Varian on the shoulder in sarcastic comfort.

“Cerise thought if we forged a letter, it would have drawn you out,” the mage admitted. “But after a few months the trap was still there, and you were still locked up tight in your pretty castle— so we elected to go with my more… direct approach.” The mage sighed, huffing a laugh. “I guess her plan ended up working, in the long run; she’s probably laughing at me right now.”

Varian’s eyes squeezed shut, trying to force the tears back. He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now— this was all his fault, who was he to cry about it? He shook his head roughly, trying to dispel the despair. He was such an idiot.

“Aw, jeeze, you’re not gunna cry already, are you?” Merrick patted Varian’s shoulder in false comfort, “We’ve barely gotten started!”

Varian shoved at him; strategy be damned, he couldn’t help but lash out. That got Merrick to let him go, a win, but Varian’s arms were immediately caught by two masked adults, a new problem. Merrick danced out of the way of Varian’s blow, snickering. Once Varian was contained he drew close again, taunting.

“What?” he leaned close to Varian’s face, tilting his head. “Did you reallythink Queen Crow was still alive after all this time? That she’d survived in a place like this—” he gestured around the tomb, his voice echoing, “—just for the hell of it?”

He leaned closer to Varian, so their noses were nearly touching. Varian couldn’t help but flinch away, squirming back for as much space between them as possible. Merrick seemed to revel in Varian’s discomfort, leaning all the closer.

“You didn’t really, right?” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve heard of you; you’re supposed to be smart. So why did you come?”

Varian remained quiet. He tasted salt on his cheeks. Merrick’s eyebrows furrowed, almost confused. “You wanted her to be alive that badly, hm? Wanted mommy to come make things better?”

“Shut up,” Varian choked out, shaking his head. “I- you don’t know anything.” His voice was barely over a whine, he couldn’t muster up anything beyond that. Merrick’s confusion flipped again, back to the smug mockery.

“Ha, there he is!” Varian got a pat to the head for his trouble. “Thought you’d forgotten how to talk for a second there.”

“Leave him alone!” Rapunzel demanded from behind them, kicking a bare foot at the mage in front of her. Merrick paused, attention shifting from Varian and onto the older woman. Merrick seemed annoyed at the interruption.

“Wanna knock it off, princess?” he asked, “I don’t really have the patience for you right now.”

“You are going to let us go.” Rapunzel’s voice was strong, regal. Commanding. Like a proper queen.

Merrick only let out a loud laugh at that, popping a hip and leaning against Geldam’s coffin with a casual air. Rapunzel held strong, spine straight and her eyes set in a glare. The mage seemed unhappy with how she refused to be scared by him, but Merrick only played it off with a flippant shrug.

“Am I now?” he asked her. “Because something tells me you’re in no place to be making demands, no ma’am. In fact, I’d say that if you don’t want me to just kill the Crow and drain him like a pig over that coffin, you’d do best to hold your tongue.”

Varian flinched at the threat, a shudder inadvertently crawling up his spine. Willingly given, he repeated to himself in a twisted attempt at comfort. The blood has to be willingly given. He can’t kill me until he gets what he wants.

Rapunzel seemed to figure the same, as she kept pushing. “You’ve committed crimes against Corona and her people,” she spat the words like the insult they were. “No matter what you think you’ve won by tricking us here, it won’t mean anything when you’re put on trial—“

Merrick only laughed, shrugging. “I’d loveto see them try and make a prison that could keep me in,” he challenged. “Let alone meet the person you send to try and catch me. That’s the thing with magic, you see. Makes us a pain in the ass, for people like you.”

“Like me?”

“Perfectionists,” Merrick said blandly, “Goodie-two-shoes. Boot lickers. Whatever you want to call it. You and yours sit up there in your perfectcastles, living your perfect lives, and you don’t ever notice that the people on the ground level are suffering. Aldred was the same.”

“Aldred was a monster—“

“And you all were bloody aware of that!” Merrick actually raised his voice for the first time. Varian flinched again, rattling the armor of the Bayan who held him in place. That seemed to divert Merrick’s attention from Rapunzel and back onto the boy, who shook as the older teenager approached.

“Your father caused so much suffering,” he hissed, getting into Varian’s face once more. “And for so long, the only people who were willing to do anything about it were my family. We sacrificed so much to see him dead, all while the other nations stood by and let it happen. And now we find out that he left one last little stain on the world. It’s my duty to wash it away. Hell, you could even call it my destiny.”

Merrick straightened, taking a breath. He forced himself to relax, the tenseness in his spine slowly uncurling. When he turned back to Rapunzel, it was back to the strange, flippant calm he’d had before.

“You and your family only cared when Aldred took something that you thought was yours,” he flatly accused. “Bayangor had been in a spiral for centuries before then, but you didn’t care to do a thing until it directly affected you. Corona may pretend to be innocent, but there’s a special type of evil in people who are willing to stand by and let others suffer.”

Rapunzel seemed at a loss for words, shaking her head quietly. “You can’t blame us for things that happened before we were even born!” She seemed truly confused by it. “Corona is helping Bayangor now, Aldred is dead now, isn’t that exactly what you wanted?”

“I want my birthright.” Merrick said. “And if I have to break a few spines to get it, then so be it.”

He looked back to Varian, arching a brow. “I really didn’t think luring you here was going to work,” he admitted. “I thought for sure I’d have to drag you here kicking and screaming. That was the plan, you know.” He scratched his chin in thought. “To grab you at the coronation. Bring you here, force you into this. If I’d known it was going to be this easy I would have just dangled a turkey leg on a string or something.”

He shrugged, gesturing to his men with a wave. “Ah, such is life. Search them,” he said, approaching the coffin with more interest. It seemed to rumble with a hazy kind of energy when he got too close, the stone lid rattling. It was obvious that the enchantment was reacting negatively to Merrick’s presence. Varian couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by it, the intricacies that would have been needed, but his attention was drawn away by the feeling of hands patting him down.

Varian scowled as one of the Bayans holding his arms began to root through his pockets. From the sounds Eugene and Rapunzel were making, they were getting the same rough treatment; clattering noises echoed around the tomb as miscellaneous objects were tossed to the ground. Varian aimed a kick at one of his captors, only for the woman to avoid it and smack him for his trouble.

The woman ripped the note and adder stone from Varian’s pocket, holding them up to the light.

“Sir.” Merrick turned, taking the items from her. Varian scowled; even if the note was fake, made by Cerise and Merrick, the stone was something that had been given to him. It was his—

“Where did you get this?” Merrick’s voice was strained. He held the adder stone up in the torchlight, gaze intense on the little runes. They shone bright gold, much too bright to be a reflection of the torches. Varian could just see through the hole in the middle, the desaturated gray of the stone, before Merrick brought his attention back with a snap of his fingers. The boy scowled, playing petulant.

“Found it,” Varian immediately shot back. He wasn’t about to give up Ori, even if the man seemed to have a trick or two up his sleeve. The man was hiding for a reason, even if it had nothing to do with the tomb. Varian had thought that Ori had meant to help in the search for Aisha, but if this place was where he meant, then the adder stone truly had been the best thing to give Varian. When they met again, he’d have to thank the mage for his help.

If they ever met again.

The man in front of him wasn’t pleased with the answer Varian gave, if the pissy expression on his face was any indication. It made Varian feel a pulse of pride; he still had the ability to get under people’s skin when it mattered, apparently.

“Try again,” Merrick snapped. “I recognize the handwriting. Next wrong answer loses you a finger. Where. Did you. Get this?”

“A friend,” Varian shrugged. Merrick’s face only got darker. The man turned to the room at large, holding up the adder stone. It shone brightly, distractingly so. Merrick held it like it was trash, loose and delicate like he couldn’t bear to have contact with it for longer than necessary.

“Lookie what the crow found.” Merrick showed the stone to his men, dangling it between two fingers. “Looks like one of my siblings has swapped sides.”

The Bayans all made the appropriate noises of disgust or anger; Varian almost rolled his eyes from the theatrics of it. Gods it seemed that whole family was made of showmen.

“Guess that lunatic isn’t as dead as I thought.” Merrick mused. “Great to know he turned traitor; it’ll make hunting him down easy enough. I am going to need a hobby once this is done.”

He flicked the stone up into the air, like one would a coin, but instead of catching it Merrick let it drop to the floor. It hit with a crack, the adder stone shattering like glass. Shards scattered everywhere, disappearing around the room. Varian winced when it did— he’d liked the little stone, it had been a small comfort in the darkness of the tomb.

Merrick watched it smash, uncaring.

“Anything else?” he asked his men, who all responded with a negative. “Wonderful. Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”

The soldiers holding Varian pulled him closer to the coffin. The boy struggled, trying to dig the heels of his boots into the floor, but the polished marble offered no purchase. They dragged him up on top of the small platform, holding him tight as Varian tried one last yank of his arms. Their grip was like steel, Quirin’s cloak nearly tearing under their fingers. Varian found himself face to face with their attacker and tried to keep the shaking in his hands hidden.

“So, Varian.” Merrick’s voice was nearly a purr. Varian stilled when he felt gloved fingers grab at his chin, his whole body tensing at the horribly familiar act.

He was trapped, entombed in stone and dark oak wood. A thousand portraits stared down at him, glaring, watching, examining, like a bug under a microscope. Father, right in front of him, holding him in place and keeping him under the rushing waves, suffocating him, drowning him—

“I have a little job for you.” Merrick’s voice cut through the haze of memories. Not father, though someone who proved just as much of a threat. “Just a favor, if you don’t mind.”

“Go to hell,” Varian tried to force himself to stand straight. If not for his family, then at least for himself. Merrick seemed taken aback for a second, blinking, before letting his hand drop from Varian’s chin.

“Oh, ho, so the crows got some iron, after all.” Merrick snorted, a rough rush of air. “Cute. No, okay, I know I phrased it like a request, but you really don’t get a choice here.”

“Blood has to be willingly given, right?” Varian kept his chin high. His hands shook behind his back. “I don’t care why you want in there. You get in that coffin over my dead body.”

Merrick pursed his lips, considering. “Hm, we’re growing a spine now, are we? Final hour show of bravery?”

Varian didn’t reply, keeping the scowl firmly on his face. Just like old times, something cynical in him whispered. Rapunzel definitely would be able to tell this was a fear response. A choice of fight from fight or flight. She knew him well enough to see the false bravado, though hopefully Merrick would fall for it, just as Frederick did, all those years ago.

Merrick tilted his head, appraising. He seemed to pause in thought, thick eyebrows knitting together. Varian held his stare, locking down his emotions and trying to hold himself together under the fear. Merrick suddenly straightened, seemingly finding his silent answer. He looked over Varian’s head, toward where Rapunzel and Eugene were.

“Kill Fitzherbert.”

Varian let out a wordless shout, kicking his feet out and pulling against the people holding him still.

“No!” he screamed, falling on deaf ears. Panic flare up his spine, desperate and cloying. He couldn’t focus on anything other than where a man was taking Eugene’s sword off the ground and unsheathing it. He yelled again, a garbled mix of curses and rage as he aimed another kick at Merrick in an attempt to stop what was happening.

Rapunzel was frantic, panicking, the woman forcibly dragged back from her husband and grabbed by the hair. Varian winced when her head was yanked back, obviously painful from the way she yelped. The men pushed Eugene so he was nearly bent over, the third one raising the sword high. It gleamed in the torchlight, shiny and dreadful. Varian screamed again, choking it out through the knot in his throat.

“Wait!” he shrieked, voice going squeaky, “Wait, wait! I’ll do it! WAIT!”

Merrick, still next to Varian, held up a hand. The man with the sword paused, the blade held high over Eugene’s prone neck.

“Care to repeat?” Merrick’s voice was smug. Varian scowled, tugging his arms out of the grip of the soldiers behind him. They let him go, surprisingly, letting Varian get into Merrick’s face for once. Even if he was shorter, it was more than enough to give Varian his voice back.

“I’ll do it,” he spat. “If you let them go.”

Merrick arched a brow. “Really?” he asked, “What, do they owe you money?”

Varian’s glare only intensified. “Let them go.” He took a small step back. “Or neither of us get what we want.”

Merrick’s grin sharpened. “Open it,” he ordered. “And they’ll walk away. We both know I’m not here for them.” The man held out a knife, holding it by the blade. “I assume you know what to do.”

Varian’s world focused down to the knife in front of him. He could hear Rapunzel and Eugene behind him, telling him not to do it, that they would be fine, but he couldn’t find it within himself to believe it.

He’d gotten them into this. It was his responsibility to get them out.

He took the knife from Merrick, holding it in a shaking grip. The blade glittered in the firelight. It looked razor sharp, with an ornate handle of carved bone. Obviously old, but well cared for. Interesting. Varian had barely touched the thing when he heard his sister speak up behind him.

“Varian,” Rapunzel’s voice was shaky. “Look at me.”

He turned to her, trying to keep his breathing even. Her chest heaved, the princess tugging at the restraining grip on her arms; Rapunzel shook her head frantically, her hair swinging every direction.

“Don’t.”

Her voice was strong, but her eyes were blown wide in fear. Eugene, to her left, looked pale, spooked. It was obvious how he felt about the whole situation. Varian shot them what he hoped was an easy smile, pushing down the fear. He must have failed, from the way she refused to look away.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I promise.”

Rapunzel’s expression got even more horrified, struggling again. “Varian!” she shrieked, her volume only getting louder when he turned away from her. “Varian!”

He stepped toward the coffin, breathing deeply. He held the knife so tightly it nearly dug into the leather of his glove. He could sense Merrick looming behind him, making absolutely clear that he wasn’t trusted to keep his word. Varian shook the feeling of eyes on his back— he quietly took his left glove off, looking down at the wound he’d made before to get the door open. With a grimace he pushed the blade into the cut, breaking into the skin once again and drawing a well of blood to the surface.

The wound had barely had time to close, so he didn’t have to press hard, but it still sent a sharp sting rattling up his arm. He stood before the coffin, sucking in a deep breath before he held his hand out over the chalice in the statue’s hand. With a damning plip, blood began to drip from his cut and into the cup. Varian wasn’t positive that was where he was supposed to bleed on the creepy statue, but it seemed as good a place as any.

Everyone held their breath. Even Merrick and his men seemed frozen, waiting for something to happen. The mage was impatient, stepping up to Varian’s side and eying the statue.

“What’s it going to do?” he asked, eyes following another drop of blood as it fell into the cup.

“You think I know?” Varian shot back, “You’re the one who wanted to be here.”

Merrick pulled a face, sneering. He opened his mouth, probably to make another threat, when both teenagers were startled when the statue in front of them began to move.

Varian stumbled back out of instinct, well versed in magical bullshit by this point. He watched with a twisted sense of fascination as, with the grinding noise of stone on stone, the statue slowly rumbled to life. It sat up, much like a human would. Its face was static, unmoving, unblinking. It was creepy, to be honest, the way it turned its unwavering gaze around them all. It seemed to linger on Varian, making him take another step back; he didn’t much appreciate being watched by a creepy carving, thank you.

The statue of Geldam slowly raised the cup up, bringing it to its lips and tipping it back. Varian nearly gagged once he realized what it was doing.

It was drinking his blood.

Disgusting.

The statue seemed content with the offering. It slowly lowered the cup from its face and took one last look around the tomb before settling back down to lay on the top of the coffin once more. Once it was back in place, the whole lid began to shift, moving to the side and exposing the interior of the coffin at last.

Varian shuffled forward, unable to help it. He briefly heard Rapunzel and Eugene telling him to get away from it, but he couldn’t resist leaning over and taking a peek inside. His nose wrinkled at the sight within, the disgusting view rolling his stomach a little.

As one would expect, a skeleton lay within the coffin. It wasn’t… clean, however. A few patches of hair, and even a small area of dried, flaky skin on the face was still attached. Varian swallowed the bile wallowing up, instead opting to look away from the dead eyes of the skull. Geldam’s skeleton was clothed in fineries, think velvet and golden jewelry fit for any king. A tarnished crown sat upon his head, multiple amulets and necklaces lay across his chest, and even rings, gold and silver both, were still on boney fingers.

The centerpiece of it all, however, was a thick Staff, clutched tightly by the dead man’s hands.

It was ornate, carved silver, a twisting design made to mimic vines or the gnarled roots of a tree. They all curved up into a delicate top, where they held a large, clear crystal in their grasp. It was beautiful, seemingly mythical, even. It held the same kind of aura as the rest of the tomb did. Varian’s mouth went dry at the sight of it, the feeling of pure energy surrounding it setting off alarm bells of every kind in his mind. Stay away, his instincts whispered, dangerous.

“There it is.”

Ah, right. Merrick.

The mage looked nearly shell-shocked, eyes wide with wonder. Varian felt himself tense when the older teenager drew closer, so they were shoulder to shoulder.

“The Novis Staff.” It was said so quietly that Varian almost missed it. The name was familiar, Ori had mentioned it. He looked back down to the grave, eyes locking on the silver. This was why all this had happened? Caused the feud?

All this, for a stick?

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled Varian. Merrick drew him close, smirking when Varian tried to push away.

“Congrats, Crow,” he said. “You just destroyed your family legacy. Your daddy’s about to be realpissed in whatever layer of hell he would up in.”

Varian shuddered at the closeness, shoving at Merrick’s chest. Being so close to the other teenager made him feel nauseous, a rolling, ugly feeling that was a mix of disgust and fear.

“You got what you wanted,” Varian muttered. He was sick of all of this, he wanted to go home. “Let us go.”

Merrick pursed his lips, not looking away from the Staff. “A deal’s a deal, I suppose.” He brought up a hand and waved it over his shoulder. “Let the princess and her boy-toy go, I guess. Their use is over.”

Varian felt a weight lift when he saw his family being released, only for it to come right back when he felt Merrick’s arm wrap around his shoulder once more. A binding bar of iron to keep him in place.

“He did what you said,” Eugene spoke up, at last. “Hands off the kid.”

Merrick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I said you two get to go,” he clarified. “I didn’t say shit about the Crow.”

Varian’s stomach sank. He knew this was coming, he’d heard the specifications when Merrick had said it, expected this, but it still made his guts roll with dread. He couldn’t even feel disappointed, more of a resigned acceptance. If there was anyone who was to blame, it was him—maybe it was best for them to leave him behind to be buried here with the ruins of his bloodline.

Eugene took a step forward, looking ready to throttle the mage, only to be stopped by a sword blocking his path. One of the Bayans stood between him and Varian, keeping the distance between them. Varian winced when the grip on his shoulder tightened to the point of pain.

The coffin in front of them may as well have been a chasm. Varian had never felt more separated from his friends in years. His hands shook, and the side of his body that was pressed up against Merrick felt uncomfortably warm. He could see the way Eugene scowled, how Rapunzel was pale. It made the dread in his stomach only grow.

