#he's used to violence within his family. he's hardly known anything else. why would he expect anything different now?

[dawnquafam]

Do you ever think about how Arthur said "No one hits my brother but me" and then one day later when Orm was possessed and he had every reason to actually do it, he refused to fight him at all

[emoprincey]

Borrowed Time (chapter 1)

Summary: Janus and his brother never got along, but when Virgil is poisoned in a fae uprising, Janus will stop at nothing to find the cure. Remus and his brother have grown apart, but Roman is about to make a dangerous deal, and Remus is the only one who can stop him. Maybe they can help each other out...

Or, LAOFT with soft Dukeceit

Characters: Janus, Virgil, Greta, Remus, Roman

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, familial Creativitwins, familial Janus and Virgil

Warnings: Poison, violence, minor character death, antagonist death, main character does murders

Word count: 3244

Also posted on my ao3: stormofstarlight

Author’s note: This is based on the amazing series Love and Other Fairytales by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors . Thanks to the wonderful people in the LAOFT server for encouraging me to write this!! This is an au where Remus is Roman's twin brother. Durant isn't in this, instead Janus is Virgil's brother.

Janus watched from the shadows as his brother returned to the forest, back from visiting her. Virgil had only known that witch for a decade or so, barely the blink of an eye in their long lives, but he spent almost every waking moment with her and her family, neglecting his own. He even left hardly any time to attend to his beloved forest. It was telling of how sentimental Virgil was, that he dedicated so much time and energy to a human who would soon be lost to the unrelenting claws of mortality – or perhaps it was more telling that Janus was so bothered by a mere few years of his brother not being around as often. 

“Well, well, well,” Janus drawled as he stepped from the shadows. He hardly ever managed to startle his brother anymore, but he took delight in the way Virgil squeaked in surprise as he noticed him. “Decided to finally return home, have you?”

Virgil huffed, barely sparing a glance at Janus as he pushed past him into the trees. “I just came to get my new cloak; I want to show Grettie.”

Janus curled his lip. Grettie. Such a juvenile nickname, yet it was achingly affectionate. Nothing like Adder, a nickname Virgil only used because Janus refused to reveal his real name. “I don’t see why you spend so much time with that mortal,” Janus said, hurrying after his brother. “They’re terribly frail, aren’t they? And their lifespans are so short-”

In a flash, Janus was pressed up against a tree with a knife to his throat. Virgil had always been faster than him.

“If you hurt her…” Virgil hissed, his menacingly low voice sending a chill down Janus’ spine. The fiercely protective look in his eyes was like nothing Virgil had directed at Janus before. Maybe years ago, a similar look in those same eyes would have been used to defend him, but not anymore.

“I never said anything about hurting her,” Janus said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Virgil gave him a distrustful glare, but after a moment of consideration he released Janus and let him slump against the tree. He didn’t say anything else as he collected the cloak from his web.

Janus folded his arms to collect himself as he watched, his breaths coming out a little ragged. This was ridiculous, he chided himself. He shouldn’t be shaken by a mere threat, wouldn’t have been if it had come from any other fae. But Virgil was different, and not just because of his power. Every glare and scathing remark cut at something deep within him. They were brothers, created to be each other’s companions. A set. But somehow, they just didn’t fit together.

Virgil sent a wary glance back at Janus as he left the clearing, and as he turned away something broke in Janus’ chest.

Whatever. Fine. If Virgil wanted to spend all his time with the witch, so be it. If he’d decided he'd rather have a different sibling, it was no skin off Janus’ back. And as long as Janus didn’t try to say it out loud, maybe he could convince himself that was true.

A scream echoing through the forest ripped him from his thoughts.  

Before Janus fully processed the sound, he took off running. Because that was the witch’s scream, and when someone was protected by the most powerful being in the forest, the only thing that could make them scream was if something happened to that being.

He thundered through the trees, not caring about what he trampled or how many branches he snapped. All that mattered was that he got to Virgil, before it was-

Too late.

The sight that greeted him when he reached the edge of the forest made his heart stop. The witch was crouched on the ground, wailing as she hunched over Virgil’s writhing body.

Virgil let out an anguished cry, and Janus rushed forward.

“Stay back!” The witch shrieked.

Janus did no such thing. He knelt by his brother’s side, and took his face in his hands. Virgil’s eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, his mouth contorted in agony.

This had to be poison. And a fast-acting one too.

Virgil had minutes at the most.

Janus’ vision blurred, and he vaguely registered the sensation of tears running down his face, but he paid them no heed. He summoned all the energy he could, calling to the furthest reaches of the forest as he grasped for something, anything that would help Virgil stay alive-

A blast erupted from his chest, sending forth all the magic he could gather. The ground shook underneath him and the air tremored, the sound leaving his ears ringing. He blinked away the spots that danced in his vision, and looked down at his brother.

Virgil was still.

Not moving, not breathing.

But looking at his serene face, Janus knew he was alive.

“What did you do to him?” The witch asked, her voice low and furious. Fiercely protective, as Virgil had been of her.

“He’s asleep,” Janus stated, his voice seeming distant even from himself. Asleep, but alive.

Janus carefully took the cloak that rested around Virgil’s shoulders. There had been attempts on Virgil’s life in the past, but never before had he been so careless as to let one of his possessions be tampered with. Sure enough, as Janus inspected it he noticed thorns laced through the stitching – so small they were almost invisible, the tips shimmering ever so slightly. Definitely poison.

Careful not to let any of the thorns nick his skin, Janus folded the cloak in his lap, and turned back to his brother and the girl who knelt beside him. He could leave Virgil with the witch – with Greta – and he would be in good hands. Perhaps they weren’t related by blood, but Greta cared for Virgil as much as Janus did, that much was clear.

Janus stalked off into the forest, whispering useless prayers under his breath. He knew of nobody more powerful than himself and his brother, but Virgil had always talked about a Mother who watched over them, and now all Janus could do was hope there was more truth to that than he had always believed.

It didn’t take long to find the usurpers – a crowd of fae were gathered in the forest, already revelling in celebration. Fools.

“The rebels who deposed the Spider King, I presume?” Janus asked as he stepped into their clearing, keeping a lazy gait to his step and a lightness to his voice that he didn’t feel.

All conversation ceased, only a few hushed whispers exchanged as the fae glanced worriedly at each other.

After a moment, one stepped forward. The pixie tilted his chin high, but his steps were tentative. “You, uh- presume correctly, Sire.”

Janus clapped his hands together once, the sound resonating through the clearing, and let a wicked smirk work its way onto his face. “You mean to tell me that you poisoned my brother, leaving him indisposed so that I may rule in his stead?”

The relief that washed over the clearing was palpable, and the pixie’s shoulders sagged. “Why, yes. We have always thought that you would be a superior leader, Your Highness.”

“Yeah!” Yelled a voice from the crowd. “Nothing like your brother, those humans have made him go soft.”

Janus chuckled, taking a few steps forward. “So, you think that my brother is too soft? And you want a stronger king?”

He was met with fervent nods from the crowd.

“And you all had a hand in his disposal?”

Eager murmurs of agreement echoed throughout the clearing. They really were foolish.

Janus reached out and took hold of the pixie’s chin, examining him. The greedy glimmer in his eyes was familiar to Janus by now, one that made men do awful deeds to gain power, but spinelessly grovel before anyone with more than them. “Well, in that case, I’ll give you exactly what you deserve.” He squeezed, and with a sickening crack of his skull the pixie went limp in his grip.

As the body sagged to the floor, shrieks echoed through the clearing. The crowd of fae scattered, diving for the cover of the trees and trampling their comrades in their rush to safety. Janus knelt, and slammed a hand onto the ground. The pulse of energy sent cracks through the earth itself, and cowardly fae in all directions crumpled to the ground as it hit them.

Janus surveyed the clearing around him, now littered with the bodies of traitors. Only one of the rebels remained, cowering in the bushes as if staying still would somehow make them invisible.

Janus stalked over to them and grabbed their collar, pulling them upright.

“Please, I didn’t- this wasn’t my idea, I just… I was just here, please don’t-”

“Shush,” Janus snapped. “If you want to live, you will run. Run through the forest and find every fae you can. Tell them, the Serpent King is on the throne.”  

 -----

 Remus knew he was weird. He was the weird kid nobody at school wanted to speak to, who practically lived in the woods and could never seem to keep his fingernails clean. Who had no second thoughts about grabbing scones straight out of the oven no matter how many times Logan warned him they’d be scalding. Who wore shorts in the middle of winter and kept a raccoon in his room.

It hadn’t been so bad when he’d had his brother, but since Roman had found his own group of misfits the two of them had grown apart.

But now, Roman was about to make a huge mistake, and Remus couldn’t let him face it on his own.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Remus warned from his spot on Roman’s floor. He’d lounged here many a time before, when the two of them had been making up stories and laughing. But now he felt small, looking up at his brother who sat on his bed with folded arms. Roman’s cat stalked between the two of them, and while Dizzy had always been affectionate with Remus even when Roman himself had ignored him, even she seemed wary. Remus stroked the tail of his pet raccoon, and Iago curled tighter around his shoulders, almost as if he could sense Remus’ distress. Though, throughout the years Iago had proved more receptive to Remus’ emotions than most people.

“Oh, so now the guy who’s gotten suspended three times in the past year wants me to think about the consequences of my actions?” Roman raised an eyebrow, looking for all the world as if he couldn’t care less, but Remus heard the uncertainty in his voice. It was rare for his brother to be scared, and even less common for him to show it.

Remus threw up his hands. “Getting in trouble at school isn’t the same as making a deal with one of the fae. Roman, this is serious-”

“I know!” Roman snapped, a wild determination in his eyes. Then he leaned back against the wall. Dizzy hopped up onto the bed next to him, and Roman pulled her towards him. “I have to do this… for him. You didn’t see how sad he was, Re, you don’t understand.”

Remus did understand. He understood Roman better than anyone, and it was impossible not to notice the way Roman looked at Logan – or at Patton, for that matter. And how when one of the was sad, he would stop at nothing until he could slay whatever beast was troubling them.

“I have to do this,” Roman repeated, as if steeling himself. “So Logan can go to college. Because otherwise, he’ll never be able to leave. And I can’t just let him stay under his mother’s control for the rest of his life.”

Remus stared him down for a long moment, but Roman didn’t waver. Sighing heavily, Remus stood to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at his brother. “Whatever. Goodnight Roman.”

“Night, Remus,” Roman muttered.

The two of them had shared until Remus had found Iago, and Roman had pointedly refused to share a room with a raccoon. Remus had been a little disheartened at the time, and couldn’t help wishing they were as close as Logan and his brother Thomas, but now he was glad of it.

Closing the door firmly behind him, he picked up his knife. Pulling the hem of his favourite T-shirt away from his body so it wouldn’t catch his skin, he sliced through the fabric, cutting a jagged strip.

He set Iago down on the bed, giving him a little scratch behind his ears. “You stay here, buddy. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Nothing could stop Roman from making the deal, but he couldn’t exactly do much about it if Remus did it first.

 -----

 It was a clear night; clear enough for the waxing moon to light Remus’ way as he skirted around the edge of the village. Only now did Remus realise that it was a little too close to being full for comfort, and he thanked whatever cosmic force was out there that the conversation hadn’t happened a few days later.

He rubbed his arms as he approached the hanging tree, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to bring a jacket. In fact, he was woefully unprepared for this entire encounter – he hadn’t even brought a charm for good luck, though at least he’d remembered to leave his knife at home. Attempting to make a deal with a powerful fae while armed would be inadvisable to say the least.

The hanging tree was already littered with numerous scraps of fabric, trailing limply from the branches in the chilly wind. Remus wondered, briefly, if this deal would prove as ineffectual as all of its predecessors. Because nobody made a deal with the fae and came out on top.

But if he didn’t do this, Roman would. So, strengthening his resolve, Remus wrapped the ragged piece of cloth around the branch and knotted it tightly, hoping he wasn’t tying his own noose in the process.

He cleared his throat, and spoke into the wind. “I’m here to barter for the changeling boy’s freedom.”

Remus always hated waiting, but the seconds ticking by now became unbearable as he fidgeted with the frayed fabric of his T-shirt. He glanced down at the hem mournfully; it had been one of his favourite tops, but at least the messy edge suited his style.

After what might have been minutes or hours, he began to get the distinct sense that he wasn’t alone. He almost jumped back in shock as he looked up, because standing right in front of him, less than a meter away, was a figure with his face obscured under a hood. His lips were curved into an amused smirk, and Remus briefly wondered how long the fae had been watching him fiddle with the frayed hem of his clothes.

“Well, out with it,” the fae boy prompted, leaning languidly against the tree. “You want the changeling boy’s freedom – what will you offer in return?”

“Oh, right…” Remus rubbed the loose threads of the hem between his fingers – at this rate, the T-shirt would be in tatters by morning, although hopefully he wouldn’t be stood out in the cold for that long. He just needed to get this deal over with, and think of something he could give. But it wasn’t like he owned anything that the fae could want; his house wasn’t exactly filled with treasure, and he wasn’t particularly skilled in any area that might be useful. All he really had to offer was… himself.

“I could help you,” he offered lamely, after a long pause.

The fae boy actually let out a chuckle, the low sound making Remus shiver. He leaned forward, folding his arms. “And what do you propose that you, a human, could help me with?”

“Anything you need,” Remus blurted, while his brain screamed at him that this was a bad idea, very very bad idea. But he didn’t have anything else to offer. “If you need, like… someone to do a task for you. Or to help you find something.”

The fae’s jaw tightened, and he cocked his head to the side. “I’m listening...”

Remus took a breath. “Well, I’m sure you’re really busy, so like if there’s ever anything you don’t have time to do or something, I could do it for you. Like, odd jobs and stuff.”

“Alright then,” the fae mused, “and now, a time frame.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked.

The fae boy’s lip curled into a frown. “Well, since the curse was placed on the changeling by his mother, only she can undo it permanently. But I can… keep it at bay for a few years, so to speak.”

Remus bit his lip. He hadn’t planned for Logan’s freedom to only be temporary, but then he hadn’t planned much of anything. “College would take him three or four years,” he muttered, counting the numbers out on his fingers. “Maybe longer, and he still has a few years of school left… Um, seven years?” He raised his head to look back at the fae boy, who seemed to be watching him curiously.

With a quick nod, the fae boy extended a hand. “Seven years it is. Shall we shake on it?”

Remus hesitated. “So, L- the changeling can leave Wickhills for seven years, so he can go to college. And in return…”

“You shall give seven years of service to me,” the fae boy finished.

Remus looked down at the hand, still extended, beckoning him to shake it and seal the deal. Service to one of the fae may not be pleasant, but he could have come off far worse in the deal. Besides, he was doing this to keep his brother safe.

For Roman. Before he could loose his nerve, Remus grasped the fae boy’s hand with his own. His fingers brushed against cold scales, but he didn’t recoil.

As the fae retracted his hand, he swept back his hood.

Remus knew that fae were often considered ethereal, even beautiful, but nothing could have prepared him for how his heart stuttered as he laid eyes on the most captivating boy he’d ever seen. Iridescent green and gold scales glistened in the moonlight. They curved around his eyes – one a stunning yellow, the other a radiant green.

And Remus suddenly realised just how deep he’d thrown himself into this. Because the fae he’d just made a deal with was unmistakeably the Serpent King.

“The changeling is free,” the Serpent King said. “I shall call on you when I need you.”

“Wait!” Without thinking, Remus shot out his hand and grabbed the Serpent King's wrist, which was just about the stupidest thing he could have done. “I thought… aren’t you going to take the seven years all at once?”

The Serpent King shook his grip off with a glare. “I said no such thing. It would be far more beneficial for me to… borrow pieces of your time when needed.”