The mage to his side snickered at his own joke, peering in to stare at Geldam’s coffin. Varian saw the gears turning in Merrick’s brain, in the way his eyes focusing on the Novis Staff. He flinched when the green-eyed man moved, leaning forward and bringing the arm not holding Varian up.

“Wait,” The alchemist blurted, before he could think. “There’s been traps-”

Merrick paused, eying Varian. His fingers were only a hair away from connecting with the silver of the Staff, ghosting just above its surface. Merrick twitched pulling his hand back and arching a brow.

“Good point,” he acquiesced. There was a solid second of silence before he gave Varian a nudge, jostling him. “You grab it.”

Varian scowled, glaring at the man, before reaching in and, hesitantly, grazing the tips of his fingers on the surface. He grit his teeth, bracing, before allowing his fingers to curl around the handle. Varian’s eyes closed in preparation— for an explosion, for a trap, for something— but after a solid second of peace, he peeked one eye back open.

The Staff was freezing cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been; it was like touching something made of pure ice. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, he could feel the way the cold permeated everything around the Novis Staff. Stranger though, was the feeling of… rightness, that came when he touched it. Something in him felt the energy coming from the thing, surely magical in nature, and he could feel it reaching to him, beckoning him; it called to him in the depths of his chest, like a magnet. Holding it, having its power connected to him… it felt right.

Varian was so caught up in the feeling that he missed Merrick grabbing for the Staff until it was too late.

“Yoink,” the mage laughed, snatching it from Varian’s lax grip with a harsh tug. “Mine now, thank you.”

Varian blinked, shocked, as the connection severed. He tried desperately to cling to the tattered remains of it, but they slipped from his proverbial fingers quicker than he could react. His hands twitched, the feeling of cold leaving just as quickly and leaving his fingers dreadfully numb.

Merrick smirked inspecting the Staff for a moment, before frowning. The large crystal in the top, once glowing a light blue, darkened, instead looking almost midnight navy.

“What the hell did you do?” he demanded, shaking the thing in Varian’s face. The alchemist staggered back, surprised when Merrick actually let him go.

“I didn’t do anything,” that he knew of, “How could I have—”

Varian cut off as the room around them suddenly shifted, the ground beginning to rumble. The alchemist was nearly knocked off his feet by the rough shaking; like the tomb was tearing itself apart at the seams and would surely crumble with them all inside. Varian fell into Geldam’s coffin, sending a pulse of pain up his ribs and making it hard to breathe for a second. He heard the others, Coronian and Bayan alike, scream as they too were bowled over by the harsh earthquake.

The way he’d fallen, catching himself on the lip, meant he was face to face with the skull of his ancestor. Varian cringed back, starting to push himself up and away, only to stop as a bright blue light began to overtake the dusty old bones. He watched with abject horror as the corpse began to rattle, not in sync with the earth and stone, but instead under its own power.

Varian shrieked, flailing back and falling on his ass on the stone before the coffin. He felt his mouth go dry when, over the lip of the stone, he saw a skeletal hand lift up and grab onto the edge. His breath left him when the fingers moved, flexing, and clinging like they would if they still had muscle and skin attached to them. The fingers twitched, and Varian felt the sudden urge to vomit when the rest of the skeleton began to pull itself up into a seated position.

His attention was pulled away from the horror show in front of him when the others in the room began to scream again, accompanied by a bone shattering BANGthat echoed around the chamber. The alchemist watched in slack jawed horror as the coffins surrounding the circular tomb, all eighteen of them, burst open at once, sending shards of stone and dust into the air.

He caught sight of Eugene covering Rapunzel, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw they were both okay. At least someone was doing alright. Merrick’s men all had their weapons drawn, the Coronians forgotten for the time being as they stood with their backs to each other, a formation to cover every angle. Merrick was still holding the Staff, looking furious at this sudden chain of events.

A ghostly howl filled the room, a cacophony of voices filling the air and screaming in utter agony; everyone alive covered their ears from the volume of it, voices of every type screeching in a horrible harmony loud enough to make the ribs rattle in Varian’s chest. The boy managed to finally flip onto his knees, staring in horror at one of the closest coffins.

Stumbling from within was the figure of a young woman, draped in heavy armor and dragging a massive war hammer behind her. Everything about her was a ghostly blue, and her ghostly figure was slightly transparent. The worst thing of all, however, was the sight of her head being split in twain, a horrible cleave right down the center of her face. There was no blood, the wound looking strangely clean, however everything was visible in excruciating detail.

Varian gagged at the sight of the inside of her skull. The woman stepped forward, sluggish and odd, her gait almost drunk as she stepped into the room. Her one eye scanned the room, focusing on each person in turn, before she opened her mouth and began to scream.

She rushed forward, a blue mist following her every footstep. As she drew close Varian realized with startling terror that he recognized her. She was one of the women who had glared at him in the hall of portraits, bitter and angry looking. Aldred had never mentioned her, too wrapped up in the more impressive names from their line, but Varian could tell from the bridge of her nose and the stripe of teal in her hair.

The woman lifted her hammer, descending on the Bayans with a lethal speed. One of the humans, a man, tried to raise his shield but was too slow, the ghost bringing her hammer down and slamming it onto his skull. All of them screamed when it immediately crushed his skull, the man dropping like a stone in a spray of blood and bone fragment. The other Bayans all began to panic, one of them taking a swing with her sword only for it to pass through the ghost without a prayer of damage.

The spirit paused, snarling at the humans in front of her like a feral animal; it sounded nearly demonic, nothing close to a human voice. Her screams were met with the collective of voices ringing out once more. Varian felt the urge to wail along with them, something in his chest tugging and commanding him to join the oppressive opera surrounding them.

From the other graves came a sudden wave of spirits, descending on the humans like a deadly flood. There were too many to count, at least fifty ghosts surrounding them all and attacking anything that moved. Varian pushed his back against the stone of Geldam’s coffin, staring with horror at the faces of the ghosts running by.

He’d seen them all before, in the cold halls of Barviel Keep. Maybe not exactly as they looked here, as their portraits had been them at their most perfect; the ghosts were all brutally mutilated in some way, missing limbs and ripped open torsos, cleaved open heads and one, horrifically, missing their head entirely.

The spirits all had the same dead eyes, soulless and dark and empty, shrouded in fog and almost transparent. They were stained in blood and offal, some of them more so than others, but all of them very obviously dead, dead, dead. Varian shuddered when one ran right by him, leaving him be to charge Merrick. The man yowled, backed away by the creature and fighting back with a plume of flame from his hands.

Varian shrank back from the heat, the rising panic in his chest slowly clawing up and into his throat. He peeked over the top of the coffin, catching sight of Rapunzel and Eugene, back-to-back and fighting with everything they had. It was obvious that pan and sword weren’t working against the new foes, but they’d already seemed to figure out a way to keep the attention away from them.

The tomb had descended into anarchy. Varian caught sight of multiple bodies dropping as the Bayans tried to fight the tide of ghosts back, all of them failing. He heaved a breath as he caught sight of one Bayan screaming as they were overwhelmed and fell to the ground. Varian shuddered at the sight of his ancestors; all of their faces were contorted into pure rage. He caught sight of Geldam, some others he knew the name of, some he didn’t. All were recognizably… him, however, in the way all their portraits had been. Same eyes, same noses; and as always, that damn stripe burst from their hairlines. A marker. A brand.

The spray of souls seemed to finally slow, the last few emerging from the tombs at long last. Varian saw two figures he actually knew by name appear, joining the fray just as the others had. The two Aldred had called his grandparents, Kamron and Abelia, looking as dreadful as ever— but if they were here then…

Varian watched the final tomb with a sudden, dawning dread. If the rest of the family were here, regardless of where they’d been buried…

Oh.

Oh no.

One, final figure emerged from the darkness beyond the tomb. He was tall, foreboding. The man had deep wrinkles set in between his piercing blue eyes, wrinkles made from a lifetime of scowling. His face was a mess of harsh angles, all coming together into a pointed nose and angular chin. His salt and pepper hair was combed back, slicked down and generally imposing.

Varian was frozen, locked in place and paralyzed by pure, unadulterated fear. A shock of cold ran down his spine, horror frying any sort of thought in his mind beyond run, run run—

Aldred hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Varian had seen him.

He was still as imposing as he’d been that last day on the tower. His blue eyes— perfect mirrors of Varian’s own, needle prick points of blue on pale canvas— scanned the room, finally landing on Varian. The boy locked up even further, his spine pressing into the stone behind him as if he could shove his way through it and escape. Varian’s breaths came in stuttering gasps, the alchemist unable to get enough air into his lungs. He felt compressed, like a fist had him in its grasp and had begun to squeeze.

Aldred’s attention was locked onto Varian, the ghost of a man sneering as Varian stared at him in abject terror. Varian shook like a leaf; why couldn’t he move?

It was an odd sort of standstill they found themselves in. While the other ghosts seemed content with attacking the Bayans without rest, Aldred’s spirit focused on Varian to an uncomfortable degree. The boy couldn’t even find it within himself to blink, his eyes wide and locked onto the man in front of him. Aldred smiled, something smug and malicious, and opened his arms, as if asking for a hug.

“My son,” he crooned. His voice was raspy and deep, but just as it had been the last time Varian had heard it in his nightmares. Aldred took a single step forward, his long cloak flaring out behind him. “It’s been so long.”

Varian bolted.

In something akin to pure, animalistic fear, Varian threw himself over the coffin, landing hard on the stone. He could hear Aldred approaching behind him, over the hammering of his heart. It made him run faster, like a rabbit from a wolf— he needed to get the hell out—

“Rapunzel!” his voice was a full shriek, any sense of decorum lost as he stumbled down from the dais. He caught sight of her hair over the fighting and began a dead sprint for her. He felt sluggish, like his body couldn’t keep up with his whirling thoughts— father was here, coming to take him back to the Keep and drag him down, down, down until he drowned— and he nearly slipped on the final step. He needed his sister, damn everything else, he needed her.

“Rapunzel!”

The woman whipped around, catching sight of Varian across the room. He saw the exact second she noticed Aldred behind him, her face going ashen white. Varian ran for her, tunnel vision crawling in through the fear.

Get to Rapunzel, his thoughts screamed, she’s safe, I need to be safe, I need her to stop him-

A hand wrapped around his wrist.

Varian whirled around, a scream caught in his throat. He threw his free hand out, shoving at whoever had grabbed him— he had no time to think, he just needed to get away, put as much distance as he could between him and father, he needed OUT—

He came face to face with green eyes.

Merrick’s face was set in a deep scowl, looking at Varian like he was nothing but a bug to be squashed. Varian looked past him; the sporadic breaths the boy tried to make doing nothing to help the way his mind swam in a soup of primal fear.

“Rapunzel!” He screamed again, flailing around and scanning for her. He just caught sight of her before he felt a thick arm wrap around his waist.

“I’m not done with you, yet,” Merrick snarled. Varian tried to tug his wrist like a feral animal in a trap, it made his wrist hurt and his shoulder ache, but he needed to get out—

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm?”

Varian barely had time to try and buck his way out of the grip before Merrick pulled him back, the air cracking around them. The world went sideways, just as it had with Ori, but this time Varian didn’t bother to try and stay cautious. Something in him didn’t have the strength to fight through the world rearranging itself combined with the adrenaline crashing through his veins like raging fire.

Battle lost, he let the darkness consume him.

And then he was gone.

[lucy-shining-star]

So, I rarely do episode reactions but this is finale, so I need to do it:

Mingo, Zoom and Estrella <3

Hi Marlena. I think Marlena is my one of my favourites minor characters for if only because I think she has sibling like relationship with Mateo. So I’m glad she did get lowkey bigger role this season even though it’s still small.

I must note despite everything kids didn’t boo at ‘lying cousin Esteban’

Shuriki from Spirit Wolrd: I do not do high-fives, and did you just make me dance? And I wouldn’t let Esteban dance also. 

Puppets facial expressions are something else

I love how Armando had puppet Gabe on his head for a moment

Lmao, I think getting public to not be angry at Esteban wouldn’t be that hard if now it can be singed ‘Poor Victor and Carla Delgado’ after they have been wanted criminals for like...two years?

Puppet Esteban hiding behind puppet AshXD

Armando and Marlena are so cute

I love the parts when kids are singing

I really love ‘long may she reign’ part

Also, I was confused everytime when someone was singing/saying ‘four years’ cause I was not sure if that was ‘four years’ or ‘for years’

Zuzo, don’t scare her

‘You can’t believe everything a whispering campfire tells you’ I love Zuzo being dissmisant of prophercies.

Elena with that excited ‘I waited four years’ 

I saw that people were worried that Francisco was dying because of that and later and I’m like...it didn’t cross my mind that it could mean that.

Well, it’s not last

Naomi,Isabel,Gabe and Mateo are relatable.

Sorry, Dona, Zuzo ruined your chance in previous episode

How Elena doesn’t know she has to do these things? She was heir to throne since birth? She was so busy preparing two episodes ago? HOW litterally everyone else knows and treats like it’s obvious!? 

Elena making Gabe and Mateo hold hands <3

Royals <3

‘I can’t wait to try your fine cuisine’ I see king Toshi has same priorities as me.

I see Alonso looks slightly different than last time?

Valentina being in carriage with Alonso and his father <3 Now that I think about it, Cordoba and Paraiso are both close to Avalor, so they are probably close to each other too?

Hector in carriage with these two kings who he used to boss around until Elena came. I assume they made up and now are equal friends?

Poor Armando. Also, Valentina little too late to say thatXD

Wait, what they were about to do? What runthrough?

That looks beautiful

Lmao at Ixlan not caring

Warning isn’t enough, but does that mean they didn’t warn her? Or they did? Though, if they did they shouldn’t be surprised that she came

Lmao at them knowing she will go anyway

So...that means when Craig said that Franciso may now be ashamed (that was what he wrote?) of his vote about Esteban he was probably just tired of that question and decided to troll?

Elena’s ‘Not anymore’ is kind of scary.

I still can’t believe how naive Ash is

Chatana...Tziloco found it? Okay, he didn’t notice that he found it, but still, that was joined effort.

How did she know it’s under the ocean not on it?

I love how they look at Isa with such admiration cause she invented poisonous arrows.

Only Antonia from the rest of the guards?

Ooo...you are both adorable sidekicks.

Esteban and Elena conflict third season is really direct opposite of Cassandra and Rapunzel conflict in tangled third seasonXD I mean in how how traitor-antagonist and protagonist react to each other.

I’m lowkey surprised that Mateo is surprised that she got his name rightXD 

Esteban and Ixlan sceneXD

I think Isa also thinks that jellyfish is a baby.

Marissa!

Poor Carla.

Why Esteban teleported there?

Wow, Elena really control her emotion powers.

Unforunately, she still let emotions decide for her.

Lmao at Shades renaming themselves.

Mateo, sweetie, that was stupid.

Ixlan finally seeing challenge.

Mateo with glowing green eyes looks nice. Scary, but nice.

Isa already taking charge.

At first I thought Elena’s angery magic started kicking in here. Also her angery face here is glorious.

Okay, Vuli’s face colours changing are like Elena’s dress, but his main colour is green so...I dunno,it’s kinda weirdXD

I think that is my favourite song in whole episode. 

Those Shades really likes to invade Esteban’s personal space

I heard Ozai with angery ‘Tell us!’

I see Hetz actually have to think about what to sing.

Cahu’s voice hypnotizes me. Like when she talks also,but singing is double powerful. Also, I’m not sure if she is the most powerful? Like,on one hand, her powers is the scariest. On the other,she is the only one that needs a tool.

Oh, even Cahu saluted

I love how Cahu sang ‘We’ll meet them’

‘So you can rule your subjects like their puppets on a string’ I see Yolo is planning Esteban rule to be like this Zuzo au.

Did Esteban realize something is off when Cahu sang ‘And we’ll finish what we started long ago?’ I guess he did and then forgot the second she finished that line.

I’m sad we didn’t get to see Ash face when Bobo said ‘The one and only’. She was probably like ‘Hey,that’s my line’

...Now I’m imagining Ash trying to rule the Zanies. Just out of spite.

I wonder, did Isabel and Elena tell anyone else about that vision?

I see Naomi remembers Valentina’s got magic since I guess it’s like ‘Valentina definitely can help, and maybe someone else’

Elena finding out she has more body count than she thought.

‘Oh,drama’XD He is so happy about it

She plays pretty well for someone who can’t stand it.

‘Us probably’ it’s great line,but they are already looking away.

So the answer is Valentina.

Do they know Marissa? Also it’s nice to see Naomi and Marissa coming here together after Naomi hated Marissa that much.

Lmao at Raul and Lucia’s reactions.

Hi Orizaba

First of all: Zoopitole is Mateo’s body count

Which makes me remember I used to think Mateo is ‘looks like cinammon roll,is a cinnamon roll’ while Naomi is ‘looks like they could kill you,can actually kill you’ but it sure looks different. Naomi, you dissapointed me.

So I need to completely change how I see this meme when it comes to all four amigos. So Mateo ‘looks like a cinammon roll,could actually kill you’, Naomi is ‘looks like they could kill you, is actually cinammon roll’ Gabe is ‘looks like a cinammon roll, is a cinammon roll’ and Elena is ‘looks like could kill you,could actually kill you’

Although actually I think they are all capable of killing.

Second of all: Here they should be Flo shouting ‘I was right!’

‘Elena victims club up high!’ is great, tho.

Oh, I didn’t notice earlier that Cahu did little ‘no,don’t say that’ geture to Vulu after he said ‘let’s make it ours’. It looks kinda cute.

‘It’s that you,moustache’ ‘That’s king moustache too you’ lmao

‘They are our allies’...um,Esteban? 

It kinda looked like Vuli is about to touch Abigail’s bust

They are pretty calm for being touched with chaos touch. Like they just hit the hitting bals with clubs.

Chloe and Dona hereXD

Also, is Dona escaping and Naomi right after saying she has some ideas finale foreshadowing on her being new chancellor?

‘If I told you,you wouldn’t let me do it’ ‘What? Isabel!’ Isa, he has enough of this with your sister

‘Your forecast, looks bleak’ I like that line

Isa on her way to have body count

Isa killing powerfulf shade. Gabe and Luna being proud of her <3

Yolo getting scared and Hetz appearing in spirit world immadietely. I love this whole sequence

Hi,Cacahute

Elena looks so cute here when she realised she should go after Ash

‘If you keep hearing in the darkness of your past, you will never see a brighter future’? Though I’m not sure if hearing was the word used here

Wait, that’s still don’t explain everything. Did Esteban make deal with Shuriki knowing that she would invade anyway hoping if he help her she wouldn’t hurt his family? Did he try to convince her to not attack and then she manipulated him with saying she is going to listen to him when his family didn’t?

Vuli really likes to sing.

Ixlan is sure confident.

What exactly Valentina wanted Alonso to do? He has no magic, no sword, no lasso, no fancy cool inventions? I doubt he has much body strenght?

Oh, Vuli being sad for Hetz <3

Oh, Alonso protecting Valentina <3 

Did Esteban just...slide down the railing?

Luisa had great speech 

Esteban really did not realise he is a villain? 

Cahu summed up Esteban great.

But that also mean they saw everything...I think they know that is was really Ash who freed them.

Also, Elena is too focused on revenge, is too emotional, and too focused on past, and Esteban trusts who pretends to listen and wants power to be heard...

They are both Anakin 

That’s why everything ended well in episode with Mark Hamill XD

When you walk in to some evil lady being dangerously close to your first cousin who happens to be often swayed by evil ladies (oh,and also you grandparents are turned to a stone right next to it). No, but seriously she really was close. Isa is going to have trauma

Some time later:

‘Isa: Please tell me you are a gay or ace.

Esteban: What? Why...I’m...

Isa: Please!

Esteban: Okay...So...I’m ace?

Isa:That’s a relief, thanks.-she goes

Esteban:What was that about?

Elena,seeing scene from some distance:No,seriously, what was that about?

Naomi,Mateo and Gabe who know what this is about exchanging”we are not telling her” looks in the bakground’

Rafa didn’t notice something is wrong?

Hi,Alacazar

Flo making sure she annoys Grand Macaw enough she would let her out too

...Actually Elena could just tell him she brought Flo to life with her emotions and he would kick her out to not risk having more creatures like this in his nest.

Thank you Bobo for vocalising your irritation with that. You saved Elena

Didn’t Ash find it suspicious that Elena stopped Bobo or she didn’t notice?

Hi Sanza 

Hi Shuriki, I see you saw that kid eating popcorn during the song in the beggining and decided you want it too.

Also, she is probably happy right now that Elena loses only to find out Elena goes back to real worldXD Unless she knew it, Troyo didn’t seem surprised.

Also, I wonder how music and dance hater feels about being stuck at eternal party. I suppose she found that olaball game moment of relieve

Zoopitole, that was harsh. I can’t believe they made me feel sorry for Ash. I hope she didn’t hear ir.

Mateo’s sad voice when he told shades had taken over Avalor :(

Isa’s sad voice when she said ‘I’m sorry’ :(

‘Pride had put my heart to sleep, but now I’m wide awake. I have hurt everyone, the damage is done’ I love this part. Also love Esteban’s eyes when he opens the door.

The change of scene with fountains is beautiful.

I’m little dissapointed that Isa didn’t talk during that part so I would have all main characters kinda-shared song. Even though only two sing, but still that would be little something.

Elena hugging Skylar <3

Esteban on that throne :(

Carmen’s face after little touch of chaosXD

‘You don’t wanna mess wtih Vuli’ ‘Okay’ I love Migs here

Vuli, you really are attacking your friend for accident?

I love that Gabe didn’t use tamborita in the finale but got his main skill show off just with his tool powered up by a Mateo. 

Also love that got to use his signature move that got stolen by two peopleXD in real fight.

Also, Antonia used tamoborita...I’m kind of starting to think there is some general rule that women more often have natural talent for magic.

‘Or send us’ and not reacting to Elena’s ‘wait, you didn’t mention that’. Same feral energy as Isa’s earlier.

Oh, Yolo (Vulu too? I’m not sure) is happy to see Hetz again <3

Mateo and Gabe turned into a stone right after their sucess :(

Also, I think they are the only one besides Francisco and Luisa to be two people turned into same stone? That’s kind of shippy

Elena’s face after that

Skylar :(

That’s sadistic on one side, but on the other,good that she decided to torture her before killing

Good choice, Esteban. Extremely predictable way to reedem him but that’s a good thing.

Congratulations Esteban on earning your redemption.

Hmm, now all of show main male characters are turned into stone. 

<3

The forgivness dress is white! Yeah, I thought so for longer time!

Though the reason is most probably either cause white is angelic colour or mixed coulour of rainbows I thought this because of that dress (and...that might be foreshadowing of white forgivness dress?):

And to lesser extent that:

Because of that first dress being in episode where Esteban after making mistake decided that he (well,and Naomi and Mateo and Luna.Though not really Luna) owes her more than apology, and also because that’s where we got little more of his backstory.

And the second because Esteban was reffering to this episode in his clue, even though she didn’t have that dress in scene he was reffering to. Also, in that episode Elena was especially worried about being noble leader, and she was afraid of losing everything again even though there was no real threat at those point.

Also, that’s why I kinda tried to find connections to certain episodes in Elena’s other colours. 

'You can’t change what you did before, but you can change what you do next’ right?

Wow, how she control that. And it’s beautiful <3

Oh, and she remembers that others need to be saved to without having to see them

Valentina hug-spinning Alonso <3

Gabe and Mateo nicely landed.

Also, I was lowkey surprised here that Naomi first checked on Mateo, despite being suggested to being in love (in relationship?) with Gabe, but since every other from amigos ships was teased, and that was only Naomi and Mateo one-on-one interaction in the whole special, I’m happy with that.

...How Esteban managed to aim correctly when Elena has to work on that pretty long?

Elena:Well, I let you use my tool, so now I’m going to use yours

Did flames told Quita Moz after the test what it was or he just didn’t tell Elena earlier? Or he figures out himself what test was?

Wow, Luisa is surprised that Elena forgave Esteban

Elena and Esteban hug <3

Elena and Isabel hug <3

Amigos hug <3

We have a queen to crown <3

That pose during changing of the scene is cute:

Mingo, Zoom and Estrella <3

Hector bowing <3

Tomiko doing ‘<3′ <3

I love how all teen(wait,no...young adults?) royals are in the same shot <3

Elena looking at Esteban and he bowing <3 Dona smiling <3

Hi Sofia! And Amber! And James! And Miranda! And Roland!

Although James, Sofia and Amber look kinda weird

Technically, Elena isn’t one yet too, since she isn’t crowned yet

 Also now I kinda wish we had seen Vor in spirit world cause I still don’t know if Sofia has body count or that was just exorcism

‘Elena,queen of Avalor’<3

‘All hail the queen’<3

Lmao at Gabe and Mateo

I saw people saying it looked like marriage proposal before I saw episode, and I thought it was just shipping googles, but damn, it really did look like that.

Daniel and Scarlett already proud in the background

‘With the best insticts in the kingdom’ Naomi, you are awesome

‘Gabe,you’ve been by my side since my first day of rule’ <3 Love Gabe’s eyes here. 

‘Mateo,we’ve been through so much together, you and I’ <3

Mateo is so cute here

Okay, so that was like super cute and ship teasing all ships between Elena and her amigos,but...Does Gabe and Mateo’s new titles change anything for them? Or was Elena just like ‘Okay, I’m going to be queen, I’m going to make Naomi chancellor and Isabel royal inventor...boys would have feel left out. My boys also need fancy titles’

Isa being royal inventor and that hug <3

Elena teasing Mateo and Gabe XD

Kinda thought she might choose Esteban. Still,cute <3

Four servants giving guitars, to four people, and one of them isn’t even from royal family. Wow

Elena touching all amigos hands <3

For some reason I kinda don’t like line ‘And now you’ve crowned me’ but like. Literally only that line. And I don’t know why.

Elena dancing with Francisco <3

Elena hugging Isa and Luisa <3

Elena twirling with Naomi <3

Gabe and Mateo twirling Elena in the while lifting her <3

Gabe putting his hand on Mateo’s shoulder <3 

Elena hugging Skylar <3 Luna being only one eating, relatable. And Skylar coming for more hugs <3

She seemed surprised that they started signing here. But only for a moment

That hand move with ‘I know we gonna be alright’ looks so cool

Mateo and Gabe lifting Elena while she is sitting<3 

Esteban breakdancingXD Though, for being such major character there was very little of him in that last song.

I love the way Naomi pulled Gabe into dance

Isa and James look cute

Lmao, Craig said that he THINKS Ixlan and Antonia share some scene when they actually had a dance with in which Antonia holds Ixlan down with that face? 

Also, Ixlan is impressed

‘Are you ready for day two?’ ‘I am!’ <3

Mateo and Carla buming heads and holding hands <3 I was hoping for some positive interaction that could be seen as ship tease with tight shipping googles but turns out googles didn’t need to be that tight. Also I think I would be happy if that actually means they are confirmed. Like, eleteo is still my otp, but I really love this one too. Kinda like I’m happy with ichihime being canon depsite ishihime being my fave Orihime ship also though it probably helps that ichiruki is my notp and renruki is my otp for whole manga but also why i’m taliing about bleach while didn’t read most of it. Altough that could be just, okay now let’s dance together like normal people

Alonso and Valentina being their extra selves together <3 I waited for any interaction for so long, and now I’ve been fed so much <3

Oh, Hector and Abigail walking-jumping hand in hand. Cute

Marissa twirls beautifully. I lowkey laugh at Marzel’s walk though.

Dona seemingly kissing Julio behind that fan really took me by surprise. I didn’t expect that level of ship tease.

Elena and Sofia being last dance <3

I didn’t notice earlier Naomi threw scepter to Elena

That beautiful spoiled shot <3

Elena’s crown falling down, and she having to adjust it, and Naomi’s face and Isa laugh <3 

Wow,background to credits is stunnigly beautiful.

So anyway, I really love the finale! It’s so emotional and beautifully concludes everything. 

[triggerboom]

( ursula corbero, 25, she/her ) welcome to san francisco, IRATI MONEDERO. rumor has it they are a CAMBION, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine BLACK HELMETS AND MOTORCYCLES, A KATANA WITH FRESH DRIPPING BLOOD, THE NOISE OF A NUCLEAR ALARM.

tw: child abuse, violence, murder, child murder

born in madrid, spain, to an alcoholic abusive father ( hector monedero ) and a mother to meek and ill to help anyone, including herself ( martina monedero ).

is the oldest of two siblings, having a brother who is three years younger.

hector has hated her from the moment she was born, seeing how he’s always wanted to have a son. 

they moved to the usa after martina’s case became a social case and a charity funded her treatment abroad.

needless to say, hector was overjoyed when a son was born and the two became very close. in fact, hector was steadily building the boy in his image, so hector’s torment started to double.

as a child, irati was obedient and shy, though all of the things that rained down on her were simply taken and bottled up inside of a volcano. when she was 14 and her brother 11, she witnessed him do some horrible things to a girl. she jumped in her defense, but ended up getting carried away and beating her own brother up to a pulp. looks like violence became her answer for everything too.

oddly enough, that made hector like her slightly more. and since she felt apologetic, she and her brother started over and their bond was closer than before. they both came to understand hector was ruining them, so they decided to do something and rid themselves, their mother, and the world of his torment.

unsurprisingly, they killed him. turns out that irati had quite the nerve and stomach and that her brother was terribly good at covering things up. their mother caught them and, amid the shock, had a heart attack and died on the spot. in a fit of rage, irati burned down the house and she fled together with her brother.

they were later found by someone who made a habit out of ‘collecting’ troubled and dangerous supernatural kids, taking their worst traits and turning them into useful things for doing some good ( really badly ).

murdering came easy to her and she quickly rose as a skilled assassin. by the age of 25, she became the head of the assassination group and was sent to carry out a mission that should have been simple in theory. they dealt with a demonic cult and then ran into a boy, no older than 15, who was one of those truly evil cambions. 

some of her team claimed he was just a child. he did too, claiming he was starting anew. but she recognized that glint in his eye, that sweet lie, similar to her own father’s. in a fit of paranoia and a bit of ptsd, she pressed the trigger and killed him, breaking the biggest rule: NO KILLING CHILDREN.

she was demoted from her position and kicked out of the home for a janitor job at salvatore. it’s mean to serve as a lesson or whatever, but truth be told, she’s pissed. she believes she’s made the right choice, that the kid would’ve grown up to be another hector, and she’s definitely not made for trash duty.

she’s been on the job for around three months and it gets worse every day. she can’t leave because there’s nowhere else to go and because she kinda wants her old life back ( and might also kind of want to redeem herself ).

WANTED CONNECTIONS

another one of the foster kids.

someone she used to tag team with for assassination missions.

a friend with benefits.

a student at salvatore she especially hates.

someone who knew her as a child, before she killed her father.

someone who lost a beloved person bc she offed them.

her brother.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 402

It shouldn’t be surprising when I say this post is going to be less jokey than last week. If that’s not your jam, I recommend you stop reading now and maybe just sing “Everyone is Garbage” to the tune of Everything is Awesome while you instead go watch the entirety of Underground, or the Rosa Parks episode of Doctor Who.

I have to say, the producers on this show have said a lot of dumb shit in the past. From “Frank’s a good guy!” when he’s portrayed as being objectively awful on screen to “We don’t shy away from the horrors of the past because we’re so daring like that!” as a justification of their need to rape or assault everyone with a pulse. But one of the dumbest things in recent memory was at NYCC when Ron tried to claim that Outlander isn’t a political show.

Bullshit. Everything is political.

Using America the Beautiful to underscore how America didn’t, and still doesn’t, live up to the ideals we sing about in our romanticized versions of our history was political. Albeit in an overly heavy-handed way. Choosing to do an episode about slavery that focuses solely on white people and not the enslaved, who are just there as props for the white people’s moral dilemmas, is political. Choosing to show a lynching on screen in a time when Black people are still being killed in horrifying numbers at the hands of white people who are supposed to serve and protect, in a time when Black people have the police called on them while simply having a cookout in a public park, in a time when a white man can shoot an unarmed Black boy and walk away with no consequences, is political.

How we portray Black bodies on screen matters. And in this instance, a *very* white show chose to frame enslaved people as the props against which they highlight the guilt of the white protagonists.

I really do wish they included someone checking to see if Claire, who had a man killed right in front of her, was ok. But instead she just does the emotional labor of assuaging Jamie’s guilt over Bonnet’s attack. Because doing emotional labor is just what women do. *flips off the patriarchy and also the producers*

Young Ian’s awe at River Run, how it’s befitting a king, just highlights how he has no context for what the symbol of a big white plantation house means for so many people. That image is so laden with white supremacy it should immediately trigger a bad taste in any decent person’s mouth. Go ahead and @ me.

Jocasta Cameron is straight garbage, but Maria Doyle Kennedy is fucking amazing. A++ casting, show.

Not sure if the parallel of Jocasta telling Claire to call her Auntie and Claire telling Phaedre and Mary to call her Claire was intentional or not. Will have more to say about that in a second...

Honest question, if the dog who plays Rollo is so poorly trained that they have to cut him out of most scenes, why didn’t they get a different dog? Slash, I thought they’d been training this one since it was a puppy?

“Some River Run hospitality.” *feels nauseous*

I SO hope they don’t do the Jocasta and Ulysses having an affair storyline from the books. Please, show, don’t do it.

Show!Jocasta is so much more overtly garbage than book!Jocasta. This is a woman who had to flee her country after the Rising because of how horrible the English were to the Scots. Yet she doesn’t bat an eye at the concept of keeping human beings as property. Even with Jamie, she isn’t thinking of him as his own person, but rather someone she can make do her bidding and use for her own purposes. She should fucking know better, but the promise of benefiting from white supremacy is apparently more beneficial than actually having morals. Fuck you, Jocasta.

Claire’s palpable discomfort with being led around by an enslaved man juxtaposed with Jamie thinking nothing of it as he reminisces about his mother is just the start of me side-eyeing Jamie a lot this episode.

Don’t worry, I’m an equal opportunity side-eye’er. Claire’s gonna get her share of it too. Starting with her asking Phaedre and Mary to call her Claire.

Claire. You know all about chattel slavery. You know it’s wrong. You know how enslaved people are treated. Why the fuck would you ask Phaedre and Mary to put themselves in a position to potentially face serious consequences for not being “properly deferential” to a white person just to make yourself feel better about being complicit in their enslavement. She’s prioritizing making herself feel better at the expense of the potential well-being of Phaedre and Mary. JFC, Claire, do not endanger the marginalized people you claim to care about in the name of wokeness.

The skunk bit with Young Ian and John Quincy Myers is a tad off-putting tbh. I love that Ian wants to learn about Native Americans and looks to find similarities with them rather than think of them as “savages,” but like they’re having this convo while completely ignoring the fact that an enslaved boy is filling the tub and like immediately just start talking about banging Native American women. It just feels like they were stretching for some levity when the characters in this episode don’t deserve any.

Jamie: “Uncle Hector and you have achieved a great amount here, Auntie.” Me:

Jocasta: “I purchase them in lots, in order to keep those with children together.” Me:

“Over the years, I found my slaves to be more productive when treated with benevolence. You see, I don’t actually see them as people. I only treat them nicely so my property can reach its maximum potential output. I am a garbage human and the myth of the benevolent slave owner is just bullshit that white people tell themselves to absolve themselves of the fact that they benefit from white supremacy.”

That Jocasta can refer to the people she enslaves as both too expensive to be livestock and friends in almost the same breath is peak caucasity. Seriously, show!Jocasta is an irredeemably shit person.

Also Jamie being like oh well done, Auntie, you are so nice to these people makes me want to punch him in his dumbass face. Show!Jamie has been on my last nerve for a while tbh.

Like bro, you literally lived in a cave for fucking years because the English were out to fuck Scots up. You were in prison for fucking years. You served on an English estate, where you were raped, for fucking years. And now you see people who were ripped from their homes and families and brought across the sea against their will (hey remember your nephew, Ian?) and you’re like oh Auntie, you’re such a nice white lady. Go fuck yourself, Jamie.

Jocasta playing the woman card with Jamie to justify her needing him to get involved with the enslaved labor on her plantation is something Colum would be proud of.

And Jocasta being like hey, “Claire, you’ve been homeless for a hot minute, shower me in praise for how nice my slave-run house is as I ‘graciously’ let you stay here” is such a power move in the worst possible way. Colum and Dougal raise a glass from whatever afterworld they ended up in.

Claire, girl, why couch your opposition to slavery in the Quaker influence. Own your opinions on this. Take a fucking stand. There are things in life worth standing up for. This is fucking one of them.

Oh Jenny. I love that she wrote to Jocasta about Claire. But also last season still turned me the hell off from show!Jenny so really I don’t like that lady.

Fuck each and every one of these yuppie white men.

Aw, woke-ish!Ian. Yes, it was their land, but let’s please not think of the Native American women as sexual conquests like you were earlier. KThxBai.

Ok for real, after living at Leoch and scheming through Paris and then being fucked over by Bonnet, Jamie sure doesn't learn much about people being sneaky. How does he not see where Jocasta was going when she so readily positioned him in a position of authority on the plantation.

Jamie, bro, buying into the benevolent slave owner narrative is not a good look. And by not a good look, I mean you are a garbage person. I get that that’s the point, but still.