“But, the changeling-”

The Serpent King waved a dismissive hand. “His seven years shall pass linearly… I’m not a monster, despite what you might hear.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Remus said quickly.

Something crossed the Serpent King’s face, but Remus couldn’t quite read it. “Very well. I shall see you soon.”

[twiceasfrustrating]

Absolutely Nothing

I said I wouldn't post my new fic until after SWBQ is done, but I want to begin posting it before S4 drops. It won't update consistently atm, but it's there... I will only be posting the first two chapters to Tumblr. Everything else is going on AO3 because Tumblr is not longfic friendly.

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Main Character, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, Solomon, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Original Angel Character(s)

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, Trauma, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canon is like a vampire, it can't enter this house unless I let it, Emotional Baggage, Lies, Manipulation, Ships not intended but I'm not stopping you

Summary: War is not unknown to the three realms, but that does not make them any less a tragedy of strategy. Though relations between the three have never been favorable, they have never truly gone to battle with each other. At least, not until now. The heavens have been planning for a long time and have finally decided to execute their machinations. Now it is time to see how every piece will play out this bloody battle.

A/N: These tags are for the overarching fic, not the first two chapters. Only Lucifer, Simeon, Micheal, and Gabriel show up in the first two chapters.

Chapter 1: I Will Not Go With You

“We’re heading for a war,” Lucifer warned, “and I want you to come with me.”

Simeon solemnly blinked a few times before closing his eyes. The weight of the choices laid before him pricked at the edges of his mind. He’d known this was coming. He’d known for a long time that this question would eventually be asked of him and for just as long he’d known what his answer would be, “I must decline.”

“Why?” Lucifer spat out, “Simeon, you have to know what’s about to happen. If we don’t fight then Lilith-”

“I am not stopping you from this rebellion.” He opened his eyes and looked to the pages stacked neatly in the corner of his desk, carefully flipping through the avalanche of writings he’d collected over the years. Somewhere, buried deep in the pile, he vaguely recalled his moment; where his brother would ask him to do the impossible. He’d hidden it away from prying eyes, afraid that others would find it and interpret it as he had. Though, even if they had read it and understood what the contents were, it was nigh impossible to change the events that were foretold.

He pulled the page from the pile, taking care so the others above it would not collapse onto the delicately inlaid wood of his desk, and perused the contents held within. The paper was so old that it had begun to grow fragile to the touch and discolor at the edges. Simeon desperately wished that time had chosen not to show its touch on this particular relic he would rather have forgotten about. It was frightening how long he’d known about this day and he would rather pretend he was shocked when Lucifer had come to him. Sometimes, having a glimpse into what would eventually be was a cruel reality.

That brother, who would come in need of his fellow, will find no quarter. So shall he return with hands left empty, but convictions emboldened by the forge of his stature. He shall take with him those who share his resolve and lead them to where metal sings and cries. Blood shall be shed but on one side, though the cost of the blood spilled shall

It was an old, short paragraph he wished he could forget. Though he could never truly put it out of his mind, because he knew it was left unfinished and his mind and pen longed to see the end of the story. However, his heart and will would prefer not to know every detail of this particular future. For so long, he’d clung to that final shall and hoped that not knowing the entirety of the story would somehow keep it from unfolding. However, his pen only put the stories to page. He was not responsible for the events that inspired him to write.

“You will have to make do with those who are already on your side. No one else will turn their back on Father for your cause.” It was the only warning he could give. In those words he hid the message that Lucifer should tell no one else. If war was approaching, then it was better he have the element of surprise.

Lucifer could only stare at him in disbelief, “Is that your answer?”

“It always was.” He placed the paper face down atop the pile, “I cannot aid you in this, Lucifer.”

“Then you would fight against me? You would condemn Lilith in the same way as our Father?” His voice shook, the rage building inside of him clearly beginning to boil over even as he tried to contain it.

“I will not betray my family.” Simeon’s face remained unchanged as he pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. Despite the malicious aura that began to circle around his fellow Seraphim, he approached with an unguarded stance until they were only an arm’s reach away from one another. No matter how upset Lucifer may become, Simeon would not fear him. Though, he did fear *for* him, “You and she are still of my kind and that means I will not meet you on the battlefield.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the declaration. This time, it was his turn to fear for the other, “You can’t stay out of this. You know they won’t allow you.” If he did try to remain on the sidelines, Simeon would still be seen as a traitor. Not in the same vein as him and his siblings, but a traitor nonetheless, “I won’t ask you to fight if you really refuse to lift your blade, but you can’t stay here.”

“As much as you and Lilith are my family, so are Micheal, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. I cannot leave them.”

“Simeon…”

Simeon’s lips pulled back into a smile and he let out the shortest of laughs, “You worry far too much, Lucy. You are aware that I am still a Seraphim, are you not? Even if I do not step onto the battlefield, I do not believe I am in nearly as much danger as you are putting yourself in.” He wanted to reach out and touch his brother one last time as the fear of the unknown overtook him, but he kept his hand within his own space. He did not know what would happen at the end of all of this, but he knew it would not be the same and reaching out to hold onto what they had would only pain them both.

Lucifer looked over the other angel’s shoulder, toward the pile of papers where Simeon had placed one face down. Countless writings that revealed the future to their author and Lucifer did not envy that gift. Others often wished to know what would be, but he had seen far too many times the burden placed on Simeon for having such a skill; the amount of times he had been made to see both grace and tragedy was carved on his face, just behind that smile. That is why, despite knowing that whatever was on that page was related to this very discussion and his ultimate goal, he would not pry. It was not as if knowing the future allowed it to be changed anyway.

“We’ll still be on opposing sides, you know?” No matter how much Simeon proclaimed not to betray his family, that was an unavoidable truth.

He nodded, “I am aware.”

“And you refuse to go against your family?”

This time his confirmation was wordless.

Lucifer took in a deep breath, “Then once the battle begins, I believe we can hardly be considered family anymore.”

Large blue eyes shot up to look at his pale face. It seemed that Lucifer had said something Simeon hadn’t expected, “What?”

“You will not betray your family, but you know they will not allow you to remain neutral in this. As soon as the drums of war beat, it is fine to stop thinking of me as your brother.”

There was a long moment of silence before Simeon could reply, “You cannot ask me that.”

“I am not asking. I am stating a truth,” one that would hopefully allow Simeon a way to follow his morals and gain some leniency if he continued to insist on this path, “I refuse to be your brother from that moment on.”

“Please... you cannot ask that of me.”

“I am not asking anything of you. I am simply stating where we will stand.” And now he needed to leave before the hurt welling in Simeon’s eyes tugged at his heart anymore and shattered his resolve.

He dipped his head in a polite bow, “Thank you for your time, Simeon. I do hope we may speak like this again.” He turned on his heels, refusing to truly look at the other angel again. His only goal was the door, where he opened it wide and stepped through the threshold.

“Lucifer! Wait!”

It took far more will than Lucifer would ever care to admit as he shut the door behind him without saying another word, and even more to walk away.

-----------------------

Chapter 2: Traitor

“How long have you known?” Micheal nearly growled as he stared down Simeon where he kneeled. His pale blue eyes ran wild with rage and it was clear he was just barely holding himself together. That was to be expected after everything he had just been through. Lucifer was unapologetically his favorite brother so it was unimaginable the distress he was in right now as he came to terms with having lost a member of his family. They had been like two halves of a whole, and now they were fractured.

“How long have I known what?” Simeon asked, feigning ignorance.

“That Lucifer would lead a rebellion against Father!” Micheal’s voice raised so loud that the room literally shook around him.

“Calm yourself, Micheal,” a melodious voice shushed him and lithe hands rested on his shoulders to hold him steady, “We’ve lost enough of our siblings today. There is no reason to lose yourself and risk losing another.”

“You would call him our brother after that disgraceful scene, Gabriel?” The disgust in his voice was clear and overwhelming, “He knew this would happen and refused to warn us or lift a finger. Everything we lost today is because of him.” Simeon had to know about today. He was blessed with the gift of prophecy and spent his time writing what was to come. If he had simply shared whatever he knew about today, Micheal knows they could have prevented the rebellion. He knows that he could have convinced Lucifer to stay somehow. Instead, he was left to face his own brother on the battlefield. He could still recall the cold eyes Lucifer had looked at him with as if they barely knew one another. That sight would never leave the darkest parts of his mind.

“You are blinded by your pain, Micheal.” She removed her hand from his shoulders and moved to stand over Simeon, “He is clearly as much our brother as ever. If he were against us he would have joined Lucifer, but Father has deemed that he is still worthy of his halo. Is that not enough for you?”

Micheal chuckled darkly before answering, “Uriel nearly lost an arm and he’s one of the lucky ones.” Even with so few numbers on their side, the rebellion had a gifted Dominion that made the most of their small force.

“And everyone harmed will heal, but we gain nothing in dividing ourselves further, and our brother has already been punished for his transgressions.” She took a knee before Simeon, reaching out her hand and running her fingers through his silken hair, “Will you not put our brother’s worries at ease, Simeon?”

Simeon knew the threat in those words. As kind as Gabriel pretended to be, she was someone he feared far more than Micheal. Not because she was stronger, but because she knew exactly how to most hurt those who upset her. As such, he had no interest in declining her wish, even if what she was asking for was for him to show his shame.

He took a deep breath before unfurling his wings behind him. They shimmered golden in the neverending light of the Celestial Realm, a blessing bestowed upon him by their Father that reflected his very essence. Every angel had such a blessing; different colors, shapes, a range of sizes, and lays of their feathers all differed from angel to angel all dependent on their Father’s grace. That included how high in their Father’s favor they were, and it was obvious at a glance just how out of favor Simeon had fallen. His six beautiful wings, the blessing afforded to all Seraphim, had been reduced to a simple two.

Gabriel’s eyes filled with pity for him but Micheal’s face twisted in glee and disdain, “Is that all? You betray us and all Father does is reduce your rank.” The laugh that left his throat was so dry that it sounded like it hurt, “You must really be beloved to get off with such a light sentence.” If it was up to Micheal himself, Simeon would face the same punishment as Lilith.

“Still your anger, Micheal. As you can see, Father has spoken.” She raised to her feet once more, her nails pulling painfully at Simeon’s hair as she stepped away from him, “Simeon is still of our kind and as one of our subordinates it is our duty to shepherd him.”

A wicked smile crossed Micheal’s face as he continued to look down on Simeon and his now unsightly form that marked his betrayal, “You may be correct, Gabriel. It is only right that we guide lost sheep, especially those of our own flock.”

[glitxhwayventeen]

Love Is Gone

Junhui: Chapter 2 (Heaven Knows)

Characters: Junhui x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, potential blood mentions, genocide, runaways, rejection, suicide mentions, depression mentions, physical pain, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: I used the song Heaven Knows by The Pretty Reckless as inspiration for the feeling of this chapter.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Love Is Gone Master List

Chapter 2: Heaven Knows

The next morning, you woke up wishing you hadn’t. Every bone in your body ached, your head was pounding, and the sun burned your eyes. Every beat your heart made felt like it was slowing releasing poison into your bloodstream and killing you. But you expected as much: your mate had flat out denied you. Wolves typically died when their mates rejected them. Other than him, you really had no reason to keep on living, and he didn’t even want you around. So your body decided it would listen to him and just disappear. You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t want to sleep, all you wanted to do was cry and fall into your deafening misery.

It went on for days. You weren’t sure for how long it had gone on exactly, you lost count after day three or four. Part of you wanted to leave so you wouldn’t burden the pack around you, but you were too weak to get up and move somewhere else.

They worried about you though. They knew what was coming. You hadn’t eaten anything since the day Jun told you he didn’t want you. You hadn’t drank anything or left your room. You weren’t happy or cheery anymore. You didn’t even speak. You looked like something had sucked all the sparkle you had once carried right out of you, which was kind of what happened. They all knew you were dying, and they all knew it was Junhui’s fault.

When Chan told the others what had happened, they all started fighting with Junhui. “She’s your mate and she’s gonna die because you’re an ass” and “it’s your fault we’re gonna have to dig a hole in the back yard” were frequent sayings in the house now. You could still hear everything going on downstairs and elsewhere in the house, you were still a werewolf after all. You were just too busy dying to care.

The boys had tried to get you out of the depression Jun had put you in, it got to the point where even the very distant Minghao was on his knees in front of you, begging you to fight the mate rejection. They may not have known you long, but they knew that they didn’t want to lose their newly found bubbly sister that seemed to make every situation better just by smiling away the negativity. But why would you want to fight what was happening? Where would living get you?

You had been on Earth for 600 years. You watched your entire family and your entire tribe die, they had been slaughtered right in front of you. You had been alone for centuries and you thought you had been doing okay simply because you had kept your promise to keep going with the hope of being happy again someday.

But seeing and being around your mate, your one true soulmate that you’d never get again, made you realize just how alone being all alone truly was. You realized you now had no one and with that, you decided to just let nature take you however it wanted to. Better dead than going back to being completely on your own again.

The rest of the pack hardly even spoke to Jun anymore. They were furious with him. As they had gotten to know you better, they had all come to like you. You were funny and smart, you were silly but stern, you understood everyone and everything around you. You had never hurt or spoke badly about anyone. And Jun somehow had the balls to reject you? Fuck him. They were done with his shit. He wanted to be alone? Then fine, they’d make him feel just as alone as you had been your whole life. And he could feel it. It had really started to take a toll on him.

Regardless of what he said or thought deep down, he loved his brothers and them ignoring him hurt him more than he’d like to admit. Not to mention, you were dying just upstairs. Even if he said he didn’t want to want you, you WERE his mate. He felt everything you felt, he was connected to you. He was beginning to regret speaking to you the way he had. He could hear your every cry and whine you made, he had even began to feel your heart rate slow down and become uneven. It crushed him. Just because he said he didn’t want you didn’t mean he wanted you to die.

He was trying hard to keep his distance from everyone and everything around him, it’s what he’d always done to survive in his own. But even when he tried to forget about his brothers and their anger towards him, he could never forget the one thing that made him want to break his crippling solitude: you.

He missed your beaming smile. He missed your loud laugh that you always let out that had you crumpled over with tears flowing down your face whenever someone said something you found funny. He missed the way you tottered downstairs in the morning bright and early to start making everyone breakfast without being asked because you cared about them all so much. He missed your scent roaming around the house, a field of freshly bloomed lilies on a warm summer day with just a hint of freshly fallen snow mixed in. He longed to see your crystal blue eyes that looked at him with such love and affection that he didn’t deserve. He missed your gracefulness and gentleness you used in everything you did. He missed you. He knew all he had to do was go upstairs and apologize to you, but his pride and fears held him back.

“Stop being such a jackass to everyone you meet! She’s too sweet to ever hurt anyone! And here you’ve made her all but suicidal! You’re a real fucking piece of work Jun!” Joshua, the most levelheaded and kindest of the group of boys, broke and screamed at the skinny wolf as found him sat on the front porch sulking.

“If she dies, you’re gonna be the one to carry her body to her grave. HER blood is on YOUR hands.” Josh scolded, his arms crossed as he leaned against their porch swing in annoyance.

“I have every right to want what I want Shua, you coming out here yelling at me isn’t gonna change that.” Jun said in a monotoned voice, still torn up inside over what to do while he sat on the very steps that crossed your wounded body’s path just weeks ago when they first brought you back to the house.

“You’re right. It won’t. If even hearing your mate dying upstairs isn’t enough to change your mind, then nothing ever will. Why should I even try to convince you at this point? You aren’t worth the waste of breath” Joshua rolled his eyes and attempted to turn around to start walking back into the house before Jun’s response took him back.

“Yeah. I know.” Jun spoke, barely above a whisper as he brought his knees to his hollowed out chest and wrapped his arms around them to steady his uneven breathing.

“W- What…?” Josh halted, jumping back into his old resting place while staring at the younger wolf in confusion.

Jun sighed hard and deep to keep his lip from quivering, “I know I’m a fuck up okay. I know that. Of course I know that. My own fucking mother didn’t even want me! Of course I know I’m a waste of breath and space,” He explained with watery eyes causing Joshua to quickly come and sit down next to him.

“I- I just don’t know what else to do. I know denying her’s a dick move, but being with (Y/N) means I’ll just end up getting left again. She’ll leave me just like everyone else has. Because that’s what people do, they eventually leave you all alone and broken. I didn’t think i could handle that again. So i made the decision to cut it off before i got too attached. But hearing her slowly dying because of me is killing me inside. I want to be with her Shua, I really do! You have to believe me. But-” He pleaded with a solemn look on his face as he tried to swallow down some of his feelings, “But I just- I don’t know how to be. I don’t know how to be okay with being with someone i dont know after being alone for so long. I don’t know how to push past the fear of getting abandoned or getting hurt by getting to close and be with her.” Jun confessed, quickly wiping away a tear before the older wolf could see.

“Jun, I- Why didn’t you just tell her that to begin with? Why didn’t you tell her that you’re scared and worried? Why didn’t you just tell her you needed more time or something?” Joshua questioned quietly, placing his hand on his brother’s back in an effort to comfort him, “She would’ve understood. I mean, do you really think it would be easy for her? She hasn’t had to deal with people in how many centuries? Like 5? She’s been alone most of her life. She’s probably scared just as shitless as you to all of a sudden have to spend the rest of her life with someone she doesn’t know. But that doesn’t mean you guys shouldn’t at least give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could leave.” Jun stated, gazing off into the distance in his best effort to keep his emotions in check.

“Jun man, I can picture that wild girl doing a lot of things, but leaving her mate? No. There’s no way. She’s already in love with you. She already loves you too much, so much so that she’d rather just die than not be with you. Are you kidding me? She’d never leave you.” Joshua reassured him, placing both his hands on Jun’s shoulders to get his point across.

“Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe I- I should go talk to her.” Jun decided, sniffing back the tears that managed to find their way to his nose and eyes so he could look semi-presentable when he faced you.

“Ya’ think?” Joshua pushed his brother gently in a playful manner to lighten the mood.

“Thanks Shua Hyung. I think that- that I really needed this talk.” Jun added as he got up from his previous spot, ready to head back into the house to speak with you.

“Anytime kid. Now, go see and make up with your mate before she croaks out on us” Joshua joked, seriously only meaning it as a joke, before they both made their way inside.

Suddenly, Jun stopped just as they went through the doorway, causing Joshua to look back at him in confusion.

“What now? You need me to hold your hand while you talk to her too?” He sneered sarcastically, smiling slightly at his own joke.

“I- I don’t feel her anymore.” Jun bluntly stated, tears already starting to reform in his eyes.

“What do you mean you dont feel her anymore? She’s upstairs..” Joshua said slightly concerned about his brother’s current situation.

“No. She’s not. There’s only eleven other hearts beating in here. There should be twelve. I- I can’t feel the pull to her either…” Jun gulped in disbelief before panic spread across his face, “Why can’t I hear her?? Hyung, why- why can’t I even FEEL her anymore??” He stressed, gripping onto Joshua’s shirt as salty streams started falling from his eyes uncontrollably, knowing full well that something was SERIOUSLY wrong if he couldn’t feel the mating pull to you anymore.

Joshua’s eyes widen in shock, soon realizing that he too couldn’t hear you anymore. Oh no…

The older wolf quickly pulled Jun to the stairs to get up to your room, both boys missing every other step in an effort to get to your last known location quicker. But when they got to your room, you were gone. You weren’t dead. You weren’t dying. You were just… gone.

Jun’s heart rate had never been so high in his life. It felt like it was stuck in his throat and everytime he swallowed, it just seems to get heavier and heavier. He and Joshua had asked all the other boys where you had went. When they all stated that you should’ve been in your room, Jun’s stomach fell and his stomach began to twist in knots.

You weren’t in your room. Heaven Knows what happened to you or where you went.

The other boys soon realized that you were gone as well when again, they realized they couldn’t hear you either. He yelled at all the others, asking them how the fuck they could’ve just let you leave your room and not have known or even told him about it. While they were all internally eye rolling at the irony of him suddenly becoming worried for you, they began to start panicking visibly as well.

They had all sworn they didn’t hear anything in your room but your jagged breathing. They had all sworn that they didn’t hear you leave. No one had a clue as to where or when you could’ve disappeared either.

The boys suggested that maybe you had left on your own, but Jun knew that that couldn’t have been the truth. You were far too weak to have left on your own… right? You barely had a pulse for fucksakes, so how the hell could you have just got up and left all on your own? Especially without any of them having heard you?

Something felt wrong. Something felt very very wrong to Jun.

The room was exactly the way they had left it when they had first given it to you to stay in. Nothing was out of place. The bed was made, the clothes neatly folded at the edge of your bed to be washed, the books Wonwoo had given you to read to pass the time sitting on the nightstand in alphabetical order. The only difference they could spot was that the window had been left cracked open…

Another Author’s Note: Okay so I know this is short, but bear with me. It’s all for the suspense of the story and trust me when I say it’s about to get good😏

(Updated 4/5)

[satansjit]

Reflections on the Color of My Skin

By Neil DeGrasse Tyson

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

My colleague had other encounters with the law that he shared later that night, but his first story started a chain reaction among us. One by one we each recalled multiple incidents of being stopped by the police. None of the accounts were particularly violent or life-threatening, although it was easy to extrapolate to highly publicized cases that were. One of my colleagues had been stopped for driving too slowly. He was admiring the local flora as he drove through a New England town in the autumn. Another had been stopped because he was speeding, but only by five miles per hour. He was questioned and then released without getting a ticket. Still another colleague had been stopped and questioned for jogging down the street late at night.

As for me, I had a dozen different encounters to draw from. There was the time I was stopped late at night at an underpass on an empty road in New Jersey for having changed lanes without signaling. The officer told me to get out of my car and questioned me for ten minutes around back with the headlights of his squad car brightly illuminating my face. Is this your car? Yes. Who is the woman in the passenger seat? My wife. Where are you coming from? My parent’s house. Where are you going? Home. What do you do for a living? I am an astrophysicist at Princeton University. What’s in your trunk? A spare tire, and a lot of other greasy junk. He went on to say that the “real reason” why he stopped me was because my car’s license plates were much newer and shinier than the 17-year-old Ford that I was driving. The officer was just making sure that neither the car nor the plates were stolen.

Among my other stories, I had been stopped by campus police while transporting my home supply of physics textbooks into my newly assigned office in graduate school. They had stopped me at the entrance to the physics building where they asked accusatory questions about what I was doing. It was 11:30 p.m. Open-topped boxes of graduate math and physics textbooks filled the trunk. And I was transporting them into the building, which left me wondering how often that scenario shows up in police training videos.

We went on for two more hours. But before we retired for the night we searched for common denominators among the stories. We had all driven different cars—some were old, others were new, some were undistinguished, others were high performance imports. Some police stops were in the daytime, others were at night. Taken one-by-one, each encounter with the law could be explained as an isolated incident where, in modern times, we all must forfeit some freedoms to ensure a safer society for us all. Taken collectively, however, you would think the cops had a vendetta against physicists because that was the only profile we all had in common. In this parade of automotive stop-and-frisks, one thing was for sure, the stories were not singular, novel moments playfully recounted. They were common, recurring episodes. How could this assembly of highly educated scientists, each in possession of the PhD—the highest academic degree in the land—be so vulnerable to police inquiry in their lives? Maybe the police cued on something else. Maybe it was the color of our skin. The conference I had been attending was the 23rd meeting of the National Society of Black Physicists. We were guilty not of DWI (Driving While Intoxicated), but of other violations none of us knew were on the books: DWB (Driving While Black), WWB (Walking While Black), and of course, JBB (Just Being Black).

None of us were beaten senseless. None of us were shot. But what does it take for a police encounter to turn lethal? On average, police in America kill more than 100 unarmed black people per year. Who never made it to our circle? I suspect our multi-hour conversation would be rare among most groups of law-abiding people.

As I compose this, about 10,000 chanting protestors are filing past my window in Manhattan. And because of the intermittent looting and related violence, the curfew for this evening has been pushed earlier, to 8 p.m., from 11 p.m. in the preceding days. The most common placard was “Black Lives Matter.” Many others simply displayed the name George Floyd, who was handcuffed face-down on the street with a police officer’s knee on the back of his neck, applied with a force of at least half the officer’s body weight, resulting in his death. Curious irony that NFL star Colin Kaepernick offered a simple demonstration of care and concern for the fate of black people in the custody of police officers, by taking a knee during the Star Spangled Banner before football games. (One media outlet mangled the moment by describing him as protesting the national anthem.) The outrage against his silent act of concern for a national problem persisted through the 2017 season when, as a free agent, he went unsigned by any team to continue his livelihood.

So, we went from a peaceful knee to the ground to a fatal knee to the neck.

The way peaceful protesters and the press are being shoved, maced, tear-gassed, pepper-sprayed, and tackled in the streets of our cities (when the police should have focused on arresting the looters) you would think the protestors were doing something illegal or un-American. But, of course, the U.S. Constitution has something to say about it:

Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom … of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Which amendment was that? The First Amendment. So, the founders of this nation felt quite strongly about it, empowering one to declare that protesting for redress of grievances is one of the most American things you can do. If you are the police, pause and reflect how great is the country whose Constitution endorses peaceful protests.

What do we actually expect from our police officers? To protect the peace and arrest the bad guys, I presume. But also, to be armed with lethal force that they can use when necessary. That part clearly requires training on how and when to use (and not use) the power of your weapons. The rigorous Minneapolis Police Academy training lasts 4 months. The slightly more rigorous NYC Police Academy lasts 6 months.

Yet to become a certified pastry chef at a prestigious culinary academy requires 8 months. The perfect croissant demands it. So maybe, just maybe, police recruits could benefit from a bit more training before becoming officers.

In 1991, Rodney King (age 25) was struck dozens of times, while on the ground, by four LAPD officers, with their batons, after being tased. The grainy 1990s video of that went media-viral, inducing shock and dismay to any viewer.

But I wasn’t shocked at all.

Based on what I already knew of the world, my first thought was, “We finally got one of those on tape.” Followed by, “Maybe justice will be served this time.” Yes, that’s precisely my first thought. Why? Since childhood my parents instilled in me and my siblings, via monthly, sometimes weekly lessons, rules of conduct to avoid getting shot by the police. “Make sure that when you get stopped, the officer can always see both of your hands.” “No sudden movements.” “Don’t reach into your pockets for anything without announcing this in advance.” “When you move at all, tell the officer what you are about to do.” At the time, I am a budding scientist in middle school, just trying to learn all I can about the universe. I hardly ever think about the color of my skin—it never comes up when contemplating the universe. Yet when I exit my front door, I’m a crime suspect. Add to this the recently coined “White Caller Crime,” where scared white people call the police because they think an innocent black person is doing something non-innocent, and it’s a marvel that any of us achieve at all.

The rate of abuse? Between one and five skin-color-instigated incidents per week, for every week of my life. White people must have known explicitly if not implicitly of this struggle. Why else would the infamous phrase, “I’m free, white, and 21” even exist? Here is a compilation of that line used in films across the decades. Yes, it’s offensive. But in America, it’s also truthful. Today’s often-denied “white privilege” accusation was, back then, openly declared.

The deadly LA riots associated with the Rodney King incident are often remembered as a response to the beating. But no. Los Angeles was quiet for 13 months afterward. Everyone had confidence, as did I, that the video was just the kind of evidence needed to finally bring about a conviction in the abuse of power. But that’s not what came to pass. The riots were a response to the acquittal of the four officers in the incident, and not to the incident itself. And what is a riot if not the last act of helpless desperation.

The 1989 film by Spike Lee “Do the Right Thing,” which explored 1980s black-white-police tensions in Brooklyn, New York, ends with a dedication to the families of six people. Eleanor Bumpers (age 66), Michael Griffith (age 23), Arthur Miller (age 30), Edmund Perry (age 17), Yvonne Smallwood (age 28), and Michael Stewart (age 25). All are black. One was killed by a white mob. The rest were unarmed and shot by police or otherwise died while in police custody. All deaths occurred within the 10 years preceding film, and all occurred in New York City. None of the police-induced deaths resulted in convictions, as continues to be true for 99% of all police killings.

We know of these events because they each ended in death. But even so, back then, it was just local news. Was this just NYC’s problem? I asked myself. But for every police-related death anywhere, how many unarmed victims are shot by police and don’t die, or are wrongfully maimed or injured? Most of those cases didn’t even make the local news. But if you lived there, you knew. We all knew. For what it’s worth, NYC now has the lowest police-caused death rate per capita among the sixty largest cities in the US. Is it that extra two months training in the Police Academy?

The corrosion and ultimate erosion of our confidence in the legal system in cases such as these, even in the face of video evidence, has spawned a tsunami of protests. With sympathetic demonstrations across the United States and around the world. If the threat of prison time for this behavior does not exist—acting as a possible deterrent—then the behavior must somehow stop on its own.

Some studies show that the risk of death for an unarmed person at the hands of the police is approximately the same no matter the demographics of who gets arrested. Okay. But if your demographic gets stopped ten times more than others, then your demographic will die at ten times the rate. I suppose we first have to get the bias factor down to zero, but then there’s still the matter of police killing unarmed suspects, white people included.

I talk a lot. But I don’t talk much about any of this, or the events along this path-of-most-resistance that have shaped me. Why? Because throughout my life I’ve used these occasions as launch-points to succeed even more. Yes, I parlayed the persistent rejections of society, which today might be called micro-aggressions, into reservoirs of energy to achieve. I learned that from my father, himself active in the Civil Rights Movement during the 1950s and 1960s.

In a way, I am who I am precisely because countless people, by their actions or inactions, said I could never be what I am. But what if you don’t have this deep supply of fuel? What becomes of you? Who from historically disenfranchised communities, including women, LGBTQ+, and anybody of color, are missing—falling shy of their full potential because they ran out of energy and gave up trying.

Are things better today than yesterday? Yes. But one measure of this truth is a bit perverse. Decades ago, unarmed black people getting beaten or killed by the police barely merited the local news. But now it’s national news—even breaking news—no matter where in the country it occurs.

So how to change all this? Organizations have surely assembled demands for police departments. Here, I offer a list of my own, for policy experts to consider:

Extend police academies to include months of cultural awareness and sensitivity training that also includes how not to use lethal force.

Police officers should all be tested for any implicit bias they carry, with established thresholds of acceptance and rejection from the police academy. We all carry bias. But most of us do not hold the breathing lives of others in our hands when influenced by it.

During protests, protect property and lives. If you attack nonviolent protesters you are being un-American. And you wouldn’t need curfews if police arrested looters and not protesters.

If fellow officers are behaving in a way that is clearly unethical or excessively violent, and you witness this, please stop them. Someone will get that on video, and it will give the rest of us confidence that you can police yourselves. In these cases, our trust in you matters more to a civil society than how much you stick up for each other.

And here’s a radical idea for the Minneapolis Police Department—why not give George Floyd the kind of full-dress funeral you give each other for dying in the line of duty? And vow that such a death will never happen again.

Lastly, when you see black kids, think of what they can be rather than what you think they are.

Respectfully Submitted

Neil deGrasse Tyson — trying hard to Keep Looking Up.

Copyright © 2018 Neil deGrasse Tyson

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-Why must I always make things complicated?)

Warnings- Language (I don’t usually use language warnings, but its a lot this time), Violence, Bloodshed, Murder, brief mentions of SMUT (it’s not what you’re thinking.)