Ok so the book frames Campbell as a friend to the Frasers, and the show is trying to frame him as someone genuinely trying to look out for the Frasers’ best interest. But he has also resigned himself to the reality of his current situation with no desire to try to make things better since it would mean making a personal sacrifice. To which I say, fuck you very much, you coward.

Hi, I’m Der, and I’m of the opinion that if you are in a place of privilege and see bigotry and oppression taking place, it’s your duty to stand the fuck up and try to make a change. 

“If we take the Tryon option, we don’t need to feel bad about slavery and can just bask in our white privilege on stolen Native American land and not have to deal with the consequences of accepting free land from the English, y’know, the people we hate, for almost a decade.” Cool, Jamie. Cool cool cool. Remember last episode when you were almost woke? 

Claire acting naive about what’s going to happen to Rufus should seem out of character. She went back into the past knowing full well how things were there. She knew that if she went back, she’d be in a time where this was the reality. Yes, she thought she’d be in Scotland, but that’s just another sign of her fucking privilege. She was like oh, I’ll just be in Edinburgh and not have to consider slavery. Joe Abernathy did not deserve the shaft he got in season three and he does not deserve fucking peak-white-privilege-the-past-is-fine-because-it-doesn’t-really-affect-me Claire as his friend.

Scrub Nurse!Ian is literally the only positive part of this episode.

This entire scene of a room of white guys being like “we need to uphold the law!” makes me want to kick the shit out of each and every fucker who has ever owned a confederate battle flag t-shirt or a bumper sticker. 

Also fuck each and every person who voted for the authoritarian narcissist who currently occupies the white house in 2016 or any of his fucking lackeys in the midterms. All these fuckers are straight garbage. And all the fuckers defending the authoritarian tendencies of the current administration can go fuck themselves. Go ahead and @ me.

“Don’t worry, my husband is heir to this estate.” Oh don’t fucking delude yourself, Claire. Rufus is going to die. And you are complicit in his death. Fucking own it.

*insert obligatory Joe Abernathy deserved better rant here*

I don’t like giving partial credit, but at least the show let fucking Rufus tell his own story. Just for a little bit though.

Ok I’m calling fucking bullshit that Ulysses, a man who (I don’t care what his relationship with Jocasta has been) has been enslaved for years, fucking calls Claire out and tells her she should have let Rufus die. Way to fucking try to absolve Claire by having a Black, enslaved man try to make her upcoming actions ok.

Don’t act naive, Claire. You know how this was going to end. Rufus was always going to die. You are complicit. There is no escaping that. Fucking own your part. Fucking own your privilege. And also fuck the show for centering this so much on the fucking white people.

Rufus didn't get to be an active participant in his own death. Claire should *not* have been absolved of her decision to kill him by having him ask her to do it. But by not even telling him what she's doing, she's just another white person making decisions for him without his consent. She also should have known to kill him without Jamie telling her to. *gestures at the Graham Menzies part of the books* She knows what's about to happen. She should accept that by choosing to be in the southern colonies, she's going to be complicit in slavery. She made her bed when she decided to go back into the past and now she should have to lay in it. 

Sure she may not have known that she’d end up in the colonies, but she still knew she’d be going back to a time when she’d end up being part of something that is morally abhorrent. But apparently getting that ginger dick was worth it.

It’s cute they do a parallel of her helping Rufus to die with her helping Geordie to die. But I can’t help but think this is as much for her as for him.

Every white person in this episode is trash. As they fucking should be.

Fuck everyone who defends the continued existence of confederate memorial statues tbh.

I know that’s out of left field, but yeah, fuck those people.

The fact that this shit is bringing up very real feelings about today’s political climate makes me fucking angry at the fuckers around today and also the fucking production crew for trying to cater to the meemaws by saying the show isn’t political.

Fuck Jamie for being like yeah, I can just pray this shit away. No. God is a cop out. You did this. YOU. You need to own this. Don’t you dare hide behind your faith. You will not be absolved.

Fuck this show for showing a fucking lynching and them immediately cutting to Claire’s face to make the lynching about her white guilt. Fuck them. 

If Jamie and Claire really don't want to be complicit in the atrocities of colonial America, they should move to a city where they could join in the work of starting to dismantle the things they claim to be morally opposed to. Instead they embrace their privilege of getting to ignore slavery by leaving River Run next week and go out to colonize Native American lands.

And just think. After all of this. After witnessing a lynching. In a couple episodes, Jamie’s gonna voluntarily send a guy into slavery! 

Fuck.

Please all go read Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me. KThxBai.

[reivenesque]

Hurt MacGyver/AU Post 2.11 - 1/3

Requested by and dedicated to @geminidaydreamer and also @thehemingwaygoldfish who got me waaaaay deep into the MacGyver fandom (she waterboarded me with Mac and Lucas Till perfection until I caved) and all the other great people I met in this fandom so far @bibs-blocksberg @murdocsmacattack @wild-chaser @wolfypuppypiles @classymike44 @patriotproblems @toomanyfandomsshreya @bestcouples and many other people that I probably forgot (sorry *ashamed*) and @random-fandom-whump in case you want to read it too :)

Consider this my Christmas gift to you all ❤️

Summary: What if instead of visiting Cage at her home that night, Murdoc instead went after Mac? 

A Celebration to Die For Chapter 1: He Ain’t Heavy.

“I’m telling you Riles, my Spidey-senses are tingling. And they’ve not yet lead me astray,” said Jack as he pulled his car into the familiar driveway.

“You mean your MacSpidey-senses? I swear Jack, you helicopter parent Mac even worse than you do me,” said Riley with a chuckle. “He’s a big boy.”

“He’s a big boy with a big brain and a small sense of self-preservation, miniscule, there’s the difference,” said Jack as he put his car in park and stepped out before he could even finish the sentence. “I called him and he didn’t pick up and I don’t like it one bit.”

Being arrested really wasn’t any fun, but it was definitely more fun than mulling over the very real possibility that he’d actually killed someone, and not just any random someone, an innocent civilian on top of it all.

Luckily (which probably wasn’t the appropriate choice of word) it ended up not being his fault and Mac didn’t think he’d ever felt relief that profound in his life. Sure he’d felt relief before, mostly when it came to life threatening situations that involved very real danger and a very high possibility of death – he’d experienced his fair share, but still, somewhere in the back of his mind there was always this knowledge that somehow, someway, Jack would always be there to save him and vice-versa.

But killing someone – the guilt that came along with it, that would have been something not even Jack would have been able to save him from.

And like normal people, who had normal friendships and normal jobs that didn’t involve thwarting murderers and terrorists on the down low every day, they – and by they, he meant Bozer – had decreed that a little arrest for domestic terrorism and a small case of ‘almost got killed by a cartel hitman’, didn’t automatically mean that Christmas was completely ruined.

In his words: “The Christmas pastrami still lives!”

Mac honestly didn’t think that the pastrami could get any worse, but it defied even his expectation and somehow year after year it continued to get progressively worse. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Bozer that though. He might be all about logic and the science, but he wasn’t an asshole to his friends.

The doorbell that suddenly rang wasn’t indicative or anything, it just meant that someone was at his front door. He knew it wasn’t Jack because the only time Jack had ever used the doorbell was when a police officer had escorted him over there while he was drunk because he’d somehow forgotten where he actually lived. He knew Cage was going to be late because she’d just gotten back from interviewing Hector Ruiz and was trying to squeeze in some last minute shopping. Bozer was at some secret dead-drop to get his present from Leanna which really only left Riley and Matty, and he knew Matty had a knack for making a grand entrance.

The doorbell rang again, shaking him out of his reverie before he put down the scissors he was using to cut the wrapping paper, hollering out, “I’m coming,” while trudging down the steps when the third ring came almost immediately after the second.

The hallway and living room was dimly lit when he got down to the foyer; the only source of light was from the tree in the living room. The house was barren and silent, the only sound coming from the distant Christmas music playing loudly at one of the houses down the street.

There was no one at the door when he pulled it open, only a small almost unnoticeable wrapped package left on the welcome mat on the stoop.

Mac half stepped out, looking around the yard, not finding any sign that there was even anyone there before he bent down to pick up the package.

“Bozer, is that you?” he said aloud, looking around, almost waiting for Bozer or someone to come jumping out of the bushes yelling surprise.

But there was only silence.

His hand automatically reached for his phone in his pocket but found the pocket empty, so he grabbed the small package and turned to enter, closing the door behind him before making his way towards the stairs leading to the veranda.

It was the sound of the hammer of a pistol clicking that stopped him dead in his tracks. He felt his heart drop to his stomach and he mentally kicked himself for being so stupid.

“Murdoc,” he said through gritted teeth; turning to look towards the darkened living room and the Christmas tree that stood unassumingly in the corner.

A shadow moved in the dark.

“Very good, MacGyver,” came the almost purring drawl. “Too bad you weren’t as vigilant when I slipped into your house nearly fifteen minutes ago. You’d think after my last visit, you might have set up slightly better security measures. But hey, what would I know,” he said, slithering into the brightness; the light from the tree framing him like an unbefitting colourful halo.

“What are you doing here, Murdoc?” asked Mac, straightening his back and levelling Murdoc with a glare.

“I just came to extend my most heartfelt seasonal greeting to my favourite boy wonder,” he said with a grin. “I was going to pay one of your team a visit instead but I thought – hey, I haven’t seen MacGyver in a while and to be completely honest, I’ve missed our back and forth banter. Do you know how hard it is to find a conversational partner that’s smart, interesting and easy on the eyes?”

Mac’s mind was already moving a mile a minute, glancing around the room at anything he could use to disarm Murdoc; his house was filled with it, the only problem was trying to make a move before Murdoc could even –

The pain was sudden, unexpected and almost mind numbing.

He found himself propelled back into the wall and for a moment he couldn’t move or think and for a split second he felt absolutely nothing.

The pain came gradually like a leaking dam. First it started in his abdomen, spreading out across his chest and torso and almost causing him to see white as his brain tried to process the level of agony his body was feeling. His legs couldn’t support his weight and he found himself sliding down the length of the wall, slumping heavily onto the hardwood floor.

His hand subconsciously went to his stomach and even in the darkness of the room he could see the gleaming red liquid trickling through his fingers and down his arm when he lifted his hand up in front of his face.

Murdoc just shot him.

Murdoc tsk-ed disapprovingly when he moved closer, stopping about a meter away and lowering himself down to a crouch in front of Mac. Mac couldn’t concentrate on the eyes that were gazing creepily at him; he couldn’t even concentrate enough to reach for the glass bottle beside him or the brass pail full of pennies that Jack for some reason thought was an appropriate choice for decoration. He couldn’t even think of protecting himself or taking out Murdoc even though the man was within reach. He could only concentrate on trying to breathe in and out and not allow the stars that were already flooding his vision to get the better of him and lose consciousness. Murdoc had taken him once, and he was never going to let that happen again.

He just needed to stall… he needed to make time for Jack to get there… for Matty and Cage… they would catch Murdoc. They’d get him and arrest him and… they would come…

Everything was dipping in and out of focus around him, he couldn’t he focus on the image of Murdoc’s face in front of him or the peculiar look he was wearing.

He looked down and could only focus on the blood that was slowly pooling around him, like he was sitting in a puddle that was getting progressively bigger. The whole left side of his shirt and pants was saturated in blood and the blood kept leaking through his fingers no matter how much pressure he applied on the wound.

“W-Why?” he rasped out, feeling the word being ripped from his throat like a gasp.

“Do I need a reason?” asked Murdoc. “I am a killer after all. To be honest, I didn’t want to do it this way; I’m far too fond of you to let you go out in such an… underwhelming manner – but I’m also about entertainment, you see. I didn’t hit any major organs, so really the only real risk here is blood loss and I see you’re already losing a whole lot,” he said. He’d moved in close and was crouched barely a foot away, his gloved hand reaching over to touch the blood that was slowly trickling down to the floor; fiddling with it between his fingers.

Mac’s breath was coming out ragged, he could feel his eyelids drooping through he kept his eyes trained on Murdoc. He could feel a cough bubbling inside his chest, the sudden jolt was agonizing on his body, but the worst was the copper tang he suddenly tasted on his tongue. His brain could still process what was happening but he just couldn’t concentrate. He was so focused on trying to keep conscious and trying to keep breathing he could scarcely do more than that.

“Oh dear,” said Murdoc, the tone of his voice almost disappointed when he noticed the tinge of blood on Mac’s lips. “Seems like the bullet ricocheted and must have nicked your lung,” he said with a sigh, “Looks like my skills have gotten rusty. Damn. I honestly wanted to play around more, MacGyver. Think of this as my Christmas present to you – a test. You seem more than capable of getting yourself out of any kind of distress, consider this the ultimate one. If you manage to survive this then you have my utmost respect.”

He reached over with his blood soaked glove, cupping the side of Mac’s face in his palm. Mac could only muster up a weak glare, unable to even slap his hand away. His could feel the rattling inside his chest and the blood that was backing up his windpipe and he knew it was bad.

As quickly as the touch came, it was gone; Mac could feel his own warm blood staining his cheek and jaw and all of a sudden Murdoc was on his feet.

“Well, MacGyver, it’s been fun. I left a gift specially for you under the tree for when… you know – until then all  have to say is ‘may the odds be ever in your favour’,” he said. Mac couldn’t even muster up the energy to keep his eyes on Murdoc as he walked away, only the sound of his whistling signaling his departure as his got further and further away until he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and then there was only silence.

He tried to move but only managed to jolt the wound in his side causing him to hiss in pain. He couldn’t push himself up or move even a fraction, but he needed to get to his phone, he needed to call Jack… he needed… he needed…

He felt himself slipping sideways down the wall now slick with his blood, crashing painfully to the floor on his injured side. He didn’t have the energy to push himself up or call for help or to even keep his eyes open. The only thing he could do was lie there and hope that Jack would come and save him, as he’d done over and over again; as he would continue to do until the day he died.

He was assured of that.

His last conscious thought was seeing his mother’s beautiful face crouching down in front of him, her presence framed by the light behind her almost like a halo. In his last moment, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he found himself muttering the unfamiliar word, “Mom.”

He forgot how much he missed seeing her face.

And then there was nothing.

“I’m telling you Riles, my Spidey-senses are tingling. And they’ve not yet lead me astray,” said Jack as he pulled his car into the familiar driveway.

“You mean your MacSpidey-senses? I swear Jack, you helicopter parent Mac even worse than you do me,” said Riley with a chuckle. “He’s a big boy.”

“He’s a big boy with a big brain and a small sense of self-preservation, miniscule, there’s the difference,” said Jack as he put his car in park and stepped out before he could even finish the sentence. “I called him and he didn’t pick up and I don’t like it one bit.”

“You need to relax Jack, it’s no point giving yourself a heart attack on Christmas getting all riled up over Mac probably being in the bathroom or getting preoccupied growing his own chemical Christmas tree or something Mac-ish like that.”

Jack didn’t wait for Riley to catch up. He was half way across the lawn, not even heeding Riley’s question about the presents in the backseat.

The house was dark when he approached, which didn’t help his apprehension one bit. He fumbled with the keys in his hand, singling out the familiar key for Mac’s house and stepped up to the stoop and almost immediately a dark, foreboding feeling came over him. He immediately signaled for Riley to stop in her tracks, which bless her, she did without question. It must have been something on his face or in his demeanor that spooked her.

Jack immediately reached for his gun, sliding the key into the lock at the same time. When the clicking sound of the mechanism unlocking reached his ear, he turned to Riley who was staring apprehensively at his back. “Call Matty and Cage and tell them to get their asses down here. Something doesn’t feel right,” he said and watched as Riley immediately rummaged for her phone.

He didn’t stick around to wait for her to make the call; he pushed the front door open and carefully stepped in.

The whole lower level was dark, only the light from the Christmas tree and the oven still heating up Bozer’s Crapmas pastrami – that crap was absolutely not natural – allowed Jack that bit of visibility.

“Mac?” he called out cautiously, looking around the room and peering around the bend before he entered. His hand reached for the light switch but it wasn’t working. The main must have shorted out, or in a much worse case scenario: someone messed with it. “Mac, you’re really stressin’ me out now, buddy,” he yelled out. “Okay, I believe in Santa Clause, ya’ happy now?” he added. “Mac, come on man.”

There were dark tracks on the floor that he could see even through the darkness and a scent in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn’t like it. He did not like it one tiny bit.

He had only maybe thirty percent visibility when he entered the hall leading towards the veranda and no real depth perception so when he kicked something that had been lying haphazardly on the floor he almost went stumbling to the ground.

He could only see a dark shadow when he turned to look at what he’d tripped on but somehow in his gut he just knew.

There were protocols for this type of situation: clear the perimeter, make sure the threat has been neutralized or really gone and wait for back up. But for Jack, when it came to Mac, protocols would always go flying out the window.

“Mac!” he yelled, rushing over, dropping to his knees; his momentum causing him to skid the last few inches. He could feel the wetness soaking into the knees of his pants the moment he crouched down beside the still figure. “Riley!” he yelled out immediately after. “Check the mains! I need light!”

He didn’t know whether she heard him, but not a minute later there was a loud click and brightness suddenly burst into the room.

Jack was blinded for half a second but when the whiteness cleared from his eyes, he almost wished he were blind, because in front of him was a sight he never ever wanted to see and a sight he knew he would never be able to forget.

Mac was lying in a pool of blood. His blood. He was unconscious on his side, blood spread around him like a sinister tapestry. His shirt and pants were soaked and it was still trickling down his side, rippling in the pooling liquid beneath him.

“Oh my god, Mac,” he yelled. His hands hovering over the still figure for a solid second because all of a sudden he didn’t know what to do. “Riley, call an ambulance! Riley!” he yelled. A part of him realized that calling Riley probably wasn’t the best course of action because hearing the desperation in his voice she surely was –

“Oh god!” came the voice as Riley appeared in sight, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Call an ambulance – call… call Matty – call someone!” said Jack, stuttering and lost, like he didn’t even know what to do in that moment. All his skill and experience had suddenly gone flying out the window along with the protocols because this was Mac and he had Mac’s blood all over his hands and staining his clothes and it was not a situation he ever wanted to find himself in.

Bless Riley, he thought in that moment. She rushed over, one hand fumbling with her phone calling… someone, Jack didn’t know who, and her other hand quickly reaching for the wound on Mac’s side, pushing up the material of his shirt and allowing them to see the extent of his injury.

“Jack! You need to put pressure on this!” she yelled. The sound of her voice and the desperation in it immediately shook Jack free of his dark thoughts. “Jack?”

Immediately the wall came down and he didn’t just focus on the most important person in his life lying there bleeding to death; he had to do something, he needed to stop the bleeding, stop the life from continuing to pour out of him without mercy.

“Jack!”