Masterlist  Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Crime and Punishment 

It was Saturday, and at all costs, Y/n usually preferred to keep her weekends to herself and leave her business, whatever it was, for Monday. Because of this, John was usually off on weekends too, though, he did still stay at her penthouse just in case, he never said of what, but Y/n knew. She’d always known, that was why she’d hired him. Nonetheless, while hitmen and mercenaries didn’t take weekends off, Y/n did, unless, of course, pressing matters arose. 

“What?” Y/n’s jaw clenched as she tried to keep her rage at bay, though, Donavan knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was a bit more than pissed off. Someone was going to die that day, it was just a question of who. With the book laid out before her, Y/n scanned the page, one, two and then three times, just to make sure she hadn’t read anything wrong, though, she rarely made mistakes. She was hardly perfect though, calculated was more like it. “Who the hell let this slip?” Standing abruptly, Y/n slammed the leather bound book shut with a thud.

“My guess is someone in accounting,” He stood before the sleek, white desk in her white walled, airy home office, his hands clasped in front of him, not in the slightest phased by her behavior, "But, it could be one of the guys you’ve got working in stock. What do you want to do about it?”

Moving out from behind the desk, Y/n slipped her hands coolly into the pockets of her grey, soft, paper bag pants, sauntering over to the window that overlooked the rest of Hudson Yards, the glass constituting the other towering complexes reflecting the afternoon sun beautifully and way down below, the people bustling were reduced to specs on the paved roads and sidewalks. “I want to find this person, and have them dealt with, today,” she emphasized the final word, before turning back to Donavan, finding his dark, steely grey eyes fixed on her, his sharp jaw set stiffly. When she got closer, close enough to see the hints of grey showing up near his sideburns and in his five o’clock shadow, he stood a little straighter and Y/n could feel the muscles in his biceps rippling beneath his black sweater when her delicate fingers trailed up to his shoulder, “Will that be a problem, Donny?” 

Y/n was the only person that ever called him that and Donavan was the only person privy to some semblance of non-familial affection from her. It was a consequence of being reared so closely; from the minute she was brought home in the arms of her mother, Donavan, at just ten, was taught that she was his to look over, that it would be her before him at all costs. Not looking down at her, he simply eyed her movements through his peripheral, quirking a rare smirk, “No ma’am. The car’s downstairs, ready when you are.”

Her tongue darted out quickly, moistening her lips as she tried to suppress her own mirth, “Good, I’ll go tell John and we should be off within the hour.”

“Forgive my…..boldness, Vila,” Donavan interrupted  nonchalantly just as Y/n neared the door, her hand just about to close in over the ornate knob, only continuing when she spared him a lingering backwards glance, “I’ve been meaning to ask; are the services of Mr. Wick really necessary? You know I would lay my life down for you, at any time, no question.”

Nodding slowly, Y/n’s brows knitted, of course, she could tell from the moment they’d met that Donavan had is own reservations about John as her security detail, he wasn’t the trusting type, and the older man had only served to put him on edge, though, for the life of her, Y/n couldn’t readily see why. She liked John as much as her jagged edged personality would afford, and even if she wouldn’t call him a friend, she hardly called anyone that, Y/n had started to see him as indispensable. “Mhm,” she hummed, not quite sure of why he’d chosen that moment to voice his concerns, “But that’s not your job,” she turned to leave again.

“I know that,” he insisted and she paused again, the first inkling of irritation seeping upwards, “But I would. And I just don’t think we need an unnecessary expense on our payroll, especially one…...that expensive.”

“Are you doubting my judgement, Donavan?” There was a sternness in her tone, one she rarely took with him though, it was enough to urge him to back off, and if he didn’t know her so well, he might have.

“I’m not,” he reassured, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest, “I would never, it’s just……”

“Don’t,” briskly, Y/n stopped him before he could find the words, “Never, ever, question my decisions, you know I don’t like it,” she warned firmly, “And as for John, he’s needed, and he stays, and if you think of questioning his employment here again, then I suggest you keep it to yourself? Got it?”

And then, before Y/n could hear Donavan’s response, she’d stalked out of the room, walking with purpose, down the hall, stopping at John’s room; the bedroom nearest to hers before heading there. As usual, it only took two knocks before John was pulling the tall door open. He’d been like that since moving in, always there when she called, never letting her wait a moment more than necessary. It wasn’t really obedience though, John had proven to be capable of following only his own rules, never needing her permission before acting and for what it was worth, she didn’t even think that ‘obedient’ was in his dictionary anyway. Instead, he was, as the legend had preached, a man of focus and commitment, and after only knowing him for just over a month, Y/n was beginning to think that there was very little that could successfully stand in the man’s way, if anything at all.

Another thing about John was that he was always impeccably dressed, persistently attired in a selection from his armory of Italian tailored, bulletproof suits. Never with a hair out of place and most definitely never looking as if she’d caught him off guard. Well, almost never. Except for that very Saturday, when they were both expected to be off and she’d broken habit and knocked on his door instead. “John,” Y/n didn’t think she could help if she tried when her eyes landed on his chest instead of his stoic expression. His torso, though very faintly defined, boasted how much an excellent shape he was in; the slight definition coming from years in the field as opposed to hours put in at the gym while scars of varying ages littered his skin. Hints of dark ink peeked out from his back while the bold cross on his shoulder was far more visible. Y/n had never seen his tattoos, but in that moment, she wanted to.

“See something interesting?” John broke her unconscious trance, folding his bulky arms and skewing her view.

Clearing her throat, Y/n shook her head, dismissing the feeling that had plumed in her chest at the sight of him so  sparsely dressed in nothing but a pair of worn blue jeans, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She rolled her eyes dismissively, “There’s a situation at the club house, we’re leaving within the hour.”

John never asked questions, and he didn't even protest that she'd been interrupting whatever he was doing, instead, he just held his head up, not even nodding as he offered a firm, "Okay," before shutting the door, leaving Y/n staring at the heavy white oak before swallowing her annoyance and turning to stalk off.

When the car pulled up in front of the warehouse, John and Donavan, who’d sat on either side of Y/n, got out before her, and by the time he'd had jogged around to the other side to help her out, John had already offered his hand. “I was coming to get you,” he grumbled, straightening the blazer he’d shrugged on over his sweater, moving to open the building’s front door for her.

“I don’t need anyone to get me,” Y/n scolded quietly, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous behavior as she stepped in front of John, who hung back for a couple minutes just to confirm that no other cars had lingered at the front gate. By then, he’d devised a working idea of the vehicles that usually moved in and out of the compound and who they were driven by, how he’d committed that and everything else to memory was still a mystery to Y/n. Satisfied, he followed Y/n into the building, eyeing everyone closely as they ascended the spiral steps, stopping only when they were raised over everyone else.

Y/n gripped the cool metal railing, her eyes scanning the floor as a chatter ran through the workers. The place wasn’t ordinarily quiet, but that mummer wasn’t friendly banter, it was fright; they weren’t used to seeing her there on a weekend, and if Y/n was there on a Saturday afternoon, it meant that something was sorely wrong. For a moment more, she spectated, trying to see who seemed the most nervous, inconsistencies like the one Donavan had brought to her couldn’t possibly be accidental, no, someone was stealing from her, and Y/n wasn’t going to stand for it. 

Ready to address them, she cleared her throat loudly, rousing attention and straightening her back to seem more intimidating when her underlings looked up at her, flanked by John on her left and Donavan, both eerily silent while her enforcers stood a couple feet behind, lurking in the shadows “It has been brought to my attention that there are some…..discrepancies in our books,” and when some gasped, others just looked on with awe, Y/n continued, “Twenty five thousand dollars is missing. And I know that twenty five fucking thousand doesn’t just vanish; this was not a mistake. Which means that it's gone on purpose, taken on purpose.” The gathered workers mumbled amongst themselves, looking around to see if someone would be brave enough to fess up, “And I understand that it's money,” she chuckled dryly, “And it's probably long, long gone. But whoever took it, isn’t, and if you think that I’m just gonna let this go, then you don’t really know me. So why don’t you, whoever the fuck you are, come forward and make both our lives easier? If you don’t, I will find you, and it will hurt when I do.”

Again, the workers chattered softly, probably nudging each other to say who’d done it if they knew. Though, minutes ticked by and nothing happened, and all the noise did was serve to irritate Y/n’s already sour mood, causing her to squeeze the railing tightly and hissing an exhale before, “Alight!” She snapped, “You want to make this hard? That’s fine,” Y/n reached behind her, snapping manicured fingers, “Boys,” she purred menacingly, “Get down there and find this fucker, and you do, bring ‘em to our playroom.”

From the minute the hasty order left her deep red lips, and her bulky henchmen started filtering out towards the steps, a man pushed through the crowd, making a break for the door. Though, his luck was as good as any common criminal, and fearing her to the point of faultless loyalty, some of her workers blocked him, a few others grabbing him before he could fight through, handing him over to Y/n’s men when they got through the thick of it. Even as they dragged him, the man screamed bloody murder, which in all fairness, was more than likely what he would be facing in just a bit. “Donny,” Y/n spoke without looking in his direction, and he simply hummed in response, “Why don’t you get our toys ready?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he nodded, sparing her one last glance before leaving her alone with John, still looking on at everyone below.

“What do you think?” She tilted her head, leaning in discreetly, “Anyone we should be looking out for, besides our little rat over there,” Y/n nudged to the young man being dragged up the steps. He was young, one of her newer hires. She hadn’t trusted him completely when he sought her out, seeking employment, but he was no more than twenty three and before, she was sure that she could mold him to suit, maybe make something of the kid. But betrayal wasn’t something Y/n fared well with, and second chances were rare in their line of work.

Slowly, John scanned the crowd, which had just started to disperse, though she was sure that by then, he’d already done the same thing well over three times. John was exceptionally thorough, “No,” he kept his gaze trained forward, “If it makes you feel better, I can get down there, shake up a few people, make sure.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything,” she huffed, turning to walk away, gesturing for John to come with her. Y/n hated the mere thought that John had started to see her as vulnerable, someone who was afraid of the people that worked at her feet, even if the thought of a betrayal that could cost far more than currency scared her, she wasn’t going to show it. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“You know I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me what’s scaring you,” John quipped, his words, as usual, were few, but effective, making Y/n come to an abrupt halt just as they were about to turn the corner and head down a dim hallway.

“I never said I was scared,” she turned to face him, her phlegmatic expression matching his. Y/n hadn’t expected John to be that close when she spun, and his proximity almost had her façade faltering, but she persisted, and for a moment, it seemed to be a war of stares, who ever looked away would be deemed a loser. Except, neither of them looked away and the longer their eyes locked, the more exposed she felt, like he was seeing her for who she really was, the person behind the hardened shell, who was scared that she was digging her own grave and destroying the empire her linage had afforded her. Y/n wasn’t sure if being seen, by at least one person, was comforting or frightening. On one hand, she sometimes tired of keeping up appearances, while on the other, it worried her that the tough, uncrackable disposition was all she had. If she softened, who was going to listen to a pretty girl half their age? 

“Not today you didn't,” his low baritone finally broke the silence, and unconsciously, John stepped forward, almost feeling as if she’d been reeling him in with those siren eyes. Those four little words were all he needed to put a chip in her exterior, to remind them both of the girl she’d been when they met at the Continental. The one whose perfume hung in the air even after she left and had left him with mixed feelings since they’d met. When he’d first started working there, he’d heard what they called her; Vila, and it was easy to see why too. Y/n had this kind of beauty, it almost didn’t seem real, though, her physical appearance was merely a mask, for anyone in her presence could tell that like him, she emanated danger. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands bloody when crossed.

Y/n’s gaze flickered away from his eyes, trying to shake off the trance his chocolate gaze had put her in, summoning up a dismissive smirk, “You’re smart huh?” She moistened her lips, preferring to be done with the subject rather than delve further into it, “Come on, I’ve got work to do,” she began walking again, “On a fucking Saturday too,” Y/n grumbled under her breath, and John didn’t let her see it, but he smiled faintly.

They walked for a while, all the way down the corridor, turning at its end and trekking up another set of stairs, those narrow and illuminated by an old bulb, leading to a lone metal door, rust gathered on the outer bolt and the creaking noise blood curling as she pulled it open, “Wait,” John grabbed her arms, “I go in first,” he reminded, not waiting for Y/n’s go ahead before stepping in front of her, his hand already reaching for his gun as he toed in. He’d stepped inside completely, sweeping the area for anything remotely out of place before letting her in.

When Y/n stepped inside, a tense silence befell the low lit room and the clicking of her stilettos on the worn, stained concrete floor was the only thing echoing. Without needing to be asked, Donavan approached her, helping Y/n out of her long camel coat, draping it over his arm as he stood back, near John against the wall. “Christopher,” she addressed, undoing the buttons at the cuffed sleeves of her silk, champagne colored shirt, rolling them up to just below her elbows and then putting her hair up in a loose ponytail, “You know, when I hired you, I took a chance. You were a kid and I thought that I could turn you into something great, teach you. I wanted to help you, Christopher.” There was a table, a wooden one, near the front of the large room, and on the surface, were all sorts of tools. A pair of pliers, a couple blades, bone saws of varying types, a thumbscrew, a pinwheel, an icepick, and of course, to end it all, a gun. Of course, killing and making an example of him would have been ideal, but Y/n didn’t want to risk missing his reasoning. “I really wanted to help you,” she carried on, swiping up the thumbscrew, sauntering over to the center of the room where Christopher sat, bound to the chair by a series of leather straps; two holding his wrists to the handles, his calves to the legs and his midsection to the wooden back. 

Though he fought against it, whimpering in fear as she drew closer, the chair, bolted to the ground, wouldn’t budge. There was no escaping, and he knew it. “Please Miss Romanov,” he pleaded pathetically, “I swear, I can pay it back, the twenty five grand, I can pay it back.”

“Pay it back?” She chuckled humorlessly, slipping his right index into the device, “Where’re you gonna get twenty five grand, huh? Besides, you know it's not the money, it's the principal. If we don’t have trust in this business, we have nothing. And I can’t trust you anymore Christopher,” slowly, Y/n started turning the pin at the top, her eyes fixed on how his features screwed up in pain as his finger was crushed, the sickening sound drowned out by his screams. The room was hardly soundproof, and even from the ground floor, anyone could tell what was happening, “Why do you think I can’t trust you?"

“Because of…...Arghh!” He howled, straining his neck as he shifted his head, his skin going red with the heat of pain and tears already streaming down his face. “The money!” He writhed, “Because of the money!”

“The money?” Hastily, Y/n grabbed his hand, situating another finger into the contraption, her anger flaring, “Have you heard nothing that I’ve said?” Her voice rose and she began turning again, up to her rope’s end with his ignorance, “Have I taught you nothing?” Y/n yelled.

“The principal!” Christopher sobbed, his breaths heavy and ragged and his eyes shut tight, as if not seeing the blood creating new stains on the grey floor might lessen the pain. Still though, Y/n continued, “But I had to,” he blubbered, “They would have killed me.”

“What?” snarling, Y/n paused, “Who, who would have killed you. Why’d you need the money?” Grabbing his wet face, her long nails digging into his blotchy, beat red cheeks, “Why’d you need my fucking money!”

“I-I….” hiccupping, there was a new wave of fear washing over him, and by then, the sweat had started to soak through his ratty plaid shirt, “The Irish...they-” the truth, like water behind a broken dam, came rushing out, “They have a….a gambling house up in Brooklyn.”

“You were fucking with the goddamed Irish!” Y/n released his face, only to grant him a backhanded slap, making sure the expensive stone on her ring broke his skin, “I’ve got you working here for me, I’m putting bread on your table and you go behind my back with the Irish? Motherfucker!” She slapped him again.