That was the last push he needed; he leapt to his knees and ran to the kitchen to grab the hand towels, bringing all he could find back and bundling them up against the wound (a bullet wound, most likely made by a 9mm, Glock if he had to care a guess, he made a mental note to himself) pressing down as hard as he could. Mac gasped the moment he did but didn’t wake up.

“How are we on the ambulance?” asked Jack.

“They’re two minutes out,” said Riley. She’d moved to Jack’s other side, reaching to find a pulse on the side of Mac’s neck. “He’s got a pulse, it’s weak, but it’s there.”

Jack exhaled loudly; he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Matty? Cage?”

Right on cue they heard the sound of cars pulling up into the driveway, the sound of rushing footsteps before a panting Cage appeared in sight.

“What happened?” she asked, dropping to her knees and reaching to grab Mac’s hand.

“I don’t know. I had a bad feeling when he didn’t answer his phone and I came back to find the whole house completely dark,” said Jack. His eyes moving from Cage to a flabbergasted Matty who suddenly appeared behind her and a handful of armed men shuffling by, disappearing deeper into the house.

“Do you know who did this?” she asked.

Jack cursed under his breath. “Do we even need to spare a guess?” he asked through gritted teeth.

The sound of Mac’s wet, painful cough immediately halted all conversation.

“Mac?” said Jack, turning to look at Mac as his eyes cracked open a fraction.

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.

“Mac, do you know who did this?” asked Cage immediately, reaching over to place her hand on the side of his face, feeling the dried tracks of blood on his cheek under her finger tips.

Mac didn’t answer. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and his eyelids kept drooping.

“Hey, Mac, you stay with us, okay?” said Jack, forcing a smile onto his face. “Mac, you’re gonna be okay, man, ya’ hear? Who else in this world can succeed in getting arrested for domestics terrorism and get shot all on the same day? Just you, man,” he said.

A small smile tugged as Mac’s lips before it dropped and his eyes slipped close again.

“Mac? Mac, come one, stay with me,” pleaded Jack. “Where the hell is that ambulance!”

“Our medics are thirty-seconds out,” said Matty, returning to the room, her phone still plastered to her ear.

“We don’t have thirty-second, Matty!” yelled Jack. He could already feel the dampness pooling in his eyes when he looked at his boss but he couldn’t stop them from coming.

“It’s going to be okay Jack,” said Cage, reaching up to grasp him on the shoulder.

It wasn’t comfort that Jack needed though, it was help for Mac. Jack was going to go out and kill the person who did this, no two ways about it. But right then he couldn’t think of anything else besides keeping Mac alive and making sure he got the help he needed. That was the only thing that mattered. Mac was the only one who mattered.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mac,” said Jack, and he wasn’t sure if it was more reassurance for Mac or for himself.

The med team couldn’t have arrived sooner though Jack was hesitant to completely relinquish his hold on Mac. He stood hovering close as the Phoenix’s medical personnel worked diligently on Mac, trying to get his blood pressure stabilized and stop the bleeding. The bullet had ricochet when it hit and punctured his lung and Jack had to force himself not to turn away when the team was forced to intubate. It was the worst moment of his life from when he found Mac bloodied and unconscious on the floor, to the agonizing wait for the medical team and watching them working on Mac, keeping him alive by any means necessary and knowing that there was not a damn thing he was able to do to help them or to help Mac.

He’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Watching him so hurt and so absent; not at all like the lively, amazing young man he’d come to know and love was agonizing. He’d never seen Mac so injured; he never wanted to, and in that moment he couldn’t stop thinking that if he had been there, if he hadn’t left Mac alone after what he’d been through, if he hadn’t been so useless, then maybe Mac wouldn’t have gotten hurt. He’d take a bullet for the kid any day of the week forever. That was how much Mac meant to him.

The ride to one of the subsidiary hospitals that was part of the Phoenix foundation felt way to long. Jack was insistent on riding along with Mac and the medical team with Cage and Matty following in Cage’s car. Riley opted to stay behind to wait for Bozer to let him know what had happened.

Jack didn’t let go of Mac’s hand for even a second from the moment they got into the back of the ambulance. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mac’s too pale skin and the dried blood that shaped what looked like a handprint on the side of his face. Mac had always been a few shades too pale, but at that point his skin was almost translucent, the redness of the blood and the blue veins standing out almost in stark contrast to the rest of him. His chest rose and fell with every squeeze of the blue rubber ambu-bag by the med-guy but Jack tried not to focus on that. He forced himself to focus only on the positive things; Mac was young, and strong and he wouldn’t let a little bullet bring him down. He definitely wouldn’t leave Jack behind like that.

Jack told him, he wouldn’t be able to live with Mac’s death on his conscience. Mac knew that and he wouldn’t do that do Jack. He just wouldn’t.

Jack had to find comfort in that at least because Mac’s skin was too cold to the touch and his face was too pale and at that point he looked more dead than alive and it terrified the shit out of Jack.

“Hang in there,” he said. “You hang in there – I can’t lose you, not you too, Mac – I just can’t… so… please. Hang on.”

TBC

Next chapter →

I honestly couldn’t think of a plausible reason for Murdoc to shoot Mac without warning like that besides the fact that he’s a psycho. So there - that’s the reason *hides under a hill*

[5hfanfiction]

Thieves (Prologue)

(Trigger warning: gun violence and death)

The dark-haired girl was about to light up a cigarette when she saw her boyfriend, Tyrone, walk down the street. She could only make out his silhouette through the heavy rain that fell down from the sky and collided loudly with the ground but the closer he got the more it got obvious that he was in hurry. She let the cigarette and lighter disappear in the pockets of her leather jacket and approached him halfway, putting on her hood so that her hair wouldn’t get too wet now that she had to leave the little roof she stood under.

“Hey, baby,” The man greeted her. His hands were hidden in the deeps of his pockets and his face was barely visible, “We’ve got a problem,” He announced straight up and Lauren crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue without bothering to interrupt him. “Steph called and I have to help him,” He explained and Lauren couldn’t hold back an eye roll.

“Of course,” She mumbled. “And what’s up with the deal now?” She wanted to know. They had been planning this deal for months now and Lauren knew the man they made the deal with wouldn’t waste more of his time to get this over with another time. But neither Lauren nor Tyrone could afford to give up on this deal, therefore they depend too much on the commodity and Lauren hoped that her boyfriend knew how important it was that he chose Lauren over his brother this time.

Tyrone took a deep breath and had an apocalyptical look on his face, so that Lauren already knew what he would say next. She shook her head and refused his idea but he spoke before she could say anything. “I’m sorry, baby. But you have to do this alone, it’s too late for a backtrack,” His voice was stern and Lauren knew that she couldn’t do anything against his plan now. He took off the bag he wore over his shoulder and handed it to his girlfriend. “There’s enough money and a gun, for the case that there’ll be a problem,” He told her.

Lauren knew he didn’t fully trust the guy he made the deal with and usually, he wouldn’t let her go by herself but Lauren also knew that he would do everything for his brother and he always had priority, something that annoyed her more than once in the past and caused many fights between the couple but it never changed.

“Okay,” Was the only thing the latina said before she ripped the bag out of Tyrone’s grip and put it over her shoulders, turning around only moments later, ready to leave when Tyrone grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

“Why do I not get a kiss?” He asked.

“Fuck you, Ty!” She whispered and lifted up her middle finger before she walked away, hearing his dirty laugh through the rain. She didn’t turn back around but she didn’t have to either because she knew he was already walking in the opposite direction, not caring how Lauren felt in the situation he put her in. Their relationship had always been difficult since they met and a part of Lauren believed that this would never change and she deserved something better, but another part told her that this was all she was worth and there wouldn’t be someone else for her, at least not someone better than Tyrone. Living on the street for so long left its marks, in her looks as well as in her behavior, so at some point, she started to think that she wasn’t worth more than what she already got and the more she thought about it in the past the more it sounded plausible.

She went to the mutually agreed point but there was no one to be seen yet, so she looked out for another shelter where she could take out her cigarette again. She just needed this now, to relieve some stress that was gathering inside her mind and taking over the control. This time nothing kept her away from lighting up the venomous substance and she took a first long drag, inhaling it like it was a saver of life and not something that could ruin it over the pass of time. Lauren had always despised the taste of cigarettes and it never changed, not even after years of smoking. It just became an addiction to the latina, just like so many other things since her youth.

She wasn’t done when she let the rest of the cigaret fall on the ground and stepped on it with her heavy boots, while she breathed out the last smoke that was left in her lungs, letting it die in the rain. She took off the bag again so that she could take out the gun and check whether Tyrone really put enough money in it or just wanted Lauren to believe that he wouldn’t put her in a dangerous situation but he didn’t lie to her about this.

The girl had to wait for another 5 minutes before a black range rover drove on the secluded property far away from the bright lights of New York City and the deal could finally start. She hid the loaded gun in her pants and walked towards the car, no one had left yet. She came to stop in front of it with crossed arms and waited for someone to finally get out.

“Lauren,” She recognized the voice and seconds later the man it belonged to stepped out of the car, just as the rain slowly stopped. He fixed his expensive tuxedo before he went through his gelled hair and looked up at Lauren. “What a pleasant surprise to see you’re alone,” Hector said with a hungry look on his face which cloyed the young woman. It wasn’t the first time the two of them met so Lauren was everything but surprised by his inappropriate comment. “But…” He added when he walked towards Lauren, making her feel more uncomfortable with every step he came closer. “You’re not the person I made a deal with. Where is he?” His voice changed and Lauren knew he wasn’t in the mood for any games. By now, he was so close that Lauren could smell his strong scent and she would love to take a step backwards but she wasn’t in the position to reject his proximity. She carefully unfolded her arms and silently threw the bag in front of his feet. “Nuh uh,” He shook his head and kicked the money back at Lauren, without even having a closer look at it. “I asked where he is and not where my money is.”

“He’s obviously not here,” She replied provocatively, trying to gain some confidence. Tyrone trusted her that she wouldn’t ruin this, so she had to act like the man, standing two feet away from him didn’t make her feel uncomfortable and intimidated. In fact, Hector wasn’t who intimidated her because she knew, he was just a privileged idiot with too much money and the right connections, what indeed intimidated her was that she knew what she would lose if this went wrong and once she lost it she wouldn’t get another resource soon enough. “But I’m here and a deal is a deal,” She demanded, kicking the money once again back at Hector’s feet.

“You know I don’t make deals with little girls,” He laid his head to the side and looked at Lauren with a naughty look and this time it was his turn to cross his arms. “Either he comes here in less than 10 minutes or you have to find someone else,” He threatened, turning back around so that he could go back in the car but before he could do so Lauren took out the gun and pointed at him.

“I wouldn’t get in the car if I was you,” She said with a dominant voice that made the man stop immediately. She knew this couldn’t end well for her and sooner or later she would have to pay a high price for the moment she decided to pull out the gun, but now it was the only option because she knew she couldn’t rely on Tyrone now and proceed on the assumption that this situation was what he meant when he said the gun is for the case that there would something go wrong.

“Do you want me to be scared now?” He laughed after he turned around again and saw the weapon in Lauren’s hand, visibly amused by the fact that the latina thought pointing a gun at him would help her. “Look at you, when we first met you weren’t so fragile as you are now,” He said with a look of sympathy in his eyes, daring to come closer to Lauren again. “Your green eyes could kill and now? Now they are so lifeless, you killed yourself inside and it’s painfully obvious, little one. Why are you putting yourself in such a situation? Do you even know how to use a gun because-” Before he could finish his sentence Lauren pointed the gun inches before his feet and shot the ground.

She pulled the trigger without thinking about it but seeing the look on Hector’s face made it worth it. There was clear surprise written all of it but also fear, it wasn’t too obvious but Lauren could see it in his blue eyes, the way they darkened a little and his pupils dilated, staring at Lauren’s, that tightly held on to the gun. Both watched as a slight smoke rose and disappeared into the dark night. “I know how to use a gun,” She informed him with a smug smile, loosening her gaze from the gun and looking up at Hector again, just as he gulped with the fear still visible in his eyes. “And now give me the commodity,” She forced him and seemed to work because he went to the back of the car and took out a bag with what Lauren assumed the drugs were in.

He threw the bag in her direction and she caught it with ease, yet she didn’t forget to keep pointing the gun at Hector. She opened it with the other hand to check whether everything was in it and looked back at Hector who was now standing in front of her again. “You got embarrassed by a woman you tried to drag down for her gender, how pathetic,” She whispered the last part and enjoyed seeing the anger in his face.

“Oh baby, you really think I’d let you do me like this?” He asked rhetorically while his face got red with anger. “I just wanted you to see what you love the most before I’m gonna end the sad thing you call your life. Or did you really think I’d come here without my own gun?” He hissed and after these words left his mouth his driver stepped out of the car.

Lauren had met Hector’s people more than once and until today she was sure that she had seen all their faces but this one didn’t seem to fit in. Out of the car stepped a tall dark-skinned man with a similar tuxedo to Hector’s. When Lauren met his dark eyes they were piercing through her like a knife and something about this seemed awfully familiar yet she was sure that this was the first time she saw him with Hector. There was a scar under the man’s left eye she could definitely recognize, it was the kind of scar you couldn’t forget because it seemed so nasty that it poisoned every beauty left in someone’s face. But before Lauren could remember where she knew this face from the man pointed his gun and pulled the trigger not changing his facial expression for a millisecond.

But it wasn’t Lauren’s body that was met with a bullet, it was Hector’s. Lauren’s eyes widen when she looked at Hector, seeing his eyes filling with tears, scared of the death that would get him now. He knew it, she could see in his eyes that he knew he was taking his last breaths. She could see how he felt so much at once and she wished she didn’t.

His body slowly lost its balance and Lauren let the gun she held slide to the ground and quickly took a few steps towards to catch his body which soon lost all its life. “No, no, no,” Lauren kept saying to herself with panic in her voice. She tried to find Hector’s pulse but she wasn’t able to make it out and tears were welling up in her own eyes now. She tried to find any sign that there was still a chance to save him but she had to acknowledge that he was dead. She closed his cold eyes, not being able to bear the death stare in them and let his body drop to the ground. She held her hands up in front of her so that she could see the blood on them and letting the moment sink in before she looked up at the man, waiting for him to make Lauren his next victim.

But he just stood there, his eyes switching between Lauren and the dead body. Lauren couldn’t find the slightest sign of remorse in these eyes and she asked herself how someone could be so cold. Suddenly everything seemed so surreal and she could grasp what just happened. She witnessed how a life ended without warning and now she was sure that the bullet meant for her own body would come soon. She wanted to run but when she looked down to figure out why she couldn’t get up she saw that she had Hector’s blood all over her and she had to hold back a few breathes so that she wouldn’t vomit. Everything started twisting and her ears started to sense police sirens in the distance but her brain didn’t get the information, so she just stayed kneeling there like rooted to the spot.

“You’re welcome,” She heard the perpetrator of this action say. Not just his eyes were cold but so was his voice. She watched as he quietly put away his gun before letting his neck crack and took a step backwards so that he could get in the car again and drove off, leaving Lauren alone with the corpse.

Only a few minutes later the sirens got louder, so loud that Lauren couldn’t overhear the noise anymore and so loud that she knew it was too late to run. “Hands up!” A police officer yelled when they were there and Lauren did what he told her to. It wasn’t until she felt the cold metal from the handcuffs that she knew she lost her freedom. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court. If you decide to answer questions, you have the right to stop at any time.” The officer continued and Lauren didn’t say a word, hoping that this was only just a dream.

// Aye I’m excited to share this with you guys and more is coming soon (:

Wattpad: @Wuskripa

[gcrminatorarchive]

MEET THE MUSE.

► Name ➔ “Jones. Osmosis Jones.” ► Are you single ➔ “Nah. I’m taken by one fine cell lady.” ► Are you happy ➔  “Fer th’most part, yeah.” ► Are you angry? ➔ “Not right now.” ► Are your parents still married ➔ [Shuffles uncomfortably at this question, hands in his jacket pockets.] “Well...They were. ‘Till they got sucked up by a freakin’ needle when I was a kid...Don’t know if they’re even alive.”

NINE FACTS

► ‘Birth’ Place ➔ “Th’City of Frank.” (Frank DeTorre’s body.) ► Hair Color ➔ Blue/Opaque. ► Eye Color ➔ Brown. ► Birthday ➔  November 26th. ► Mood ➔ Rebellious, Fun-Loving, Humorous, Playfully Narcissistic, Kind, Adventurous, sometimes Short-Tempered. He’s currently pretty chill at the moment. ► Gender ➔ “Uh, male?” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Sweet Summertime, baby.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ "Eh, a lil’ bit’a both; I get up pretty early for my shifts at th’precinct, but M’usually more awake in the afternoon.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Yup! Deep in it, baby.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ [ He shrugs.] "Well, I knew Leah fer awhile before we started datin’ but I guess? I fell for her pretty hard, and even harder after I got ta know her. It prob’ly depends, I dunno...” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ "Didn’t really date anyone else ‘fore I met Leah; But there was this one girl I used ta hang wit’ in high school. We both ended it ‘cuz’a graduation. She was goin’ ta work in th’brain while I went ta start trainin’ at th’Immunity Academy.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ "Once ‘er twice, yeah.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “M’a cop. My whole life is a commitment, man; Ta th’body, ta my job, ta Leah...Sure, sometimes I do get a lil’ freaked by all’a it, but I just keep doin’ what I do ‘cuz it’s right.” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ "Yeah, I hugged Brandy--I mean Leah! She was pretty happy ‘cuz th’new mayor appointed ‘er to help him make decisions when Frank needs ta help Shane with somethin’. That’s pretty cool.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ "Sure did! Tons’a them! And why not? M’ a legend! The chicks line up ta divide wit’ me!” [He’s totally fibbing, but once or twice a few girls tried to flirt with him after he saved Frank, which of course he turned down because of his relationship with Leah.]

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ [A raise of the brow.] “I guess? Not really sure where yer gettin’ at here...”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ "Love, but hey; y’can’t have love without gettin’ a lil’ hot fer each other, right?” Grins. ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ Lemonade. Though he mostly prefers insulin, soda, etc. ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Ehh, M’not that much of an animal person, but...Dogs, I guess? Dander and I get along pretty okay. When we’re not driving each other crazy.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ A few best friends. ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ "Both! I’m down fer either one.” ► Day or night ➔ Night.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ "Nah, no way!” [ Yes.]  ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Psh, no! I ain’t no klutz.” [Once, but it was because he had tripped over one of Dander’s chew toys. And he is very clumsy.]

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “’Course I wanted Leah, but I also wanted ta get people to start thinkin’ about what’s goin’ on inside th’body; I didn’t think I was ever gonna get my point across, so I figured it was all up ta me ta make a difference ‘round here.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “…Yeah.” [When he had lost that gingivitis germ, and tried to sneak by his co-workers at the start of the film. He pretty much wanted to vanish completely into his jacket.]