“Miss Romanov,” he begged messily as Y/n went back over to the table, that time to snatch up the brass knuckles, fitting them onto her right hand before returning to where Christopher, “You gotta understand, it was just supposed to be one card game and I-” Interrupting his hurried explanation, Y/n punched him, as hard as she could, hitting him square in the jaw and splitting his lip. She supposed that one of her men could have been far more effective, but following her father’s footsteps, she usually dealt out punishments on her own. “Please-” She reared back, socking him again, that tie hard enough to crack his jaw and dislodge a tooth. “Please,” he repeated, blood dribbling out as he spoke, “Money was tight, my girl hasn’t been working and we were in debt. I won one-” She hit him higher up, nearer to his eye, but he continued anyway, determined to beg for mercy with his last breaths, “I thought I could win more, but I started losing, so fast.” Another punch broke something else and bruises were already starting to favor the left side of his face while Y/n’s sleeves, which had fallen with the repeated movements, were more than spotted with blood.

“You needed money then you should’ve come to me. But you gave the Irish an in!” By then, Y/n had hit him so many times, that she’d lost count and Christopher was almost unrecognizable. She hadn’t realized how angry she was. From his on guard stance near the door, John kept his eyes trained on her; he’d never seen a more ruthless woman, or perhaps, person in general. Not even when he worked for the Tasarov mob, years before he single-handedly dismantled them in mere days. John had heard the stories though, of Y/n’s unforgiving father, how alarmingly frightening he could be given the right circumstances, no doubt he’d passed that on to his only heir. For someone else, watching Y/n might have been blood turning, despite her flawlessness, her ruthlessness might have easily made her ugly, the way she could ignore pleas and prayers for mercy, but for John, it was almost mesmerizing. She did the dirty work on her own, unafraid of bloodying her hands, and unashamed of who she was. Her bravery, boldness and ability to temporarily dispose of her apathetic demeanor was surprisingly attractive. Maybe he’d finally met his match.

When she was finally satisfied with the string of sloppy, bloody apologies and explanations, Y/n huffed, walking away, only to pick up the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before taking her aim, “I tried to help you Christopher, but you went behind my back, and now you have to pay for that.” He was already slipping in and out of consciousness, and when Y/n finally pulled the trigger with her bloodied finger, the only thing that sounded was the bang of the shot, the smoke dissipating as she lingered, staring blankly at the body for a minute.

“Vila,” It was Donavan that broke her trance, and ignoring him, Y/n tossed the gun back to the table snatching up the towel that he offered, wiping the warm red off her hands, barely registering how the color stuck to her skin before discarding it to the table.

 “Make a dinner reservation, leave the money out for ‘em, and meet us in the car after you call,” barely, she took note of Donavan’s acknowledgement as she stalked out of the room, John once again a couple paces behind as they moved.

“You okay?” His attempt at small talk surprised them both as they returned to the main floor, his words under his breath.

They broke out into the late afternoon, and moving ahead, John leaned forward, opening the door for her to get in, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/n got in, immediately reaching for the crystal carafe of whiskey, and two glasses, “Have a drink with me,” without awaiting his response, she poured two, handing over one.

“Must be hard, your job,” he mused gruffly, taking a tentative sip of his drink, enjoying the way the alcohol burned his throat. Y/n had good taste, and John could tell from just one sip.

Shrugging, Y/n downed her entire drink in one swing, barely hissing or wincing as she knocked it back, “Pay’s good.” Reaching for the bottle again, Y/n poured another, not understanding why she felt the turmoil that she did and ready to do away with it, “Thanks for uh…..coming with us today.”

“From what I can see, you didn’t need me,” at that, Y/n’s gaze snapped towards him, her plump lips agape and her eyes unusually wide and doe-y, “I’m just saying,” he cleared his throat, realizing how the air between them had changed once again, “You can hold your own out there Y/n.”

“You’re one of the only people that calls me that,” she wondered out loud, licking her lips as she looked at him, “It’s kind of strange to hear someone say my name.”

“Is that a problem?” John leaned in, catching a whiff of how the whiskey interacted with her perfume. 

“No,” Y/n breathed. It was the truth, and it seemed almost fitting, considering that John had proven to see right through her defenses, twice and had even been brave enough to call her out on it. He had seen just the tiniest glimmers of the real her, and it was only suiting that he be the one to call Y/n by her real name. “I do need you, by the way. So don’t go thinking I don’t.”

“Admitting defeat?” John smirked, and Y/n realized that that was the closest she’d ever got to seeing him smile. She bet he had a nice smile. Unconsciously, she leaned in too, something in the back of her head hoping he’d read the room and kiss her. 

“I’m just-” With a startle, her words were cut off, and surprised as Donavan entered, Y/n sprang back, averting her gaze as he settled next her, not even looking in John’s direction as he resumed his usual demeanor, pretending as if the moment had never even happened.

The ride back to the penthouse had been filled with silence, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife, and when it was time to get out of the car, instead of offering his hand that time, John had left, heading towards the elevator to do his usual checks before Y/n could even step foot near it. That time, it was Donavan that had hung back with her, still holding her coat, and that time her handbag, as they walked. 

Even the elevator ride up was quiet and when the metal box opened up to her foyer, they all went in and wordlessly, John stalked off in the direction of his room. She tried not to be, but Y/n was offended that he’d be willing to just bypass what they’d shared in the car and choose to pretend that he was nothing more than an employee. It was infuriating, though, knowing she could do nothing about it, Y/n decided that she’d deal with her frustrations with a more willing companion.

“Stay for a while,” she led Donavan down the hall, the sounds of their steps echoing off the soft white marble walls, “I’d like some company.”

“Of course,” he nodded, following Y/n into her room, shutting the door behind him as they entered. Y/n turned the lights on, the chandelier overhead casting a glow on the spacious master bedroom, and as she went over to a small sofa near the window to slip off her heels, Donavan set her bag down on an accent chair near the door, draping her coat over the arm. “I’m going to take a shower,” she explained nonchalantly, undoing and untucking her ruined shirt before pulling out her stylish leather belt and unbuttoning her pants. “Care to join me?” 

Huffing a quiet chuckle, Donavan started stripping on his way over to her, losing his blazer and sweater by the time he reached Y/n, “When have I ever turned you down?” He smirked confidently, “You had such a rough day,” his calloused hands slid up her arms, massaging her shoulders, “Why don’t we get in there,” he lifted one hand, only to pull out her hairband and free her tresses, “And blow off some steam?”

“Well I didn’t invite you here for nothing,” Y/n’s lithe fingers trailed down Donavan’s toned torso, pushing the memory of a shirtless John out of her mind as she did. At the top of his pants, her hands lingered, and standing on her toes, she planted a searing kiss on a pair of familiar lips, expertly popping the button on his back slacks, letting him unclasp her bra in turn.

By the time they stumbled to the shower, managing to get the hot water on in their steamy haste, Y/n was already hoisted up in Donavan’s arms. He pressed his back against the glass wall, and as he nestled his throbbing manhood between her slick folds, Y/n moaned loudly, combating the sound of the falling water as she felt him fill her up. Her hand was braced beside his head on the glass, the rivulets staining red with the remaining blood on her hand as it raced down the wall. As he moved, helping her forget the day, with John’s image still on replay in her mind, steam built up around them while hot water from the rain shower washed their bodies. That evening, it was hard to lose herself in the rough sensation and  Y/n could only hope that at some point, her mind would go right again so that she could return to the person that wasn’t affected by death, or worse yet, got flutters in her stomach because of John Wick.

*****

 Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana  @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[alyssawritesssfics]

Hounded [8] 8. Day Trip

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, character death (canon), series spoilers

Summary: Athena, in an attempt to avoid her father, searches for a lost bunker with Bellamy. In a search for supplies, they end up finding a newfound appreciation for each other.

Author’s Note: Hii, here is chapter/episode eight! I had SO much fun writing this one. It’s a big one, most of it Athena & Bellamy. I planned to have Athena talk with Kane, but it just didn’t fit into this chapter. I hope you enjoy it! Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you!

Tag List: @topazy​ @no-damsel​ (DM or send an ask to be added)

previous chapter // series masterlist

The rest of the day was spent recovering from the storm. Finn was healing slowly but surely, and the Grounder was still tied up on the top level of the dropship. I'd hardly seen Octavia, and I didn't blame her for avoiding me; part of me wished I could avoid me too.

I sat in my tent the following day, waiting for Clarke's meeting with the council to finish. We would soon know how long until the Ark would reach the ground, more importantly, how long we had left before we had proper defences against the Grounders. Until we had guns, the Grounders would always have the upper hand.

"Athena, are you in there?"

I stood from my cot, pulling open the flap of the tent. "How did the meeting go?"

Clarke shrugged. "There's an emergency depot not too far from here. Your father mentioned it would have supplies and could provide shelter for us while we wait on them to get down here."

I could feel my body tense up at the mention of my father. "That'll be good. I have a feeling we'll need to move there sooner rather than later." Stepping out of the tent, I allowed Clarke to lead me towards the dropship.

"The council set up meeting times for the rest of the day," Clarke started. "For us all to talk to our families."

I took a deep breath. "That'll be good."

Clarke stepped in front of me. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry," I spoke, rubbing my eyes. "I've just gotten so used to life down here, you know? Without the Ark. Not having to worry about my father."

Clarke nodded. "I know what you mean."

"Right," I couldn't help but frown. "Did you talk to your mom at all last night?"

"You mean, about her turning my father in?" Clarke asked, each word laced with venom. Then, she let out a small sigh. "Yeah, I told her I knew."

"What did she have to say for herself?"

Clarke shook her head. "I didn't really give her a chance to explain. I mean, what is there to explain? Nothing she could possibly say would make any of this better. She's the reason my father is dead. I don't think I can forgive her for that. Does that make me a terrible person?"

I shook my head. "It makes you human."

"Being human sucks."

I looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath. "Forgiveness has never really been my strong suit, so I'm probably the worst person to give you advice anyway."

Clarke frowned. "Well, I can help you avoid having to talk to your parents."

My eyes met Clarke's, a small smile forming across my face. "What do you have in mind?"

Clarke turned around, continuing towards the dropship. "The depot. I figure you can lead the search for it. Scope it out, see if there's anything of use there. See if it can actually be used as shelter."

"I can do that," I responded. "When do we leave?"

We entered the dropship, spotting Bellamy and Octavia standing next to the ladder.

"Whatever twisted connection you think you have with that animal, forget it. You don't get to see him. End of discussion." Bellamy turned to leave.

"Why do you even care?" Octavia pressed. "If I ruined your life, you should want me to go up there. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll kill me. Problem solved."

Bellamy looked back at her. "You know I didn't mean that."

"Bellamy," Clarke spoke up.

"The answer is still no, Clarke." He responded, now facing us. "I'm not talking to Jaha."

Clarke shook her head. "That's not why I'm here."

"What, then?"

"The Ark found some records that show an old supply depot not too far from here."

My eyes darted to Clarke. "Clarke, what are you-"

"What kind of supplies?" Bellamy asked.

"The kind that might give us a chance to live through the winter." Clarke responded. "I have to stay behind to organize visits, but I'm sending Athena and she could use some back up."

I folded my arms across my chest. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Clarke smirked. "You want to avoid Jaha right?"

Bellamy scoffed. "Alright, I'll go."

"I thought so." Clarke said, handing me a map. "I've marked the coordinates on this map. Be careful out there, alright?"

Before I could object, Clarke had left the dropship. I turned back to Bellamy, my arms still placed tightly across my chest. "Meet me at the gate in ten minutes, or I will leave without you."

Bellamy smirked. "Someone is bossy today."

"I mean it, Bellamy," I spoke, turning to leave.

I stopped at my tent to grab my pack before heading to the gate. By the time I made it there, Bellamy was stuffing packages upon packages of nuts into his pack.

"That's a lot of rations," I mumbled. "You do realize this is a day trip, right?"

"A lot can happen in a day."

I rolled my eyes, signalling for Jasper to open the gate.

...

We had been walking for over an hour, only ever discussing the directions Clarke had given us. While the silence had left little room for a Grounder to sneak up on us, I was growing tired and needed a distraction.

"You know, the first dropship will be down soon," I spoke, earning a side-glance. "Pretty sure you can't avoid Jaha forever."

Bellamy scoffed. "I can try."

"Maybe he'll be lenient?" I suggested, eating some nuts from my packet. "You know, he's forgiving the rest of our crimes. Why not yours too?"

"I shot the man, Athena. He's not just going to forgive and forget."

"At least you didn't kill him."

"Has terrible aim ever in the history of law been a good defence?" He sighed. "Your honour, I concede that I shot the man, but he didn't die! No harm, no foul?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not saying you'll get off with no punishment. I'm just saying, maybe he'll opt for some time in lock-up? We don't really have to worry about wasting oxygen anymore."

Bellamy stopped, staring at the ground. "What if they find out about the radio? I mean, someone is bound to tell them. I shot the Chancellor, and then I destroyed the radio, causing three hundred innocent people to die up there."

"So it does bother you?"

He turned around, looking me dead in the eye. "Of course it bothers me, Athena." Bellamy turned back around, continuing through the forest.

"Why do you always act like you don't give a shit, then?" I asked. "I mean, why do you keep pretending like nothing matters to you?"

"I don't pretend like nothing else matters."

"You're right," I responded. "You couldn't pretend that Octavia doesn't matter to you no matter how hard you try."

Bellamy shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Octavia used to talk about you all the time," I started, smiling to myself. "Her big brother. Her greatest protector. You gave up everything to protect her."

"What's your point?"

"I'm just trying to understand how the person I heard about for eight months is the same guy I'm talking to right now." I shrugged.

Bellamy scoffed. "No matter what Octavia has told you, you'll never understand what we went through up there. What I went through. Your father would take over if anything happened to Jaha, right? That would make you Wells 2.0."

"Bellamy-"

"You will never understand, Athena. You will never know what I had to go through to keep her safe. What I had to see my mother go through." He paused, steadying his breathing. "Octavia spent sixteen years under the floor. Sixteen years confined to our tiny dorm. She was a prisoner from the day she was born and all I wanted was to protect her, or at the very least, be with her one last time before radiation killed her." He stopped, looking around. "But, it didn't."

"So you destroyed the radio because you were afraid she'd be alone? After they came down here and executed you."

"That was part of it." Bellamy nodded. "Is it so wrong just to not want to die?"

I shook my head, feeling a pang in my heart. "I don't think so."

"If I had known what would happen," Bellamy closed his eyes. "I wouldn't have destroyed the radio. I swear."

I stared at Bellamy for a moment, taking in a side of him I hadn't seen since the night in the cave. He was vulnerable. Maybe I was an idiot, but I couldn't help but believe him. Feel sorry for him even.

Clearing my throat, I pushed past him, looking down the hill we'd now approached. "The depot is supposed to be around here somewhere. There's got to be a door underneath all of this brush."

"Let's just split up, cover more ground." He sighed, beginning down the hill. "Stay within shouting distance, alright?"

I nodded, slowly making my way down the hill behind him. Broken branches from the trees surrounding us were scattered along the grass messily, having been tossed around by the storm most likely.

It didn't take long for me to find a metal door hidden under a large branch. "Bellamy, I think I found it!"

Bellamy rushed over, helping me move the branch. He tugged on the handle, to no avail. "It's rusted shut. Here, watch your foot."

I stepped back as Bellamy pulled out his hatched, bashing it against the edges of the door a few times. Putting the hatchet back on his belt, he signalled for my help. After a few tugs, the door swung open.

"Woah," I gasped, peering down the stairs. "Here, take this," I said, handing him one of two flashlights before descending into the bunker.

Bellamy followed behind. "Do you really think this place hasn't been touched since before the war?"

"A girl can dream."

We continued through the bunker, coming across another set of stairs. My light shone over a skeleton, leaning up against the bannister.