FIVE PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ Both. ► Fat or skinny ➔ “Slender 'er curvy, but I don’t really care about weight; Long as they’d like me.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ Shorter. ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “I’d say Attraction, but a girl who’s got both? Dat’s pretty hot.”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ Both.

► Do you and your family get along  ➔ "I got along th’most wit’ my Pops, and I loved my Mom, too. Used ta tease and hang out with my lil’ sisters an’ brothers too, when I had ‘em.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ "I’d say so, considerin’ I spend every day riskin’ my life tryin’ to protect th’body from ugly-ass bacteria. And oh yeah; I lost my family. But hey, it ain’t all bad. I got good friends who got my back.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ "Where would I go? I set one foot outta Hector, I’d coagulate and turn inta one seriously dry scab. And I could never abandon th’body I live in, either. That just ain’t right.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ "I got fired and kicked outta th’FPD durin’ th’case about Thrax. All fer poppin’ a zit. But I got reinstated after I saved Frank’s butt from bein’ fried.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ "Sometimes Drix can annoy me from time ta time, but I’d never hate on him! He’s my partner.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ "Yeah. When I actually find some who don’t put me down ‘er try ta kill me.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ "Drix.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ "Probably Drix, or Leah. They’re th’only ones who seem ta get me, really. Maria, too.”

[fhujami]

My other half | Chapter 10 [Sam Drake x Reader]

Pairing: Reader x Original male character, Samuel Drake x Reader

Words: 2461

A/N: Cursive words between ‘these’ are your thoughts.

Tags: @jodiereedus22  @random-aya @dragonjedihobbit @missdictatorme

My other half Chapter 1 - 9 - Chapter 10 -  Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - 29 - Chapter 30 - 

Chapter 10

Your ears were ringing and you saw only blur for a moment when you laid on the floor, trying to gather yourself. You heard loud steps coming towards you. You hoped it will be Sam or Nate, but you still took your gun and pointed to the blurry silhouette you saw above you.

But you heard four different gun’s getting loaded. You realized it wasn’t Nate and Sam, so you sighed while lowering your gun, placing it next to you to the ground and raised your hand to keep them showing. Not a second when someone grabbed your armpit and lifted your up to your feet.

You shook your head and tried to focus to the person standing front of you. Soon you started to see more cleared and you recognized the person.

“Well, this was a pleasant surprise. Women’s beauty with the two rats.” Rafe said while looking you up and down.

“And does the beauty have a name?” He asked, while lifting a brow. You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be useful with or without name.” Rafe nodded his head to the three militaries and you were walking forward. You heard fighting voice’s further.

When the noises stopped, Rafe told the military who were holding you, wait until he gives him a signal. Trying to get off from the man’s grip was no use, because he was holding your hands behind your back with his hand, and the other hand was on your throat, squeezing you a little, not hard enough so you couldn’t breath, but hard enough to hurt you, and keep you still.

You heard Rafe calling the man, and you were walking again. Soon you were on the edge of the cliff, seeing Nate and Sam, who was holding a woman and pointing a gun at her head. When they saw you, Nate left a worried sigh from his lips.

“So, Samuel. Wanna make an exchange?”

You looked at Sam, and shook your head a little, but the man tightened his grip on your throat. You knew that if Sam let the woman go, Rafe won’t probably do the same with you if he was smart enough. You were sure Rafe was bluffing, he probably knew that you will be useful, he could use you as an advantage later.

When you saw how Sam’s tightened his grip on the gun, you felt something cold on your temple.

Your eyes widened and your heart started to race on your chest. You saw in Sam’s and Nate’s eyes the horror when they were looking how Rafe was pointing his gun against your temple.

“So, Samuel. What do you say?” Rafe asked again while loaded his gun, and soon Sam let the woman go. Rafe lowered his gun from your head and you closed your eyes and left a relief sigh. But as you were predicting, Shoreline military didn’t let you go.

Rafe walked to Sam, and punched him on the nose with his gun. You shivered when you saw Sam falling to the ground. When Rafe kicked him on the head, you tried to get off from the man’s grip but he squeezed your throat and this time so hard that you couldn’t breathe.

Rafe heard your gasping, turned to look at you, and told the man to ease his grip from you. When he did that you gasped your breath, and immediately hit your elbow to his stomach, and your boot to his knee.

He groaned from the pain and you got yourself free from his grip, and you runned to Sam, who was laying on the ground. Other two militaries pointed their guns at you, but Rafe raised his hand to give them a sign to not to shoot you. He was impressed that you manage to get yourself free.

“God, are you okay?” you asked from Sam when you kneeled next to him, but all you got back from him, was a painful groan. You looked up to Nate who was talking with Rafe.

You helped Sam to get up, and noticed that his nose was bleeding. He took a hold on your shoulder to balance himself, while trying his nose. You started to focus of what Nate was conducting with Rafe, while helping to keep Sam on his feets.

“What the hell are you talking about Nate? Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Your eyes widened, and your head snapped to Sam, while you let go of his arm and stepped further. You knew he was hiding something, but you never expected something like this. You turned to look at Nate who looked at his brother with shock.

“Ooohhhh. Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied, you lied to your baby brother?” Rafe said while stepping closer, until his eyes were on you, learning you, trying to figure what kind of part you had in all of this.

You listened Rafe telling how he got Sam out - two years ago. You couldn’t believe it. Why on earth he lied to Nate?

You placed your hands to the back of your head, pushing your chin to your chest, while you tried to process the information what you had just heard. ‘So all of this was for nothing?’ Nate had lied to Elena, you had lied to Jason, for nothing?

“I left my live for you!” you heard Nate yelling and you snapped your head to him, seeing him push Sam away, and you immediately run to hug Nate, to calm him down.

“Jesus Christ he lied to me.” Nate whispered to your ear when you hugged him.

“We can focus it later, we need to get out of this situation.” You whispered him back, before withdrew from the hug and turned to Rafe, only to see him pointing his gun to Sam.

“You’ll need us to get the treasure.” You said to Rafe. “You’ll never gonna find it without us.”

You three stared at Rafe, waiting him to do his decision.

“You said it to yourself, you end up in dead ends. Face it, you’ll need us.” Nate opened his mouth behind you, he had his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently.

You followed Rafe’s expressions. He clearly hesitated, because he knew you were right. But he didn’t want to admit it. His grip for his gun tightened but then he lowed it with a sigh.

“Well, you’re right.” You left a relief sigh from your lips. At least you won’t die now.

But Rafe turned his eyes to you and Nate and continued: “Mostly right.”

Then he raised his gun at you and Nate. Your eyes widened and you felt Nate’s fingers burying into your shoulder.

“I just need Sam.”

You froze, you closed your eyes and waited for the bullet to hit you when you heard him pulling the trigger, but you were pushed away by Sam.

You turned and opened your eyes and saw how that bullet what was meant for you grazed Sam’s arm, and how Nate disappeared down the cliff.

You screamed from the bottom of your heart for Nate and run to the edge, trying to reach his arm, but it was too late and you saw how Nate ended to the water. You waited, waited him to get surface. You saw how the water bubbled until there was nothing. No sign of Nate coming surface. You hoped he was alright, but deep down your heart you were afraid that he was gone.

You stood up, wiped your tears and you heard gun loaded again and when you turned, you saw Sam standing between you and Rafe.

“I’ll help you find the treasure, but don’t hurt her.” Sam said. Your blood was boiling, you were so mad at Sam. This was all his fault.

You heard Rafe chuckle and you peeked behind Sam.

“Fine. If you try anything - I’ll kill your little bitch.” Rafe said, and nodded to the militaries, and two of them started to walk to you. ‘Your little bitch? I’ll show you who’s the bitch here.’ Before those militaries reached you two, you took a grip on Sam’s arm, made him to face you and landed your fist to his jaw, making him to stumble couple steps back

Soon your hand’s were behind your back, when the militaries got you to their grip. You looked at Sam, who was holding his jaw, staring at you with shock. Your whole body was burning, you stared him back with cold eyes.

“If Nate is dead, I’ll never forgive you.”

You heard clapping, and Rafe stepped closer: “Whoa his girl had attitude. Tie her up, so she won’t run.”

They tied your arms front of you, and started to lead you forward. You took last glance over your shoulder to the spot where you last time saw Nate. You wanted to believe, that somehow Nate survived from the fall, and was still alive. Because you promised Elena that you’ll bring him back home at one piece.

You didn’t gave even a look at Sam. You were so mad at him. He had lied to Nate, made him come to this island, made him lie to Elena and you. Because of him you were here too, because of him you had lied Jason. Anything you did, was for nothing.

You knew from the very beginning that there was something wrong with Sam. That he was hiding something. And now you realized why everything didn’t match up. Why Sam hadn’t been so much worried about his life being on line, because it never was in line. Why he has been maybe little bit too excitement with this trip. He just wanted to found this treasure with his brother. But why to lie? Why he couldn’t tell the truth from the start? Maybe Nate had still came here. Maybe.

You stopped to the mansion, and one of the militaries patched up Sam’s arm, while one of the militaries pushed you to the room and closed the door. You looked around, of course they had found the only room which has no other way out than the door. One of the walls had collapsed and rocks had been blocked the hole. There was no way out.

Soon the door got open and Sam were pushed inside. You turned your gaze away. ‘Great, now I’m stuck here with him.’ You tried to get off the rope from your wrists, but they were too hard on you. Your skin was already became full of bruises from the pressure.

Silence filled the room you two were standing, only the talk between Rafe, that woman you had heard called Nadine, and the three militaries broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Sam finally said. You didn’t turn your gaze. There was nothing he could say or do to make you forgive him.

“I know I screw up it from the beginning.”

You rolled your eyes, at least he knew he screw up. Yet you knew you needed to co-operate with Sam if you wanted to get out of that damn island alive. So you sighed and turned to Sam.

“So, we lead them to the treasure and hope they let us live? What I really doubt tho.”

“That’s the plan until we found a way to escape.” Sam said and looked the room, trying to see way to escape.

“No use, the only way to get out of here is that door.” You nodded to the door.

Sam left a frustrated sigh from his lips and took a hold of his bleeding arm

“Thanks for saving me, again.” You said quietly. Sam nodded at you.

“You didn’t need to do that. You just had let him shoot me and save your brother.” You said and kicked one of the rocks away from your feet.

“I tried to save you both. And I failed.” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper, but you still heard him. You swallowed.

“I refuse to think he’s dead. I promised Elena I’ll bring him back alive.” You said while kept your gaze on your feet.

“Until that, I’ll keep you safe.” He said and you frowned.

“Why? Why do you care what happens to me?” you questioned and raised your gaze.

“Isn’t that obvious? I care about you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah right.”

“No, really. For these days we had spent here, you have crawled yourself to my heart. I don’t know how, but I’ll know you’re the most amazing women I have ever met.”

You chuckled. “You had been jail for thirteen years, I’ll bet any women is amazing after spending time behind bars.”

You noticed the way Sam looked at you, while he stepped closer to you and you froze.

“No, really. You are like me. Adventurer. You need to travel and experience the world.”

Your heart started to race in your chest. You didn’t know what to say.

“I have seen how you looked around you. How you moved in the woods. You’re like you at home. Like you’re part of nature. Marriage life isn’t for you.”

You were shocked. How he had seen that in you? He was right, you were like home in nature. By coming here with him and Nate, you finally had realized that this truly was what you wanted to do, explore the world and that the marriage wasn’t your thing.

“And I saw how you had looked at me when you thought I didn’t notice.”

The way he was now looking at you, made your feelings twirl like a hurricane inside you. Yes, you two had flirted and there has been some tension between you two, and you had some mysterious lust towards him. But the fact was that you were engaged and Sam knew that - nothing could ever happen between you two.

Sam was now standing front of you, his face only inches away from your face. You swallowed when he put his hand on your neck and leaned closer. You saw how he closed his eyes, how his dry lips had separated a little when he slowly leaned closer.

You could smell the sweat on his skin, you could taste the dirt from his lips. But you pushed him away with your hands and saw the disappointment in his eyes when he opened them. You shook your head and stepped further.

“I’m engaged. I have no interest in you. I looked at you only because I tried to figure out what you were hiding.”

That wasn’t the truth. You did have interest towards Sam. But you wouldn’t cheated Jason. Ever.

[uncuentofriki]

No me olvides (english)

It’s freezing here. Now I hope my boss can let me borrow a laptop OR I can buy one this christmas or if not I will leave this fanfic on hiatus until January.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] 

3- I want to kiss your lips

Hector had just two months on his new job.Actually two months since he got the job after lots of closed doors. It was obvious that no one was going to hire an ex-convict, and let's not talk someone with his precedents.

His landlord, a cranky old man that everyone called Chicharrón or Cheech, heard that on the comunitary center there was a vacant for a new music teacher and they couldn't say no to him. The director owned so much favors to Cheech that he had to accept.

"And now you can finally pay me the rent, Hector... And my van, my minifridge and everything else you lost" and the landlord closed the door on Hector's face when the young man tried to show his gratitude.

Hector had just two months on his new job when one day a chamaco with a red hoodie and a space between his teeth came, begging him to teach him how to play guitar but that he couldn't go to classes every day because his aunt didn't had to know that he was studying music but anyway promised to be the best student ever.

So he accepted the weird conditions of the kid. Only then he knew that there was a contest aimed to kids and teenagers studying music on the comunitary centers of the city to play with Ernesto de la Cruz and La Noche Triste if they became the winners.

It was his oportunity to finally find the man that became more slippery than the water running through your fingers.

Miguel had THE Talent, which made Hector wonder about the personality of that aunt that forbade the music. With the talent of the chamaco, Ernesto could say goodbye to his title of King of the Mexico's rock as soon as Miguel reached a stage. Every parent would kill of a children with that level of talent.

Maybe the chamaco’s aunt was an old and bitter spinster that though that rock music was satanic. One of those old ladies that barely leaves church and has always a rosary on their hands, more interested on the faults of the neighbor than their own. Maybe she even could wear a horrible shawl to cover herself from an inexistent cold that doesn't exist, just to provoke pity.

Hector's life was surrounded by the No. He tried to talk with Ernesto on his luxurious apartment on an exclusive building and the answer was always "He can't see you today". He tried to find a job and always "We will call you". But the NO that hurted him the most was when he tried to talk with those girls he once called his friends.

"I'm sorry, after what happened... she left us totally, Hector. You destroyed her".

That was enough to understand that of course they still talked to her, but she asked them to don't let him find her. And he just couldn't blame her.He must be an idiot to try to search those eyes that once left him sleepless. What was the use to continue that torture?

"Hey, Hector, why don't you have a girlfriend?" Miguel asked him one day. He was starting to learn the easiest songs of rock. "The girls of the theater company are always drooling over you"

"I'm busy, chamaco"

"Umm... aren't you gay?" The teacher laughed. "Why you think that?” "I don't know. My aunt has a partner on her business and every time some girl tries to flirt with her, he gives that excuse, but sometimes another guy comes with him to the house and they kiss each other. My aunt told me that they're a couple." the kid shrugged. "I don't mind if you're or not. You're the best teacher ever" Hector tousled Miguel's hair. "I want to be like you when I grow up, chamaco" "Well, if you can't find a girlfriend, I can arrange a date between you and my aunt" The idea of this kid trying to form a couple between him and a cranky old woman was too bad for him, but he didn't tried to explain anything. "I don't know, you know that I'm too busy with the next recital" "Andale, Hector! You're a good-looking guy, I think she could like you. Or just sing something to her and she will drool over you!" "I guess it will not kill me to try to have some fun. But if it goes wrong, you will pay me, chamaco, you will have to practice that much that you will get blisters on your blisters. And I will go with one condition: You must tell your aunt about the classes. Your aunt will think it's werid that you know an adult and you're trying to get a date for her" Miguel's enthusiasm dropped to zero. "If she doesn't want me to come here anymore?" "I will talk to her" and tried his best smile. "You will see how easy I will convince her.

He was unsure if he could take Imelda out on a date. Even worse, she was always surrounded by her friends and it just intimidated him more. "If you don't tell anything to her, carnal, I will. Your muse is such a beauty, although she's so bronca" Ernesto joked, combing his mustache. "No, the first to see the girl is the one who keeps her" Hector replied, serious. His friend knew that the writter of La Noche Triste was absolutelly smitten. His songs became better since La Coronela came into their lives. "If you continue like that, it will count like I saw her first. C'mon, she can't shoot you with that gunshot, it's just a prop" Hector confided on Ernesto for everything, since he stopped his bullers on elementary school. Ernesto knew what he could do to earn Imelda's heart, he was so good with the girls. Hector had been seeing Imelda so many times before, some of them similar to the first encounter they had. But now they spended the afternoons after she sleeped on his place seeing movies but barely putting any atention to them, more entertained telling each other about their lifes and dreams or singing together. And he could spend his entire life on that little universe but soon or later she had to go back to her house and then he just had a trembling on his bones that he just couldn't cure with anything. It had to be her or no one else. Imelda or die. So he had to tell her. There was a night, on the Narcisa Pistolas Bar, Las Barraganas played before La Noche Triste. The girls of the band were making toasts for them from the bar. They were playing Nube Liquida, their last song, when Hector noticed a man getting close to Imelda. There was no room for doubt that the guy was drunk, judging by the gesture that she made, trying to get away from him. They finished the song and, after leaving his guitar on its case, he went to rescue his damsel in distress. "Hey, Coronela, and you wouldn't want to change your gunshot?" the man was dragging each word, scanning the girl from her neck to her ankles, imagining what was behind all the outfit. "A useful gunshot" Imelda almost kicked him, trying to don't throw up from the disgust that such a behavior gave her when she noticed that Hector was close. If his eyes could kill, the refined gentleman would had prefered a less painful way to die. "I told you no... because my boyfriend is right her" she replied and walked on Hector's direction, who became a statue with those words. "You were incredible, mi amor" And to convince the annoying guy, Imelda kissed Hector. The poor musician was breathless with her so close to him and could barely complete his actuation of boyfriend taking the vocalist for her waist, trying to kiss her for a few seconds more, just in case that was the last kiss he could gave to her. He felt himself burning for that kiss of fire and if his end was to become just embers and ashes, it was totally worth it.The members of both bands looked at each other, surprised at that scene. Only Ernesto seemed to be pleased. "Finally" he mumbled, satisfied. A few minutes later, while he was taking her to his house, Imelda was apologizing for what she did. "Hey, I know that stalkers can annoying and even more if they're drunk. I had to defend another friends before using that same tactic" was his answer. He looked at the moon, trying to hide his happiness for that kiss. La Coronela stayed outside the building even after Hector told her to come inside, as every saturday when she accepted the invitation to stay. Imelda tried to hide on her coat, trying to defend herself from the cold air. "If I have to say the truth... I really wanted to kiss you. I just seized my moment when I saw it" she confessed, without blushing for it. Hector started a new kiss, less combative, because it meant a rendition. His face will get all painted with her white make up and also his hands, his arms, his chest and maybe he will need to wash his bed sheets when she leaved his house the next day but on that night that was almost becoming dawn, nothing else mattered. They woke up late on the afternoon, in the middle of the mess they made on the apartment. Her skirt upon the table, his leather jacket on the floor, make-up on places that weren't painted the night after.And they both happy. Of course, the story about La Coronela's, the most fierce and misterious, and her new boyfriend became the hottest story on the local scene. And Ernesto knew how to make a profit of that.