"A hell of a place to die," Bellamy commented.

"So much for living down here. This place is disgusting." I said, looking around the spider-web infested room. "Damn it."

Bellamy sighed. "Anything left down here is ruined."

I soon noticed a shelf, shining my light against it. "Hey, I found some blankets!"

"Excited about a couple of blankets?" Bellamy grumbled.

"It's something, at least," I responded, rolling my eyes. "We might not be able to live down here, but at least these will help us stay warm. Even if it is just a little bit."

"How about a canteen? Or a medkit? Or a decent freaking tent?" Bellamy snapped, kicking a barrel in front of him.

I spun around, noticing the contents of the barrel spilling out onto the floor. "Holy shit," I mumbled, rushing over.

Bellamy smiled, kneeling down next to it. "I'll be damned."

Two guns laid on the floor, surrounded by grease.

"Do you think they'll still work?" I asked, picking one up.

"I guess we'll find out," Bellamy responded, looking around. "Help me with the rest of the barrels. Maybe there's more guns, some ammo."

We headed around the room, kicking over every barrel insight. In total, we came up with fifty guns, but only enough ammo to fill half of them twice.

"This changes everything. No more running from spears." Bellamy spoke, a glimmer in his eyes. "Ready to be a badass, Athena?"

I bit my lip. "I know we need these, but I don't know how I feel about bringing them back to camp. We do have murderers among us."

"Who could've killed us by now with anything else lying around camp." Bellamy pointed out. "I know what you mean, but trust me, those killers are focused on the Grounders. Not any of us."

"You're right," I confessed.

"We're lucky these guns were packed in grease. The fact that they survived means we're not sitting ducks anymore." Bellamy grabbed a sheet from the shelf, drawing a target on it with some dust. "You need to learn how to do this."

I nodded, lifting the gun and pointing it at the sheet. "So I just hold it on my shoulder?"

"Just a little higher," He spoke, standing behind me. He placed one hand on the gun and another on my upper arm. I could feel his warm breath on my ear, jagged with each inhale and exhale. "Uh, yeah, that's good." He spoke, moving away. "Here, watch and learn."

I stepped back, watching him pick up another gun. He aimed it at the target, pulling the trigger. The gun clicked, nothing coming out. "Still watching," I spoke, smirking.

He shook his head, turning to me with a smile. "My bullets are duds. Try yours."

I stepped back into place, aiming the gun and pulling the trigger. A bullet flew out of the gun, shooting through the sheet. "That was amazing!" I spoke, smiling ear to ear. I turned to look at Bellamy, my face now pale. "Am I horrible for feeling that?"

He shook his head again, still smiling. "Try again."

"We shouldn't waste the ammunition."

"You need to practice."

"We need to talk about how we're going to keep these guns around camp," I started. "Where we're going to keep them, who has access to them." Bellamy rolled his eyes, opening a pack of nuts and eating a small handful. "You left Miller in charge of the Grounder," I continued. "You must trust him."

Bellamy nodded. "You should keep him close. The others listen to him."

I raised an eyebrow. "Bellamy, what's going on? You've been acting weird all day and you took a shit-ton of rations-" I stopped, my eyes widening. "You're planning on running. That's why you agreed to come today. You were gonna load up on supplies and just take off?"

"I don't have a choice, Athena." Bellamy sighed. "The Ark will be down here soon. You said maybe they'd just lock me up, but there's no way I'm giving Jaha the satisfaction."

"What about Octavia?" I asked. "You can't just leave her."

"Octavia hates me. She'll be fine."

"Octavia is upset, but she'll get over it. She loves you." I spoke, stepping closer. "Please, Bellamy. Don't do this."

Bellamy stared at me for a moment, his eyes softening. "Come with me."

I stared back, my heart stopping for a moment. "What?"

"Screw everyone else," Bellamy responded. "Let's just go."

"Bellamy-"

"Clarke knows where the depot is." Bellamy started. "We can take a gun, some ammo, and go somewhere else."

"We can't just abandon our people. Your people, as you've said over and over again since we got down here." I spoke, stepping back.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "Keep practicing. I need some air."

"Bellamy, wait!"

"Don't worry, Athena." He spoke, walking away. "I won't leave just yet."

As his silhouette disappeared, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. Come with me. He asked me to come with him, and for just a moment, I thought about it. Could we find a place where the Grounders would never find us? Would the others manage on their own until the Ark came down? Leaving them to fight without my help just didn't sit right with me.

I placed my gun on the shelf, grabbing a few more nuts. Then suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.

"You've always been just like your father, you know?"

I turned around, the room having morphed into my bedroom on the Ark. Standing in front of me was my mother, as clear as ever.

"Mom?" I gasped, rushing over and throwing my arms around her.

"My sweet baby," She spoke, giving me one of her tightest hugs. "I've missed you so much."

I opened my mouth to respond, reality slowly sinking in. Looking up at my mother, I frowned. "You're not really here, are you?"

"I'm afraid not," She confessed.

"How is this possible?" I asked, stepping away.

My mother turned away, looking around the room before sitting down on my bed. "I'm thinking 'why' is more important."

I frowned. "Because I need you."

"What for, Sweetheart?" She asked, patting the bed next to her.

I sat down next to her, feeling her arm wrap around my back. "I don't know what to do. I'm so scared, Mom. All of the time. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to keep us all safe. I don't think I can."

"Are you trying your best?" I nodded. "That's all you can do." She said, pausing for a moment. "But, you can't run away, baby. You're better than that."

I pulled myself away, standing in front of her. "You don't understand what it's like down here."

"Of course I do," She said, smiling. "I'm you, remember?"

"Right," I frowned. "So I guess you're my conscience?"

"I'm whatever you need me to be."

I let out a huff, shaking my head. "That's not really helpful, you know?"

"Would you prefer to speak with your father instead?" She asked, letting out a small chuckle.

"That's not funny," I hissed. "And for the record, I'm nothing like him."

"Are you sure about that?" I raised my eyebrow at her. "Here you are, worrying about the safety of your people. Having to make the hard decisions to keep them alive, a burden he's carried since before you were born."

"Dad has never had trouble making the hard decisions."

"Athena-"

"If you're going to try and defend him, just save it. He let them lock me up." I spoke, tears forming in my eyes. "Aside from our family, Jaha and Jesse's family, nobody else knew what I did. He's the second in command! He could've talked to Jaha, asked him to let it go, but he didn't. He's never stood up for me, not once in my entire life. He knew they were sending us down here, and he did nothing to stop it. He sent me, his own daughter, down here to die."

My mother frowned, her eyes shifting to the floor. "You know none of that was within his power. He loves you, more than anything."

"Now I know for sure you're not real," I scoffed. "You'd never lie to me."

"Too bad I couldn't say the same for you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "I never told you I was sorry. For what I did. Stealing your keycard. I know you could've lost everything."

"But you did it anyway, all to save someone you loved. Look where that got you; locked up and sent down here to die."

"You're saying Dad did the right thing?" I rolled my eyes.

"Not everything is black and white, Athena." She started. "Sometimes you have no other choice. Being a leader is doing what's right for your people, not what's right for you or one other person. Your father knows that, and so do you."

I shook my head, a tear falling down my cheek. "I'm not ready to forgive him."

"Whatever," My mother spoke, her voice suddenly changing. "Crazy bitch."

"Mom?" I asked, feeling a hard smack against the back of my head.

Then, everything went black.

...

I woke up on the cold ground of the bunker, my head throbbing. Sitting up, I looked around the room, noticing Bellamy's pack still sat on the ground where he left it. Whoever knocked me out, it definitely hadn't been him.

"What am I supposed to do?" It was Bellamy's voice.

I pulled myself off the ground, grabbing my gun and running out of the bunker.

"Do you think you deserve to be free of your pain? Do you deserve that gift?" I recognized the voice as Dax, one of the murderers of our camp. "Because you're going to get it."

I hid behind a tree, poking my head out, struggling to see in the darkness. Dax stood over Bellamy, holding one of the guns we'd found. Bellamy lifted his hand, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Nothing personal," Dax said. Then, he pulled the trigger, nothing coming out.

"Put the gun down, Dax," I spoke, stepping out from behind the tree with my gun aimed at him.

Dax spun around, shaking his head. "You should've stayed in the bunker, Athena. I tried not to kill you, but here you are, and Shumway said no witnesses."

"What is he talking about?" I asked, my eyes shifting to Bellamy for a moment.

"Shumway set it up. He gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor."

I froze for a moment, Dax taking the chance to move closer. "Walk away now, and I won't kill you. This is your last chance."

"I can't do that, Dax."

He nodded. "Your choice."

I pulled the trigger before he could, this time my gun being the one to jam. He was quick to pull the trigger next, and I dove behind the tree just in time.

"No!" Bellamy yelled, tackling Dax.

I could hear them struggling behind me as I remained behind the tree, reloading my gun. Stepping out, I fired again and again and again, nothing coming out. I watched Dax climb on top of Bellamy once more, pushing the gun hard against Bellamy's throat. Giving up, I ran towards.

"Get the hell off of him!" I yelled, swinging the gun at him.

Dax dodged me, hitting me in the stomach with his gun, causing me to fall to the floor. I clutched my stomach, gasping for air, Dax's eyes still on me. With no time to waste, Bellamy grabbed a discarded bullet, stabbing Dax in the neck with it.

Blood spilled from Dax's mouth as he fell backwards, slowly bleeding out. Finally, he stopped moving.

I crawled over to the tree, leaning myself up against it as Bellamy rushed over, still struggling to catch his breath. He placed his hand on my knee, leaning himself against the tree as well.

"It's okay," I spoke, slowly catching my breath. "You're okay."

"No, I'm not." He choked out, tears forming in his eyes. "My mother... If she knew what I've done, who I am. She raised me to be better. To be good. And all I do is hurt people."

"Bellamy-"

"I'm a monster."

"Hey, you saved my life today. You've saved my life twice now." I spoke, grabbing his hand. "You may be a total ass half the time but... I need you. We all need you. None of us would've survived this place if it wasn't for you."

He shook his head. "They have you. And Clarke."

"We couldn't have kept everyone alive without you by our sides," I confessed. "You want forgiveness, fine, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven, okay? But you can't run, Bellamy. You have to face it."

"Like you faced your father?" He asked, catching me off guard. "Come on, Athena. I know you only came here today to avoid talking to him."

I sighed. "You're right. I don't want to face my father. I don't want to face any of it. I would love to run away and start a life far away from everyone else, far away from all the death and destruction, but we don't have a choice."

"Jaha will kill me when he comes down."

"I won't let that happen," I spoke. "We'll figure something out."

Bellamy nodded. "Can we figure it out later?"

I nodded, leaning my head back against the tree and letting go of his hand. "Whenever you're ready."

...

We returned to camp later that night, pushing our way through a crowd surrounding the dropship. Miller had just informed the camp that the Grounder had gotten free, nowhere to be found.

"What if he brings other grounders back?" Jasper asked.

"He'll kill us all!" Another delinquent spoke.

"Or worse."

"Let the grounders come," Bellamy spoke, us both reaching the front of the crowd. "We've been afraid of them for far too long, and why? Because of their knives and spears. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being afraid."

Bellamy and I both dropped the sacks we'd made of sheets, them falling open to reveal guns. Clarke eyed them in amazement as everyone cheered around us.

"What about the bunker?" She asked.

I shook my head. "We can't live down there, but we did find blankets."

Clarke nodded, raising her voice. "These are weapons, not toys, alright? We have to be prepared to give them up to the guard when they get down here."

"But for now, they'll keep us safe," I added, earning a small smile.

"There are plenty more back at the depot that we couldn't carry," Bellamy spoke. "Tomorrow we start training, and if the grounders come, we're going to be ready to fight."

Everyone dispersed, Monty and Jasper carrying the guns to the dropship for storage overnight. Clarke placed her hand on my arm, grabbing my attention.

"I got you a meeting with Jaha," Clarke said. "He's waiting."

I smiled. "Thank you."

"What do you need to talk to him about anyway?"

"It's not for me," I responded, my eyes landing on Bellamy. "He was going to leave, you know?"

Clarke's eyes widened, her face turning red. "Are you kidding me?"

I shook my head. "I convinced him to talk to Jaha. Promised I'd do it with him. He's just scared, Clarke."

Her face softened and she nodded. "I get it."

I watched as Bellamy marched over, his eyes shifting nervously around camp. "Are we doing this?"

"Jaha is waiting. Are you ready?"

Bellamy huffed. "No, but let's get this over with."

The two of us headed to the tent, Bellamy gesturing for me to enter first. I pushed the flap aside, quickly spotting Jaha's face on the monitor in front of us. Bellamy took a deep breath, sitting down first and putting on his headset. I did the same.

"Mr. Blake," Jaha spoke. "I've been wanting to talk to you for some time now."

"Before you do, there's something I'd like to say." I started, glancing at Bellamy before looking back at Jaha. "When you sent us down here, you sent us to die, but miraculously, most of us are still alive. In large part, that is because of him, because of Bellamy. He's one of us, and he deserves to be pardoned of his crimes just like the rest of us."

Jaha scoffed. "Athena, I appreciate your point of view, but it's not that simple."

"It is if you want to know who on the Ark wants you dead."

I watched as Jaha contemplated Bellamy's offer. Finally, he responded. "Bellamy Blake, you are pardoned for your crimes."

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief, and I couldn't help but do the same. I placed my hand on his, squeezing it slightly and earning a small smile from him.

"Thank you," Bellamy spoke.

Jaha nodded. "Now, tell me who gave you the gun."

~

next chapter

[irwinkitten]

men of mayhem | a.i

notes: okay so we have some angst and you probably will cry reading this and i am so sorry warnings: minor character deaths, the angst in the aftermath, mentions of violence, a smidge of a fluff. word count: 4.1k

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part one, part two

-

          The roar of the bike was the dead giveaway—to Michelle—of who had just arrived, but she opened the door once the engine had been killed and practically flew at Ashton to greet him. 

“Since you showed up on the bike, you’re fairly confident?” Michelle teased as she greeted Ashton with a kiss. He laughed.

“Cal is about to pull up with the truck. Luke is riding shotgun and Michael is on his bike with them. I might’ve tore ahead once I knew where I was.” He grinned cheekily. Almost as if to compound his words, a jeep pulled up, the roar of a bike following.

“Next time you wanna fuckin’ tear off, at least tell me where the fuck you’re heading! It’s a good job that I knew where her place was.” Calum snapped as he stepped out of the jeep.

“Sorry.” The grin on Ashton’s face was anything but.

Pulling herself free from Ashton’s grip, she half threw herself at Calum, earning a sharp laugh as he swung her around.

“Hi angel.” He grinned once she was down on her feet and she beamed up at him.

“Hi, you can’t be mad at him for racing ahead of you guys. You’ve visited enough times to know he was gonna do that.” Calum snorted.

“I fuckin’ can and will be mad at him. We’re protection detail and he doesn’t fuckin’ help by tearin’ off away from said fuckin’ protection detail.” Calum grouched before letting her go. “It’s nice to see you lookin’ good though sweetheart. Married life looks good on you, even if you can hardly see the fucker thanks to the assholes we’re hunting.” She laughed at that before greeting both Luke and Michael with strong hugs.

“Sure you don’t wanna run away with me, Chelle?” Luke teased, making her laugh as she pulled away, patting his cheeks.

Luke had truly grown into his looks, the stubble that graced his face added years onto the twenty four that he was. With blonde curls and a tall stature, broad shoulders as well, she knew he looked the part. She also knew that as much as he tried, even though he saw her as a sister, she wouldn’t even contemplate the idea. He wasn’t her type and they all knew it.

“As much as running away with a prince charming might be every other girl's dream, my dream is standing six feet away and glowering at you.” The pair of them turned to see the glare on Ashton’s face before he realised and his head fell back as he groaned.

“The fuckin’ pair of you.” He muttered and they both laughed before she indicated to her bags that were waiting on the steps.

“C’mon then boys. Three months of me before I’m back here for the last year of school. I wanna see my parents this millennia.” The four of them laughed before they started moving. Ashton picked up two bags whilst Calum got the third plus her suitcase. 

Once they were in the car, Ashton handed Michelle her helmet and she smirked at him as she donned it before sliding on behind him, her arms winding tightly around him. 

“Don’t play up sweetheart.” He warned her quietly, making her laugh as they started the drive back to Charming.

It was when they were on the last hour that Calum had overtaken Michael and Ashton, indicating for them to pull over.

“What’s going on?” Ashton called. Calum was yet to leave the jeep, the phone in his hand. 

“It’s Anne-Marie, she’s fucking hysterical. Something about the Bulldogs.” Ashton swore.

“We need to hit the gas then. Try and tell her we’ll be there soon, less than an hour.” Calum relayed that before cutting the call and the engine roared to life once more. Michelle stayed quiet, trying to quell her anxiety that was slowly growing. 

The Bulldogs were the reason why she had an escort to and from where she stayed in the city. They’d only been mild inconveniences at first, small irritations to SAMCRO. But over the last year, they had proved to everyone else that they were stepping up their game. 

Members had been attacked, Opie and Juice having caught the worst of it on one of the easy runs Bert had them handle. Opie’s arms were still healing from the burns they’d inflicted and Juice had lost the majority of his left leg. It was certainly something that had made SAMCRO pay attention and the two Irwin’s refused to leave anything to chance.

With this knowledge, Ashton pushed the bike to its speed limit, with Calum and Michael pushing their own vehicles to their limits, cutting the drive time drastically. It felt like a ghost town as they sped through, roads quiet as they headed to the garages. 

Bobby was waiting for them. His face fell when he noticed Michelle on the back of Ashton’s bike.

“What the fuck happened Bobby?” Ashton’s demand was met with an almost sheepish look before he glanced at Michelle sadly. 

Panic was setting in now, overriding the anxiety.

“Bobby, where are my parents? Where’s Matty?” Her tone brokered no arguments and Bobby stepped forward, only for Ashton to stop him

“Bobby.” 

“You need to go to the hospital. Now you’re here, I’ll follow after you.” Was all he said and the panic was threatening to overwhelm Michelle as Ashton climbed back onto the bike. 

He didn’t bother waiting for Bobby, he was back on the road and weaving through the town to make it to the hospital. He was silently praying that it was a dream, that this would all be over when he woke up.

Assortments of bikes were outside of the hospital and once the bike was at a standstill, Michelle was off and running. 

All she had to do was follow the trail of club members who didn’t move to stop her. It was only when Chibs spotted her, he stopped her from going further, his arms wrapped around to keep her in place. 

But Michelle ignored that, struggling against him.

“Let me go, I need to know what happened!” She half shouted, trying to wrestle herself free from Chibs’ grip. 

“Chibs, let her go.” The arms were gone but then she ran straight into Bert. His hands were firm on her shoulders, strong and unyielding as she struggled against his grip.

“Michelle.” His tone made her stop and look at him. And she studied his face closely. Bert was never someone who cried, in all the years she’d known him, he’d only ever cried once when Ashton had ended up in hospital when they were younger because he’d been caught in a crossfire. 

But there were tears in his eyes and she shook her head before he even said anything.

“Don’t you dare! They’re fine! Tell me they’re okay Bert!” Her voice was increasing and he could only hold her tighter as she tried to pull away

“I’m so sorry lil’ lady. I can’t do that.” She wanted to pull away, to scream. But the air was lost from her lungs and her body stopped moving. She took in shaking gasps, her head spinning.

“There was an explosion. All three of them were home. You—you don’t want to see what’s left.” Her knees went weak and Bert had to steady her, his arms wrapping around to support her, keep her upright.

“They’re gone?” Her voice was quiet, a small tremble barely noticeable. She felt like a small child as she looked up to Bert, her eyes pleading with him to lie to her, to say it was a bad joke, to tell her that they were alive.

He glanced up to see Ashton as well as the other three trailing behind him, his son’s concerned gaze on his wife before Bert met her eyes once more.

“They’re gone. I’m so sorry.” 

The agonising scream that escaped her had those within distance flinching at the sound. It was one which they’d all heard at one time in their lives. It was one that they’d never wanted to hear from someone who was close to them like Michelle was, but Ashton felt his heart shatter with theirs.

Bert helped her into Ashton’s arms, her body heavy as she cried. It didn’t take long for the older Irwin’s to guide the younger two to the family room, a couple of members standing guard as she tried to process what she’d been told, her chest aching in ways she’d never felt before.

The pain was paralysing.

It took the better part of an hour before Michelle could calm down enough to move of her own volition. Bert had tried to tell her something, but her brain had shut down. Information wouldn’t, couldn’t sink in for her. 

Ashton had traded vehicles with Luke. The young blonde agreed to drive his friends bike back to the Club whilst he and Michelle rode with Michael. Words were lost as the coined youngsters of the Club watched an almost despondent Michelle being helped into the trucks cab. 

Once they were behind sturdy locked doors, core members of the original club as well as Ashton, Calum, Luke, Michael and Michelle. It was certainly a first for someone’s old lady to be in the meeting, but with matching glares from both Ashton and Bert, no one was going to protest Michelle being there. 

“Has it been confirmed that it was them?” Bert’s voice was dangerously low and all of them knew that the only answer he would accept was one of confirmation.

“We found the calling card. It was them.” Juice muttered and Michelle closed her eyes, trying to stop the pain. 

“Did anyone do anything to antagonise them?” Bobby haltingly asked and Michelle sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze shifting to the older man. 

“Why the fuck would any of your sorry asses antagonising them cause my family to get fucking murdered?” She snapped and to Bobby’s credit, he tried not to look away from her tear stained face. 

“No one has antagonised. I don’t even know how it got out about your family since the only connection is—” 

“Me.” The word was bitter from her lips, spat out in disgust as she cut Bert off.

“They’re hurting us by using those closest to us. It wasn’t exactly a secret when we got married, but it wasn’t gossiped about.” Ashton’s voice was quiet as he held her hand in his, thumb running gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“If they think they’re going to get away with this without some kind of retaliation—” Chibs snapped but then Michelle snorted, effectively halting his tirade.

Even in her pain filled daze, she took stock of who was in the room at that moment and it dawned on her faster than she’d liked to have admitted.

“You have a mole.” The silence answered her statement. “Then we play the long game. I go back in three months. Let me finish my studies. Build a name and then come back. Let me build up everything against them. Send them away one by one. One of the prisons will most likely hold someone they’ve pissed off. And even if they survive prison, they won’t survive a bullet to the brain.” 

They were all reminded then that this girl grew up with them. She may have been loved, nurtured and cared for by her parents, but they had raised her. Taught her to defend herself, how to look at a situation for escape or exploitation. 

Bert could see the benefits of her idea. They’d gain credibility, knowing people were less likely to attack if they had a viable way of getting them arrested and making the charges stick. She’d be their ace up the sleeve.

“It would mean that their killers would be walking around free for however long.” Chibs pointed out and she took a moment to take in a deep breath.

“If it means that I get to put a bullet in their head eventually, they can keep walking about on borrowed time. In the meantime, you need to plan something that would be considered retribution. The mole will be suspicious if there isn’t one.” She started off and they could all see how painful this was for her. “For the long term plan, they can know nothing. But the short term one, be exclusionary with those who want to avenge my—my parents and Matty.” Her voice trembled on her brother's name, the sharp agony in her chest making her close her eyes for a second to pull herself together. She took in a halting breath, determined to stop the sobs. But she had no control over her tears when she opened her eyes once more. 

“They won’t argue that, if anything they’ll expect it.” Ashton confirmed to give her a moment to collect herself. “If the mole expects to be a part of the false plot, we can justify by saying that the Morgan’s were family longer than they’d been members. They won’t be able to argue or do anything because they’ll know but they won’t know the specifics. It’ll throw them off the long term goal.” 

“I don’t care what they do, but for this retribution, no children. Just because Matty died, doesn’t give us the right to even the score. Be better than them.” None of the members could argue her logic or the pain filled tone and the meeting soon closed with the promise of meeting up to work out a new plan for the false retribution.

Michelle stayed at the Irwins that night, unable to sleep and partly terrified that she’d lose Anne-Marie and Bert as well. 

She knew that Ashton was hurting as well, so being held by him eased the shared pain but it was only when she knew the house was asleep did he let his tears run free, holding onto her tightly as he buried his face into her neck and cried.

The rest of the week was almost surreal for Michelle. Once the house was stable, she was allowed to pack up what had survived the explosion. Anne-Marie offered to pack up her parents' things whilst she dealt with her little brothers. She could only nod. 

She felt cheated out of enjoying her life with Matty around. Her parents, although not that old, they’d lived. They had the chance to enjoy life. He hadn’t. 

Knowing that she couldn’t sit and go through it piece by piece, she swept everything into boxes. Ashton understood and helped her. Part of her felt wrong going through her eleven year old brother’s things, but she didn’t have much of a choice. It was hurting to see the way he’d obsessively kept any gift from her.

“What do you want to do with his clothes?” She felt that familiar stabbing pain in her chest. 

“Just, get it all in a box. I’ll go through them—later.” The word was lodged in her throat for. Second and tears stung the corners of her eyes. 

“Is Chibs trying to find anything salvageable in the kitchen?” Her voice was shaky, but Ashton didn’t comment on it as he put more clothes away. 

“He left that to Bobby. He complained about it of course, but we all know that you’re Bobby’s favourite. Chibs is up in the attic. I remembered your mom saying about the family photos being stuck in the loft until they found time with you to go through them when you got older. Have something for the grandkids to look through.” His voice faltered.

She had to stop at his words, hands moving to press against her chest as if it could ease the pain that was running through her heart. Ashton was quick to abandon his job to wrap his arms around her, letting her bury her face into his jackets to muffle the sob. 

His heart was breaking all over again. 

It was only five minutes but Michelle pulled herself together, giving Ashton a tearful kiss in thanks before returning to getting his things packed away. 

When they’d returned to the Irwin Household, Bert had quietly told Ashton that he and Anne-Marie were going to the club for a few hours. 

“You know there’s no judgement from me. But I also know that she’s the only person you’ve ever let your guards down to. Grieve, son. Both of you.” He could only nod as they left. 

It took him a moment before he made his way upstairs. Michelle had already come upstairs when they’d arrived home, unwilling to face anything else. 

He crawled into bed once he was changed and she curled into him. 

He’d never known something so cathartic. He knew she needed this too so there wasn’t a word of complaint as she clung to him, sobbing. Ashton didn’t hold back either. 

The following morning was one where she woke up with no tears in her eyes, but the sadness hurt Ashton to see. 

“We’ve got you sweet girl. I promise.” He murmured softly, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“Look at us, married and still under a set of parents' roof.” The joke fell flat but he knew she was trying. 

“Unfortunately little miss lawyer, we can’t get a house till you’re all finished and moved back. However, I know that mom and dad have been saving up for retirement and I’ve managed to get us a good starting point as well.” The smile she gave him at putting the effort in for her, warmed his heart. “Come on. If we make it downstairs now, we might get some breakfast.” 

When they got into the kitchen, both Anne-Marie and Bert were there. Anne-Marie stood at the stove and Bert sat at the table, reading the newspaper. She took a seat and the next moment a plate of food had been placed in front of her, followed by a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Eat sweetheart.” She didn’t argue with Anne-Marie’s words, letting the conversation wash over her. 

She knew that she needed to contact the university, she knew she needed to make decisions about the house as well. On top of that, there were funeral arrangements and contacting the school to collect anything of Matty’s.  

“Lil’ lady?” Bert’s voice broke through her thoughts and she blinked before looking at both him and Ashton. She hadn't noticed that Anne-Marie had sat down as well. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear anything.” 

“I was saying that Anne-Marie and I are arranging the funeral for them. Are there any preferences?” She blinked before feeling the tears bubble to the surface. Here they were, having practically adopted her into their own long before she’d married Ashton, taking charge so she didn’t have to. 

“Not that I can think of. Is it—is it going to be a joint funeral?” Bert paused. 

“Your parents, yes. They were some of those who were born, grew up and lived, and died in Charming. Matty’s will follow theirs, if only so his school friends can pay their respects. By all accounts, he was a popular kid.” Her bottom lip trembled as she nodded. 

“Made friends anywhere he went.” She got out and took in a slow deep breath. “What’s been done?” 

Bert knew what she meant with her question and paused before sighing. 

“Anne-Marie contacted your parents' place of work as well as your brother's school. Since school is still in session, they made the announcement. They wanted you to contact them to arrange a time to collect his things.” She nodded. 

“I expected that. I’ll need to contact the university and my job so they know that there’s things going on.

“Let me handle it.” Michelle was surprised at his tone. It was unrelenting and not something she was faced with often. 

“I can do it, it’ll be fine.” Bert shook his head. 

“Michelle Irwin you listen to me right now.” His tone was firm and she paused, eyeing him warily. He’d never used her full married name before. “You are not by yourself. You married into this family and this family is going to do the hard work so that you can grieve. You don’t need the potential stress from them. You are going to stay here with your husband and plan what you want to do when you move back. Okay?” 

She couldn’t help but stare at him in shock. It was the first time that he’d been so firm with her. But she nodded. 

“Family looks out for our own sweetheart. Mom and dad have told us that for years.” Ashton’s voice was gentle with his reminder and she could feel her emotions getting overwhelmed. 

“I just, never really thought that it was going to extend to something like this. I know they were your friends too but, you don’t need to do this.” There were tears in her eyes and Bert’s face softened. 

“You’re my daughter too lil’ lady. There’s no “in-law” on it. You’re family.” She gave him a tearful smile in return as he pushed away from the table. 

He walked around to her side and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before moving over to Anne-Marie, a softer kiss being left on her lips before he headed out. 

“Do you want to stay here?” Ashton’s question was gentle and her lips curved up slightly. 

“Would you mind helping, momma?” The smile on Anne-Marie’s lips told Michelle that the title was okay and she nodded. 

“Of course sweetheart. Why don’t you two get dressed up in case you want to get out and we’ll start the ball rolling.” 

They were both changed within ten minutes and back downstairs. Anne-Marie has some paperwork with her. 

“This is from the fire department. It’s the structure of the house and options. I went ahead and got some quotes for you from different companies as well. It’s entirely your choice as to what you do.” Michelle nodded in thanks as they sat back down at the—now cleared—kitchen table. 

All three of them went through the paperwork, rejecting the ones which set the price too high and ones that they weren’t too sure about. 

“If we remodelled the upstairs into three bedrooms and then the fourth can be used as office space...?” She trailed off in uncertainty, glancing at Ashton. 

“What are you thinking, doll?” 

“Maybe, if we get it remodelled upstairs, keep how downstairs was, this could be our home...” The smile he wore on his lips at that, made her muscles release in relief. 

“And when we’re ready to move in, the problem should’ve been solved so we wouldn’t have to worry. And it gives us time to heal.” His fingers took hold of her hand, lifting her knuckles to the back of his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. 

“I take it I’m missing something here?” Anne-Marie's amused tone and Ashton gave his mother a winning smile. 

“My beautiful and clever wife has solved our problem of moving out. It wasn’t going to really happen until she came home after graduation and got a couple of years under her belt. However if we remodelled the upstairs, leaving the downstairs how it used to be, the house is in her name now, we’d be able to move in.” 

“We wouldn’t be able to move in until I’m back for good. He’d be too much of a target as it is.” Michelle added and Anne-Marie smirked. 