Notes 1- Bronca: It’s refered to the state of wilderness of a horse. When we use it to refer to a person is that this person is somewhat a non-sense, harsh person. It’s more used on the north of the country. 2- Just in case, I still can remember the name of a bar I saw while walking around the bar zone of Guadalajara (I like to take long walks, what can I say), it was “name of a woman” + Pistolas. 

Oh yeah, and this is the song that inspired the title. 

Paula Zoe

I know that I lied, I know that I failed you. I know that I betrayed you and that I left you Wandering on the dense sea of the lies, giving my back to the infinite.

You can kill me, you can leave me But you will not stop me from loving you. You know you’re my other half, my soul mate Paula, don’t forget me, Paula forever Paula on my soul. I need your eyes, your sweet smile and your body when I wake up. Where are you, where are you? Where are you going?

I know that I lost you when I splited off But you will not stop me from loving you. YOu know you’re my other half, my soul mate Paula don’t forget me, Paula forever Paula on my soul. I need your eyes, your sweet smile and your body when I wake up. Where are you, where are you, where are you going?  Invisible Paula Transparent Paula. Paula on my soul I need your eyes, your sweet smile and your body when I wake up. Where are you, where are you, where are you going? 

[fire-emblem-heroes-supports]

Hector/Bride!Lyn C-S support

Written by nintendogeek189

C SUPPORT

Hector: Lyn!? Lyndis!? Are you around here!?

Lyn: …

Hector: That’s strange, I thought for sure Alphonse said that [y/n] summoned her earlier this morning…

Lyn:  …*ah-choo* Drat!

Hector: Lyn? Is that you?

Lyn: Eep!

Hector: Oh, Lyn! It’s so good to see you, I-I-What… are you wearing?

Lyn: H-Hector, I-I swear there’s a reason I’m wearing this…

Hector: No, it’s okay. I completely understand.

Lyn: You… do?

Hector: Of course! [y/n] mentioned that the summoning ritual tends to grab random people at random points in time. I’m just sorry you had the bad luck to get grabbed on your wedding day.

Lyn: Wedding day!? No-Hector, that’s not…

Hector: Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll talk to [y/n] about not putting you on the roster for sortie until you’re adjusted and, hey, odds are your fiancé will get summoned any day now.

Lyn: My? Fiancé?

Hector: So, tell me, who was the lucky dog that got you to say yes, huh? Did Eliwood finally man up and pop the question? Or was it that Rath fellow?

Lyn: No, neither of them “popped the question.” It’s-

Hector: Really? Then who…? Oh no, Lyn! Don’t tell me it was KENT!?

Lyn: No! I- Wait, what’s wrong with Kent?

Hector: Nothing, it’s just, you know, he’s so… uptight. But no, no, you’re right. He’ll treat you well and hey, if anyone can get him to unwind and take that stick out of his ass it would be you.

Lyn: !?!?!?!?!?

Hector: You two are good together. Congratulations! I’ll talk to the rest of the Order so that when he shows up, you two can have-

Lyn: UGH! Hector, you’re impossible!

Hector: …Was it something I said?

[Hector and Lyn have reached support rank C.]

B SUPPORT

Lyn: …

Hector: Lyn. I’d… like to apologize for my behavior the other day. Commander Anna and [y/n] were kind enough to set me straight and explain that within the month of June, the summoning ritual begins to favor female heroes that are of or are around marrying age and sometimes bestows upon them “sacred vestments”…

Lyn: …

Hector: However, my lack of knowledge doesn’t change the fact that when I saw you in that dress, I made an assumption abou-

Lyn: You made SEVERAL assumptions.

Hector: -I made SEVERAL assumptions about what was going on in your life and for that, I apologize.

Lyn: *sigh* I… forgive you, Hector. Honestly, I guess anyone would think what you thought if they saw me in this dress, given the circumstances.

Hector: Yeah, about that dress…

Lyn: (Here it comes…)

Hector: You had mentioned there was a “reason” you were in that dress and Commander Anna said that the summoning ritual only gives its “treasures” to Heroes who are either already in wedding dresses, are engaged or are thinking about marriage, so why were you…?

Lyn: Ugh! Do you really want to know?

Hector: I’m just curious.

Lyn: The three Pegasus Sisters and I went into town to procure supplies for the army and while we were there, we passed a Bridal Boutique that had a dress that looked remarkably like this one now that you mention it. Anyway, Farina brought up the topic of weddings with the other two and while they did that, I ‘BRIEFLY’ entertained the idea of getting married and the next thing I knew, I was standing on that cliff, wearing this thing.

Hector: Wow, that’s a tough break. But, if you hate wearing it so much, why haven’t you…?

Lyn: Don’t you think I’ve tried that, Hector!? Every time I take it off and put on a new set of clothes, they turn into an exact copy of this blasted dress!

Hector: Ah, I see. Is the reason you haven’t been using a sword…?

Lyn: Ugh, yes. Every time I pick up a blade, it changes into this ridiculous candle!

Hector: Hey, come on, Lyn… I know this situation isn’t ideal, but you and that “ridiculous candle” helped us out of some tight spots in the last fight.

Lyn: Hector… It’s just…

Hector: Lyn, I-

Lyn: Sorry, I have to go…

Hector: …

[Hector and Lyn have reached support rank B.]

A SUPPORT

Lyn: Yowch! That one still smarts…

Hector: Lyn!

Lyn: Oh, Hector.

Hector: Lyn! Are you alright?! You took a bad hit in that last battle.

Lyn: Yes… I’m fine now. The healers at the castle took care of most of it, it’s just a few cuts and bruises at this point.

Hector: Okay, well, in that case…

Lyn: What are you- Hey! Unhand me you-!

Hector: What the HELL happened out there Lyn!?! You ignored [y/n]’s orders, overextended yourself and walked right into that axman’s range! If Lady Sharena hadn’t taken that hit for you, you could have gotten yourself killed!

Lyn: You’re right, Hector. I wasn’t thinking-

Hector: You’re damned right you weren’t! Look, I’m glad you’re safe, but the Princess is still in critical condition and I can’t figure out where in the Gods-Damned Hell your head was at.

Lyn: You wouldn’t understand, Hector! Nothing about me being brought here has gone well. I was snatched here against my will, was stuffed in this idiotic dress and sent into battle with this stupid candle, so I can’t even be useful!

Hector: …

Lyn: *sigh* Why was I even brought here? Why couldn’t it have been someone else who would actually enjoy wearing this, or who is used to supporting others? Why me?

Hector: …You know what, Lyn? …I’m disappointed in you.

Lyn: Hector? What are you…?

Hector: The Lyndis I knew wouldn’t just give up because of a dress. Now look, you’re right, I don’t understand. I can’t imagine what it’s like being forced into a support role, especially for a frontline fighter like yourself, but damnit Lyn, you’ve seen the kind of things Emblia is throwing at us! We need all of the help we can get! I always figured that the gods, spirits, or whatever else governs those summoning stones gave you that “stupid candle” because it needed someone who was smart enough to use it right and cared enough about other people to use it often, but I guess I was wrong!

Lyn: …

Hector: Lyn, do you remember what you did a few days after we met? You challenged me to a duel and wouldn’t take no for an answer. We fought and you lost. Do you remember what you did after that?

Lyn: …

Hector: You didn’t just give up. You got up, brushed yourself off and started training so that you could close off the holes you found in your swordplay.

Lyn: …

Hector: So, if you’re just going to keep moping around like you’ve been doing, go find [y/n] and have them send you home with your tail between your legs because right now you’re liable to get yourself or someone else killed. Or, you can stand back up, get some fire in your belly, start acting like the Lyn I know and respect, and help me and the rest of the Order send those Emblian dastards to Kingdom Come.

Lyn: Hector, I-I need to think about what you just said by myself for a while.

Hector: That’s all I ask, Lyn. That’s all I ask.

[Hector and Lyn have reached support rank A.]

S SUPPORT

Lyn: Oh! Hector! I saw that you took a few hits during that last battle. Have they been treated? Or should I take care of them now?

Hector: Lyn! No, that’s fine, they’re okay now. And you know as well as I do that if it weren’t for you, they’d be much worse.

Lyn: Oh, Hector. You’re exaggerating.

Hector: No, I mean it. That archer and sword knight had me pinned with no way out. You used that candle of yours to give me an opening to take armored sod out and that gave Matthew the opening he needed to take out the bowman.

Lyn: It’s no problem, Hector. It occurs to me that I never thanked you for last time.

Hector: Lyn, you don’t have to thank me. I kind of snapped at you when you were down.

Lyn: No, Hector, you were right to do that. I wasn’t being myself and was just kind of moping around about the whole thing and feeling sorry from myself. I needed that kick in the rear and I’m glad you were there to snap me out of it.

Hector: Well, I couldn’t just do nothing. You’re usually so strong-willed and self-assured! I couldn’t stand seeing you like that.

Lyn: You… couldn’t stand it?

Hector: Of course, I couldn’t! I respect you too much to see you down.

Lyn: Do you mean that?

Hector: Absolutely! And it’s not just that either. I admire how much you care about others, you’re one of the cleverest people I know, you’re drop-dead gorgeous and, most importantly, you never give up, no matter what. That’s what… what I…

Lyn: Hector?

Hector: Agh! Damnit, Lyn! That’s what made me fall in love with you in the first place.

Lyn: You’re… in love with me?

Hector: Yeah, I am. I have been for a long time. I think since I first met you… I’m sorry for not telling you all this time.

Lyn: Hector…

Hector: Do you remember when you first got here and I saw you in that dress? When I saw you like that, I made an assum- I made SEVERAL assumptions about what was going on and I told myself that I was going to support your decision no matter what, but part of me started to fall apart when I thought about you marrying someone else and I kind of overcompensated in trying to be supportive and I didn’t try to hear your side of the story.

Lyn: Hector.

Hector: *sigh* Well… I had to get that out. Look, Lyn, if you don’t feel the same, I understand and I don’t want this to affect our friendship but if you don’t want to see me after this, I completely understa-

Lyn: Hector!

Hector: …

Lyn: Do you remember what I said I was doing before I was summoned here?

Hector: Yeah… you said you were out shopping, saw a Bridal Boutique and had a passing thought about getting married. Why?

Lyn: I’m afraid I lied to yo,u Hector. I’ve thought about getting married a lot since the war back home started. At first, it was just an idea about what I would do once the war ended, but then it became an occasional daydream about what my wedding would look like and then, well, the daydream started to be about who I would be marrying and, you see… lately, it’s been about me getting married to you, Hector.

Hector: Lyn… are you saying-?

Lyn: Yes, I love you too.

Hector: Oh, Lyn! This is the happiest day of my life!

Lyn: Oh, Hector. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you either.

Hector: That just means we’re even now, right? Lyn, after both of our wars are over, how do you feel about starting over again, just the two of us?

Lyn: I’d love that, Hector.

Lyn: …On one condition…

Hector: Anything! Just name it!

Lyn: If and when we ever actually get married…

Hector: Yeah…?

Lyn: …I’m wearing a DIFFERENT dress!

[Hector and Lyn have reached support rank S.]

[lunaschild2016]

Life As We Know It - Chapter 11

Rating: M (Smut, Language, Violence, Adult Themes)

Romance/Tragedy

Their lives seemed to be steeped in tragedy. Through it all they had each other until wrong choice brought it all crashing down. Eric had never been able to make up for the mistake he made, but he never stopped trying. Once again tragedy strikes turning everything upside down. Now, for little Ava they will have to come together once more. AU Eric/OC M No War No Divergent Hunts

A/N: This is a completed story that I have posted on another site as well. But thought I would add it here since I just started this account. I hope you enjoy.

@kenzieam@ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@captainviolets@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@pathybo  @lauraaan182​

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Chapter 11

Kira’s phone blared through the extremely early morning hours. Startling her awake and making her jump only to find she couldn’t really jump with her being locked in Eric’s arms.

Eric himself started to growl and curse as he lifted his head. “If that is the fucking workshop calling or messaging you again at this hour...I will fucking starting throwing people into the Chasm.”

Kira gave a grumble of agreement but rolled over, when he let her go, to grab her phone from her bedside table. She didn’t look at the name as she swiped to accept the call.

“Gods this better be important.” She grumbled in a bit of a temper. They had worked late and had been for the past month to try and get the family living quarters finished before the snow set in. Before that she had been working nonstop to get Amity taken care of before winter too. Tonight it had felt like Eric and her had barely fallen into their bed before her phone was going off.

Kira listened to the frantic girl on the other end and she bolted up in bed. “Ally, keep the door locked! Do not let that fucker in no matter what he is threatening to do. Do you understand me? I am on my way. No arguments. Take Phoenix into your room, lock the door and stay there.”

She was already out of the bed and moving. She vaguely felt Eric coming up behind her and knew he wouldn’t be happy but she also didn’t care.

“What the fuck is going on now Kira?” Eric asked, trying not to sound like a dick but he still didn’t like how involved she was in that jerks mess. He had been trying so fucking hard but it was just hard for him.

“What did it sound like Eric? He is apparently drunk and banging at her door. Threatening to take himself out but now he has added in that he is going to take ‘his son’ with him.” Kira scowled and gritted out.

Eric sighed and knew he wasn’t going to win the fight to get her to not go. So he started throwing on clothes too, but also picked up his phone and dialed into Control. He barked out a few orders while Kira was throwing her hair into a ponytail. He noticed she had also grabbed her fucking sidearm and he growled about that too.

“Kira don’t you walk out that door without me dammit.” He yelled as he was pulling on his own boots. Thank gods he had just moved his shit over to her place instead of living out of a damn bag like he had for the first few days he had stayed over.

“Fine!” She snapped and stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest. She knew he didn’t like how involved she was with Ally and Phoenix. She still hadn’t told him just how far that extended. Whether he liked it or not, those two had become family.

Ava had even adopted him as her ‘Nix’. Kira had gotten Ally transferred from working Patrols to the Annex Management Department so that she could have better hours and pay. It also got her away from any chances of running into Ben. He hadn’t stepped up really, but was visiting his son just enough to avoid being charged with abandonment.

When Eric was dressed and had his own weapons, should he need to coerce the asshole, he went out and met Kira at the door. He didn’t let his frustration show because they didn’t need that right now. They just needed to take care of this shit and get back to bed. He also knew this had her upset that the punk was threatening the baby she had almost adopted herself.

With a sigh he wrapped her to his side as they made their way quickly down the corridors to Ally’s apartment. “I am guessing you will want them to come back to the apartment for now?” It was a question but he already knew the answer. That was just Kira. She wouldn’t be able to rest unless she made sure those two were safe.

Kira looked over to Eric to see if he was upset. She didn’t see that, just him being resigned to the fact that was what was going to happen. “I know you might not like them staying with us Eric, but it will be better for right now.”

Eric nodded but didn’t say anything. If he wasn’t so exhausted and pissed at the moment he would be pleased she had said ‘us’ and not me. She was slowly starting to see it that way more and more. He hadn’t exactly given her a choice though. He had just smoothly started to move in. Their friends didn’t say anything and neither did they. It had been three months since they had become intimate again and within that first week he had moved in.

As tired and busy as they were, Eric and Kira were also ridiculously happy too. He got to come home to her when they were working on different projects or he had to attend to other duties as a second in command. Shay had been moved to work directly under both Kira and Eric under the double departments. She tried to do a lot of the running for Kira as far as taking care of getting the orders filled in Erudite and that all transported back to the compound or sometimes picking up things from Amity.

Kira had been appointed the Liaison with Amity and was also working on helping to get them updated and outfitted. The remodels and refurbishing of the compound and homes were just the tip of the iceberg there really.

It wasn’t until he had gone with Kira to visit and inventory what surplus they could arrange to get and what they could machine for Amity that he had realized it. That alone had become an almost full time project for Kira now. It had also made relations between the two factions better than they had ever been.

Their time at home or when they worked in the office together became rare over the last month but they always ended up together at night. Eric pulled her closer and sighed. He knew part of his frustration was that he hated those hours during the night when they could be together without work, family or friends in the way, to be interrupted.

Another big part of it was he felt this insecurity that he was not used to dealing with at all. At the root of it was that there was some hold that the shithead still had on her, even if it wasn’t directly. It was also deeper and he couldn’t quite explain what bothered him so terribly about her with his son. He just knew that when he saw her holding, playing with or just the love she felt for Phoenix it felt like knives being plunged into his heart. He just needed to figure this shit out because it was causing strain between them and he couldn’t have that.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR YOU CUNT!”

That was the sound that greeted them as they got to the start of Ally’s apartment corridor. Her apartment was at the opposite end of the corridor and he could be heard clearly as it also sounded like he was trying to kick the door in.

Kira felt her blood boiling even more and almost took off in a run but Eric stopped her with a snarl and a shake of his head. “You fucking stay behind me Kira. There are a few guards coming and we wait for them to get here. They will take him away and hopefully that will be the end of it but until then stay behind me.”

“I can take care of myself Eric.” Kira warned him with a scowl on her face.

Eric pushed her against the wall and his face was dead serious. “This isn’t to keep you from getting hurt Kira but me from killing the bastard, because if he even looks like he is going to touch you I will kill him.”

They sat like that for a minute just staring each other down before Kira narrowed her eyes and nodded. “If he looks like he is going to touch you either Eric I can’t promise I won’t do the same.”

Eric’s lips twitch slightly and he shakes his head before he kisses her quickly. “Deal.” He said simply and moved in front of her. He got an update that the guards were moving in and they hung back to let them take care of it at first.

They could hear that he was giving them shit and when they heard him boast he would kick their asses they went to move closer.

They didn’t have to because as soon as Ben’s utterly drunk ass made a move, Hector one of the guards on duty, only had to take him out with one punch to the temple. He dropped hard and was out.

Smirking Eric moved closer and nodded to Hector and Alex. “Cuff his ass and take him in Alex. Hector there were reports from the neighbors on what was said and done. Take their statements and get it logged in. We can figure out what all to charge him with from there. Kira, go ahead and call Ally and let her know it is safe to let us in.”

Kira was already dialing before could finish speaking. Eric was in the middle of sending out his own updates to Four and Zeke. He had told them to just handle Control and get everything recorded. He also made plans with them and Max to get together and see what they could do about getting the shithead out of the compound all together. If they could get him charged with enough they could bust his ass down a rank and put him on Fence duty. He sure as shit was going to get him with everything he could to try and make that happen.

By the time Ben was hauled off Ally had finally come to the door. She was a mess and Kira had to get her calmed down before they could really talk to her.

“Ally unless you press charges we can’t get a protective order to keep him from doing this shit again. Think of Nix, Ally. Think of his screams when all of that was going on.” Kira hated having to do that to her but if she didn’t Ally would just brush it off. She knew Ally loved Phoenix dearly and it was only in regards to him that her fierceness came out.

She saw that it did the trick when Ally’s face hardened and she let out a shaky then nodded.

Eric wanted with everything he was to let his feral grin of pleasure to show. Fucking finally she was going to give him something to work with. Instead he just gave his Leader Eric grunt of approval and ran a hand through his hair, which was nowhere near the perfection it normally was.

“We don’t have to do that right now. We will do that in the morning. Kira why don’t you help Ally gather what they will need for the weekend and I can have Zeke and Four pick up anything else they might need. It’s is late and we all need to get back to sleep.” His tiredness was seeping into his tone there at the end but he didn’t care.

With a nod Ally got up and moved to get Nix ready and then start gathering things. Before Kira moved off to help though she went to Eric and wrapped her arms around his waist then kissed him deeply.

When they pulled back she smiled tiredly at him too. “Thank you Eric.”

Eric tightened his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome. Let’s get back home and to bed baby.”

With a nod Kira moved to hurry to do just that. As always anytime she thought of the word home along with Eric she couldn’t help the feeling of completeness she had. It was getting harder to tell herself that they were still nothing but friends with benefits. Especially when she had stopped correcting people that worked under her or their friends when they referred to them as being more.

They were more it was just putting a title or label on it that had Kira scared as shit. She felt that if she did, or she said the words of how she was feeling out loud then something terrible would happen to destroy it all.

She was losing the battle with herself to keep it all in and deny it though. Every day it got harder. Maybe it was time to stop fighting that so hard.

[punk-in-docs]

You Were Always Mine, Chapter 14

AU Tom Hiddleston - Romantic, Historical Romance, Victorian Fic. 
Based off the imagine; ‘Thomas spying on you after your divorce and doing anything to get you back. Including threatening your new beau.’ credits go to the lovely ladies at Tom-Hiddleston-Imagine.Tumblr.com. Link to the imagine here…. http://tom-hiddleston-imagines.tumblr.com/post/158156795440/gif-lokihiddleston-imagine-thomas-spying-on-you
 Chapter number: Chapter 14 Author: Punk-in-docs Triggers/warnings: Angst. Sadness. Feels. This one, will break your heart. I was intending to save this til the very end, but I think it needs to be in the middle. To propel the story forwards a bit. Get the tissues ready, lads/lassies… It’s bout to get hella sad.

~ A Year and a Half Ago ~

Oakhampton, though it was a country sanatorium, was a grand old ruin. A place time seemed to have forgotten since the turn of the twentieth century. It had echoing halls, drafty windows and ancient decor. It looked as if some forgetful hospital staff member had mislaid some equipment in a grand home. Mistakenly leaving it behind.

Vianne sat. In her armchair, angled to look out the window, down over the gardens that winter had dulled in colour, and slaughtered. Everything looked grey, to her eye. The windows weeped condensation. And she was sat too far away from the fireplaces warmth to feel the benefit of it, heating up her high ceilinged, drafty room. Of which the crown moulding paint was starting to chip away, and the floorboards were freezing, and terribly loud. It’s coldness, lack of character, cracked skirting and eerie silences reminded Vianne very horribly of Allerdale.

She couldn’t do much as it was. Of course, Oakhampton had courses for their patients to enjoy. Knitting. Embroidering, still life, and watercolours. But she held little desire to sit out of doors in the freezing cold painting landscapes, or a bowl of fruit atop a pedestal.

Instead, she sits. She stares at the gardens. And she just about exists.

A nurse came in every hour or so, to check on her. Offer her a cup of tea, or something cheering from the kitchens. With that friendly smile they seemed paid to keep on their faces. She always politely declined. On some days they left a cup and saucer of tea at her side anyway. Still she let them grow cold.

She grew too thin, the doctors said. Warning her. She wished good riddance on it. On the child that never should have been. They’d warned her she was at serious risk of being undernourished and not being healthy enough to carry the child. Or give it the sustenance and nourishment it needed. She merely sat silently as they explained it to her. She didn’t want to care for this baby anymore. This damned, annoyance of a thing that cost her a husband and a marriage. Some days. She hated it. She truly did.

She paid little attention to all the aches and pains of her newfound condition. The swollen ankles, the constant backache. The stomach churning nausea, the cravings that were rampant both night and day. She could hardly bear to move sometimes. She just sat in that chair and toiled her days away. Growing weaker, and thinner.

Sometimes she cried, out of nowhere, the sadness, and the loneliness, seized her all over again. The doctor diagnosed it as no more than hormonal mood swings. But she knew the roots of it went deeper than any mood.

When she wept. Her hands went to cradle the sizeable pregnant bump that was now her only remaining admonition of her Thomas. And she wept til there were no tears left. She didn’t know if she hated it or loved it.

Hector had visited last month. And had promised to do so again soon when his workload wasn’t so strenuous. He’d brought her well-wishes, comforting smiles that concealed his evident speechlessness about her obvious condition, and a brown paper, bag full of fresh grapes, as if she were an invalid. Which, when she was in this place, she supposed thats what she now was. And that was how the world now saw her. It was all that she was reduced to. The sad, tragic, spinster, alone and burdened with child.

Nowadays she felt like half of a whole.

A hopeless, useless vessel. Only fit to be filled with despair and anguish. She hadn’t felt human in such a long, long time. She felt no more than a carrier for lost hope and the next Sharpe heir.

She, naively, thought her pain had passed. With each day. It grew foggier, distant, and less acute in her mind. But then one rainy, cold, winters day, just like all the others, the pain begins anew. And it was more potent than any she’d felt before.

She had moved to stand, getting up to replace a tattered book on the windowsill shelf. Thinking how rotten it was that all her first edition, leather bound, favourites she’d had to abandon, and leave behind in Cumbria… When a sudden flare of pain bursts through her abdomen. Causing her to stumble forwards and slam her hand to the wall to steady herself. She gasped. Loudly. Knocking the end table over as she staggered. She hears the porcelain teacup that had been sat there, break and smash on the dark floorboards below. But she can’t afford to care about that now…

She dreaded feeling the sudden rush of hot fluids dripping down her legs. A terrifying signal that her child was ready, and wished to make it’s entrance, kicking and screaming into the world. She didn’t feel ready. She grasped at her belly, sobbing as the first ripple of pain flared up through her body. She sobbed a benediction to god. Doubling over. Tears dripping from the corner of her scared eyes. The pain so potent already it was making her toes curl.

She tries to call for a nurse, crying before the pain interrupts her once again. She doesn’t let out more than a strangled choke. Thundering footsteps barrelling into the room signify that someone had heard her cries of despair.

All of a sudden, pairs of hands grapple her arms, and shoulders and pull her upright. She is manoeuvred over to the bed. Clinging hard onto the palm of whichever hand offered itself to her in comfort, gritting her teeth through the pain.

She is flattened to the crisp, eiderdown of her single bed. The bronze bedstead rattling into the wall as she is settled with a jarring thud onto the mattress. Panting and breathing hard as she helped the nurse strip her of her gown, down to her chemise, and pulling on a starched, white nightdress over her head, instead. Saving the gown from all the trials of childbirth.

She’d lost count of how many times the mind numbing pain swells in her body. But before long, she is sweating, cursing and groaning. Shouting the chipped, flaking, ceiling down.

No one had told her the pain would be as great as this. She cries more when she realises that she had no one to pre-warn her how great the pain would be. She felt like her body was being split open from the inside out with a blunt knife. Gouging out her innards. Fiery agony searing her guts like hell itself. The doctor is sent for, and arrives. And administered her a sip of laudanum for pain relief. But all that seems to do for her is to make the pain hazier.

She writhes on that bed. In agony. For hours, that felt more like years. Gritting her teeth through it all. Huffing and panting. Soaked to the bone in perspiration, red cheeked, exhausted. Crying because of the pain and then because of the tiredness. Tendrils of hair stuck to her neck and cheeks. And all the while she panted, puffed and pushed. And worked her way through the excruciating labour pains.

And, worst of all, Now more than ever, visions of her ex-husband found their niggling, devastating way behind her closed eyelids. She wanted him. Here. By her side. Clutching her hand. Or pacing outside, treading the halls, like a dark, dashing panther. Awaiting the news. Or waiting to hear the baby cry. She screws her eyes shut through the contractions. And when she opens her eyes. She dies all over again when she discovers he isn’t there. She knew, his sins were great. Indulging in an incestuous affair with his sister, killing, murdering, seducing, and then slaughtering women at their will, and all just for riches. And at Lucille’s bloodlust leisure. When she found out about their affair. She was both unbelievably livid, yet utterly destroyed at the same time. She felt her heart shatter when she heard. And what she heard them discussing after, it made her wish she had carried on drinking the poisoned tea. So she could slip away and die in her own pit of shame. Hating him for what he’d done. Damning him to hell as she went there herself for ever allowing herself to love such a man as he.

Actually. That should be, for enduring all that, and still, loving a man such as he. She still loved him. And she hated it with the fury of a thousand burning suns. Because she simply didn’t want too any more. She couldn’t do it. Yet her stupid, idiotic heart was invested and she could not withdraw it from him for the life of her.

She thought about his laugh. His smile. The profile of that handsome face masked in deep concentration when he was fixing things. The peppermint and engineering oil scent that clung onto his clothes, that she could detect when he drew near. That ravens hair and how it shone in candlelight. That set of piercing eyes, that saw right through her. That immovable, unflappable attention span of his that never missed a thing. And yet… It had missed her concealing the greatest secret of all.

All of it torments her when she screws her eyes shut and curses his name for putting her in this predicament.

It is not so much the labour pains she could hardly stand, but rather the broken fragments of her miserable heart that is causing her the most agony of all. Knowing that after all this pain, she would have nothing to show for it. Hector had assured her it had all already been prearranged.

After the pain stopped. She’d have no reminders of Thomas Sharpe to cling too anymore.

Labour moves along at a glacial pace. She stalks the room like a caged beast. Grunting her lungs out. Clutching at the nearest hard object when the pain came again. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. The torment seemed to be never ending. Both the physical and emotional.

She cries out so many times that she couldn’t do it. She wants to give up. She doesn’t want this child. Or that she wants to die. She wants to be dead and buried rather than have to go through the excruciation of pushing one more time. Wiping away her tears, quickly, before the nurse saw them, at the irony of her making such a wish. Considering she had uprooted her entire life, derailed a marriage, and risked ruination trying to preserve the exact opposite.

She had lied. Tricked. And threatened her way out of a marriage. And in turn, had been lied, tricked and cheated on. What kind of a mother could she be to this baby? What kind of a father did they have? Not even half of a decent one they deserved. No child should be brought into the world with a mother as wretched as her, with an absent father to boot. Absent by her own doing. Which only makes her cry harder. She had pushed him away, and now she had to deal with the consequences. Dire as they were.

She reflects on this as she grits her teeth through a yell as she bows her head and clutched onto the bedstead with sweating palms, as she stood. The kind nursemaid rubbed soothing circles on her back. Telling her what an excellent job she was doing. How good she was being.

Vianne bit her tongue. So she didn’t shout out in a sob that she was doing the absolute opposite. She was doing a cowardly, despicable thing. Carrying the burden of this child all on her own without even telling her own husband she was expecting. She was sure there was a space in hell reserved entirely for her, for that sin.

“Damn you..” She sobs through another stab of pain. “Damn you…” She cries. Head slumping onto her hands. And she’s not entirely sure who it is she’s damning. Either herself, or the memory of the man she loves, as his face haunts her mind.

“Damn you to hell.” She weeps. “I hate you. Thomas. I hate you. For doing all you did to me. And yet I still love you. You bastard… I can’t stop. I can’t stop loving you… I want to stop.” She cried, wailing in her agony. To a very taken aback, bewildered, nurse.

She starts crying all the harder. Wailing all the more. Letting the sadness tear her apart just as the strain of labour was. She finds herself wishing for things she never thought she would.

She wish she’d stayed at Allerdale Hall… She wish she’d let them both just torture her and kill her. And subject her to every kind of pain, suffering, and torment imaginable…. Because then atleast, her small mercy would be that she would be free of the crushing, excruciating guilt of having Thomas’s baby without him even knowing she was expecting one… She wanted to be dead. She wanted to curl up and simply rot away… She doesn’t deserve to cling onto the painful curse, and tragedy that was now her pitiful excuse for a life. She realised she didn’t want the baby she’d fought so hard to keep.

The pain was reaching it’s peak now. And Vianne was entirely certain that she was being set on fire from the inside out. She is coaxed on her back again. Legs spread, pulled wide apart, and writhing on her back in agony as shock waves of pain pour freely and frequently through her. The midwife issues instructions and murmurs of encouragement, telling her when and how to breathe and push. Vianne sobs. Shaking her head. Screaming aloud that she’d changed her mind. She didn’t want to do it. She yells and screams at the top of her lungs. Hot tears searing her cheeks.

But then it suddenly stops. As if someone had muffled all sound from her ears. She pants, and her eyes snap open when she hears something else, whining and pitchy, shrieking and fussing…

Because now, it appeared it was someone else’s turn to do the crying instead.

She sees the nurses wrapping a small bundle of blankets right around a squirming, furiously, pink, newborn. It’s face gnarled and swollen as it cried. The ugly sound it made piercing her ears. But she cannot take her eyes from it. It’s dainty ears pinned back, like moulded pink pastry. And she makes a noise of utter, guttural longing when she sees it has sticky tufts of dark, ink black, hair, like it’s father. Its skin was viciously red. As if it had just been harshly scrubbed all over with a scouring brush.

Vianne is enchanted from her first look, and when the soft, warm and worming, little thing is placed in her arms, she seems to snap into life, placing her arms around it. She cradles the baby to her chest. Watching it protest as it’s tiny, starfish hands grappled into the air, reaching for it’s mouth or it’s eyes. Which when they peeked open, she can see they are the darkest grey, almost black. The ear splitting shrieks stop once the baby catches the familiar scent of their mother, close by.

She strokes the child’s sticky head. Not bothering to hold back tears at seeing it had her ex-husbands colouring. She cries. And though the midwives, doctor and nurse smile as they think it is in hormonal, overwhelming joy. It was actually because she knows in that minute, that she’d never love anything more devotedly than this baby she held in her arms.

But come tomorrow, she’d have to let them go. Never to see them again.

Her eyelids start to droop. And her breathing gets shallower. Her heartbeat slows. Before she can register that her body is growing limper and weaker, she just knows she wants to rest her eyes for a good long while.

She feels the small, warm bundle lifted from her grip. Voices rouse around her. Ordering, shouting. Rushing in panic. She feels hands jab between her legs again, pulling and tugging. She doesn’t feel the pain, isn’t able to see the blood, gore and trial of the second unexpected circumstance that was now unfolding.

She hears nor feels any of it. Not a single thing.

But as her head sinks back to join with the pillows behind her neck. She sighs, and then comes the comforting tug of sleep.

She drops off the precipice of consciousness, into dreams. And it was alarming how comfortable she became, with the idea of never awakening again.

~

When she does regain consciousness, she does so slowly.

She gently peels open her eyes. Reunited with the familiar, peeling, ceiling letting her know she was still at Oakhampton. Her eyes adjust to see it was now light outside once more. Daylight sliced in through a thin crack in the heavy curtains. Daggering across the end of her bed.

She blinks. Tasting the foulness of her breath, and her eyes feeling stuck, as if having been glued together in her rest. Her head was pounding relentlessly with the kind of potent ache that made her eyes water.

When she tried to move her body, the flare of pain makes her gasp in a wordless cry. Her voice hoarse from dehydration. Her throat was sore and tender. She didn’t even possess the strength to moan aloud in pain. She felt black and blue all over. And from the waist down, she aches in a foul way she never knew she could ache. And the tightness she felt was the bandages and dressings that bound her lower body.

She felt like her entire form had been to hell and back. And then she scoffs in dry amusement. Because in her previous life, she’s not all entirely uncertain she hadn’t been. Only hell wasn’t brimstone and fire. It was snow. Snow and bitter arctic cold, along with a dark, rotting house, and oozing clay the colour of blood.

When she gains enough strength to summon her arms into use. A soft clinking makes her look up, only now realising that the back of her hand was tethered with a thick tube. She winces, glancing up to see a blood bottle, and other antibiotics being fed into her helpless body via a drip stand.

Her free hand fumbles for the bedside. Which it finds, and her fingers graze the soft, flimsy paper of a greetings card.

She looks over, and groans, gripping it in her weak fingers, she plucks it and brings it closer. Through blurry eyes, she sees the front reads ‘Congratulations’ in a sickening calligraphic hand. Swirled with watercolour flowers, and depicting an insipid stalk, dangling a bundle of joy from it’s beak.

Her heart hardens, and more tears come before she realises she was sobbing. Glancing around the room again. She notices then, a most painful absence… No noises. No cooing, or shrieking. No bassinet or baby crib. No feeding bottles, clothing, or linen…

Or Baby.

She flips open the card, reading it’s contents. It was from Hector. Who told her that after giving birth, she’d suffered severe blood loss, and had consequently been unconscious for four whole days as a result.

He also assures her that it was the kind thing to do. That as she recovered, the matter would be swiftly dealt with. And she should try and put aside feeling and emotion, to understand that she’d be a ruined, fallen woman forever if she had decided to keep them. They had gone to a good place, to happier pastures. And as soon as she recovered. He would be glad to see her restored back in London. As if nothing had changed.

But nothing could be further from the truth...

When she comes to the last line, detailing sparse details regarding the sex and weight of the baby, she let’s the card slip from her fingers. Fluttering to the floor. She cries for the Nurse. For her child. Sobbing. Wanting to ease her pain, ease her loss. But they can do no such thing.

They hadn’t told her that she’d had Twins.

Hector had had them named similarly after her departed parents, Julia and Artmeis. Her Baby Boy, weighing in at four pounds, one ounce. Was christened, Arthur Earnest-James. And Baby Girl, weighing in at three pounds, two ounces. Christened as, Juliette Earnest-James. Her babies. Hers and Thomas’s children. Ones that she’d never meet.

~

@frenchfrostpudding @heavymist @totallynotasmutblog I’m sorry. 😁 this is the weepy chapter. Hope you still enjoy.