“So it’s going to be a ruse. Maybe make a point of a ‘sold’ sign out front. It’s going to sit empty for a while so people won’t really care. Then once it’s safe for the both of you, move in and start working on grandbabies?” The hopeful tone was also a teasing one, making Michelle give her a strained smile.

She was trying. 

“Definitely grandbabies at that point. The land around it is enough that we could build an extension. So if we have more than two, we won’t need to move.” Ashton grinned at her words and Anne-Marie laughed. 

“Alright. I’ll get in touch with an old school friend of mine. She went into interior design and will be able to give us a rough idea of how the rooms should be. I take it you want upstairs changed so you’re not living a constant reminder?” There was no judgement in her tone. 

“That obvious, huh?” Anne-Marie shook her head. 

“Only to those that know you, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah. I want to live there and make new memories but also be able to tell our children about the memories that we had growing up, like when Ashton skinned his knees on the kitchen tiles after sliding on them because pops thought it would be funny to tell him it was easy to do.” The small smile she gave Anne-Marie said a lot as Ashton playfully whined at the tale.

“He had me convinced! I was eight!” This made both women laugh and it was like something had broken between the three of them, the laughter a signal that it was okay to talk about her parents, to rediscover those memories.

-

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[writingfromkitchenator]

The Demon, The Hunter, and The Halfblood

Hi everyone!  Welcome to my latest Crowley project (despite the fact I have several unfinished).  This fic is a little experiment on my part as I’m playing with essentially two timelines told throughout the story, so I hope it works/makes sense.  I’m having a blast writing it, as I always do with Crowley, but there’s just something special about the two female characters I’ve added in (I love it so much!).  These will be posted every Friday.  I hope you can all enjoy this too!

Masterlist

Crowley x Original Female Character

Series Warnings: A/B/O series, some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha x Omega, obligatory smut warning here (as usual, no under 18′s please, specifics will be within chapter warnings as needed), violence, blood, fluff, angst, major character death, possession, swearing

Chapter 1

Words: 1,903

“No,” Crowley said hotly, glaring at the three men in front of him, his foot just before the edge of the devils trap.  “You really think I’m going to give you lot anything when you’ve trapped me in this? In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever given anything so willingly?”

“We’re past the point of asking anything Crowley,” Dean snapped.  “We’re telling.  You’re not going anywhere until you do.  You’ve put this off for far too long.”

Crowley snorted.  “Is that so?  And just exactly what leverage do you have to be able to even think about trying that?”

Sam was watching him though, watching the unease hidden beneath the annoyance, and he knew that something different was going on, something was making him very uncomfortable.  “We can keep you here for as long as we need to.”

His assumption was correct when Crowley flinched slightly, quickly covered by a scowl.  “What?  Not worried about Hell falling apart while I’m not there?”

“No.” Dean and Bobby said together.

“If you just give us an answer Crowley, you can be on your way.”  Sam said, ignoring the surprised looks from the other two.  “You have to know something, you always know something.”

“Because I’ve actually got brains on what I do with that information Moose,” Crowley snarled, rolling his eyes.  “And the last thing I’m currently going to do, is give that to you.  Now, if we’re done with this little conversation, I have matters much more important-”

“We’re not done here,” Dean said.  “As Sam said, we’ll leave you here for as long as we need to before you tell us what we want to know.”

The frustration was starting to show in Crowley’s expression.  “Do you even realise what I have at stake here?  The longer you leave me like this, the worse it gets, and frankly, I’d much rather not let it get to that point.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”  Bobby asked. “What can be worse than running Hell?”

Crowley huffed impatiently, his eyes flashing.  “That is none of your business.  That is between Madelyn and I, and it’s been perfectly kept under wraps for the last four years so-”

Crowley froze and an odd silence fills the room.

“Bollocks.”  He mutters under his breath, seeing their confused expressions, and he quickly straightens his suit out, brushing away some imaginary dirt.  “What are the mullet expression for?  I think I’ve made myself clear.”

“Madelyn?”  Dean asked quietly, a quiet anger hidden in his voice. “As in our sister, my twin, Madelyn?”

“Madelyn’s dead,” Bobby said carefully, but there was pain and anger building in his expression. “Are you telling me that she’s been made a demon?”

Crowley sighed heavily, knowing that he’d messed up and there was no way out this, but still, he stayed silent, trying to hope that there was a way out of this.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean snapped, walking forward, pulling an angel blade off of his belt.  “What the hell have you-”

“I haven’t,” Crowley snapped, unfazed by Dean’s approach.  “And she is very much alive and well, if you really must know, still perfectly human.  She is absolutely going to kill me for letting you find out.”

“Why?”  Sam asked, breaking the silence from the other two, Dean and Bobby still trying to process this.  “We saw her die, we burned her!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No, you saw and burned what I wanted you to see and burn, carefully organised by Madelyn and I.  Now, if you’ll be so kind, I am well overdue to go back, or are you actually going to still ignore that?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean said quickly.  “Instead, you’re going to tell us where the hell she is so we can go and pick her dumb arse up.”

“I don’t think so,” Crowley clipped.  “And for your information, she’s certainly smarter than any of you.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed on him.  “I feel like I’m pointing out the obvious here, but why are you willingly working with a Winchester?  Especially Madelyn.  You two despise each other.”

The uncomfortableness in the room grew and Crowley cleared his throat a little.  “That is between Madelyn and I.”

“Oh you bastard!”  Sam and Bobby quickly grab Dean to pull him back. “You son of a-”

“Is that really the best insult you have?”  Crowley asked tiredly.  “It does get rather old.”

Sam and Bobby dragged Dean from the room, leaving Crowley more than annoyed and agitated as the door shuts behind them, starting to pace in the trap.

“Bloody bastards,” He growled, pulling his phone out of his jacket and going to Madelyn’s name, starting to type a message.  “Why is it only urgent when it’s for them?  It’s not like lives aren’t at stake here.”

Dumb and Dumber have found out darling and I’m a little stuck. You may have to move soon on your own.

Crowley stared at his phone and the longer he went without a reply, the more the panic began to set in. His feet carried him back and forth in the circle and he could feel tension setting in along his neck and jaw, his teeth grinding.

Surely it couldn’t be worse than he thought?

Madelyn, some sort of response would be nice?

But his phone remained obstinately silent and a cold feeling sunk low into his stomach.

“Hey!”  He called loudly, not bothering to hide the note of panic in his voice, just wanting to get this sorted and quickly.  “If you idiots are done, I really need to go!  Something is wrong!”

It was Sam that answered the door, eyeing Crowley with an odd suspicion.  “What is wrong?”

“None of your business,” Crowley snapped.  “But you need to let me go so I can go and sort it out!”

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head.  “You’re going to tell us where Maddie is and we’re going to go and get her.  This doesn’t need to concern you any further Crowley.  This is our family and we’ll deal with it.”

Crowley was a little glad that he was trapped in circle, otherwise there wouldn’t currently be much left of Sam.  “Your sister’s life is in danger, is that not enough for you?  I’m the only one that can get there quick enough to intervene with whatever is going on.  Be reasonable!”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, a small look of confusion coming to him as he observed him. “Then let us handle it, it may even give Dean enough time to calm down.  After all you’ve done, that’s reasonable enough.”

Crowley’s phone turned over and over in his hand, still remaining silent, and he knew that he was quickly running out of options.  “Look, I’ve never asked you boys for much,” He ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow.  “But give me this.  Please.”

“You know I can’t do that Crowley,” Sam said.  “Now, we can keep going around in circles or you can give me that address.”

Crowley hated it all, hated it with every fibre of his being, and he silently swore that he’d get the three of them back for this, especially if, and his silent phone and gut was telling him so, something had happened.  They just weren’t going to understand.

Angrily, he told Sam the address and then went silent, refusing to say anything else until he knew what was happening with Madelyn.

“Are you going to be right here Bobby?”  Sam asked as he and Dean jumped into the Impala.

“Did you forget who built that?”  Bobby asked. “You boys just go and make sure that your sister is okay.  I can deal with whatever Crowley has planned, if anything.”

It was clear as they drove that Dean was still furious, Sam often casting him a glance but it was some time before he was game enough to break the silence.

“So, who are you angry at more?”  Sam asked as calmly as he could.

Dean let out a huff. “Honestly, both of them.”  Sam waited and Dean eventually snapped again. “Madelyn had no right to fake her death and Crowley certainly had no bloody right to keep it from us, no matter what the hell was going on.  If he’s so much as laid any sort of finger on her then I’m going to be back here sooner than he make any sort of annoying arse comment and beat his arse in!”

Sam grimaced, having a growing, sinking feeling that he knew what was going on, but deciding it was better to lie to Dean when he was like this.  “I’m sure it’s nothing like that.”

There was no missing the side long glance from Dean.  “Don’t pull that Beta shit on me Sam, Madelyn’s crossed the line now.  We may have done some stupid shit to each other, but this takes the cake man, it really does.”

Sighing, Sam shakes his head.  “All I’m saying Dean, is that there’s no point in going Alpha until we know what’s going on.  Madelyn’s never been the simple Omega type, we’ve known that all her life, and she’s hardly going to take any shit from Crowley, whatever he’s got over her.”

Dean growled. “Right.”

“Dean-”

“Just drop it Sam,” Dean said.  “Let’s get there and find out what’s going on from her.”

Sam sighs and gives a small laugh.  “Right.  She’s always the talkative type.”

When they pulled up outside a house several hours later, Dean’s mood worsened, getting out of the Impala and slamming the door, uncaring of what attention he drew.  “Maddie!”

Silence greeted the two of them and Sam just rolled his eyes at Dean as he hurried up the front steps ahead of him, banging on the door.  “Madelyn!”

As Sam walked up the steps as well, Dean peaked through the glass on the side of the door.  Almost instantly his gun was in his hand.

“What is it?”  Sam asked, drawing his own gun.

“The house has been ransacked,” Dean said.  “Do you wanna see if you can get in the back?”

They both managed to pick the locks and walk in, guns raised, but apart from the ticking of a clock and their own footsteps, the house was empty and quiet.

“Shit,” Dean said. “What the hell is going on?”

“Let’s check upstairs,” Sam said, taking the lead, glass crunching under his feet, trying to ignore the mass of broken items and furniture, his heart racing a little. “Maybe whoever was here left something behind?”

“Or hopefully Maddie did.” Dean said following.  “Something is not right here Sam.”

“I hate to say Crowley warned us,” Sam said.  “But-”

“Don’t finish that sentence man,” Dean said, pushing past Sam to check the other end of the hallway. “I’m already dreading telling him that Maddie is-”

Dean goes silent for a moment as he opens the last door, whatever he was seeing sinking in.  Sam’s about to ask what was going on when-

“Son of bitch!”  Dean spat, fury in voice.  “I’m going to kill both of them!”

Sam frowns, reaching Dean and looking over his shoulder to see what was getting him so angry.  His stomach sunk when he saw the pinks, purples and blues that filled the room, a pile of soft toys in the corner, and a bed that had all but been torn apart.

“Ah.”

[sabineelectricheart]

A Divine Vision

Summary: Gilbert is praying alone in the cathedral when he receives a sudden visit of a mystical being.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words:1800

Notes: Yes, a Support fic. Very unoriginal. Sue me.

The hour was late. The monastery was quiet, not even the animals in the woods around Garreg Mach were bustling with any sort of noise.

Predictably, the cathedral is empty. Not even Dimitri, who usually hung around the pile of debris, was anywhere to be seen, and this is how Gilbert preferred it, so he could pray to the Goddess in peace. He knows the breath on his lungs was a violation of his holy covenant with Sothis and the Blaiddyd royal dynasty, but he could not help but find his prayers absolutely shameful

If he had done his job properly, there would be little need to pray for the dead, after all.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Goddess, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. May the King and his family rest in peace and amongst their brethren. Amen.”

As soon as he finishes his prayers, he hears a pebble falling from the mountain of rubble. His sensitive ears, honed by years of military service, alert for a presence within the cathedral. His large right hand grips the sword he carries around his waist, ready to draw in defence.

More and more pebbles fall, and anxiety grows exponentially in the heart of the knight. Whatever it is, it is probably big.

Soon, Gilbert turns his eyes toward the source of the noise. He realizes the rubble is not falling down; rather, it is oddly falling up, higher and higher.

As he looks to his left, a strong pulse of force passes through him, and while it is mostly harmless, it does banish the numerous pews away. The broken glass on the windows is quickly restored to its former glory, depicting the twenty-six known patrons of Crests.

Finally, with the nave completely and magically rebuilt, the clouds clear and moonshine bathes the altar. Gilbert remembers it is only the first crescent, and the light should not be strong enough for such clarity in the temple. Alas, the Moon shone as if it was larger than full.

The cathedral is as beautiful as it was five years ago, but with a most important difference. By the altar, sat a large stone throne, which carried the symbol of the Holy Flame. It was the throne of the Goddess at the Blue Sea Star.

There, lounging comfortable on the hard stone as if it was the finest cushions in Adrestia, was a girl. Not too young, about two and twenty, but still much younger than his sixty years on this earth. She donned fine silk and gold, in a short fit on her lithe body. Her hair was green and voluminous, held up by an encrusted band and flowing down the entire length of her back.

“Oh, hello there, sir knight.” She greeted amicably. “How are you faring this evening?”

Gilbert strengthened his grip on the sword and took a step back. Innocent-looking or not, this was a powerful being, and it would not do to lower one’s guard.

“Oh, please, sir Pronislav. This are not the manners your mother instilled you with, and I am sure it has not passed so long for you to forget them.” The girl sneers derisively. “We are amongst friends here. Drop your sword and come closer.”

“I know you not, fiend.” He grumbles, trying to keep his voice steady. “Let me leave and you shall not have anything to fear from me.”

The girl chuckles, as if the notion amuses her. “Whether I release you or not has absolutely no bearing in my fear from the likes of you. I wish you could just recognize me, dear knight, it would make for more efficiency, but if you insist to be so, very well.”

Suddenly, from the yards that separated them, Gilbert was thrust forward, kneeling over the feet of the girl, who looked down with an amused smile on her face, as if waiting for the punch of a very funny joke. It was terrifying.

Though, truth be told, he was not thrust with force or violence, but rather as if the space between them did not exist anymore. It was as soft as a blink.

Gilbert, then, raises his eyes to the figure. From the feet decorated with gold, to the left hand on a lean hip covered in silk and the pale green eyes of a muted Summer. He knows this person.

“Pro-professor!” He stutters. “What is happening?”

The green-haired teacher lets out a melodious and unrestrained laugh. “Not quite, sir knight. You see, the one you call professor and I are, indeed, two faces of the same being. Alas, for now, we are separated. I who stand before you am Sothis, the Goddess of this land. You may address me as you prefer.”

His breath catches on his throat. “It cannot be!”

“It is what it is, sir knight.” She dismisses with a wave. “Or would you prefer I call you Gustave? Your mother has introduced you to me by this name, after all.”

He says nothing, still shell-shocked with the ramifications of what he must be seeing. Is he dead? Mortals are supposed to meet with the Goddess only when they pass. Or is he hallucinating, perhaps?

“It is very rude to call one you have evoked for so many times a hallucination, you know? You are not dead either. This is boring and I have much to do, so believe what you want, I do not care.” The so-called goddess huffed. “Now, you have come to me with a request, one you have brought forward many times. What is it?”

The old man frowned. “Are you not the Goddess? Should you not know?”

“Indulge me, will you?” Sothis rolled her eyes. “If I am the Goddess, then you are my servant and should do what I say, not question me. If I am the professor, she would not know any of it. If I am a hallucination, well, there is no one else for me to talk to other than you, and I would think it preferrable to waste a few moments in redundancies.”

Gilbert sighed. “Very well. I have asked for King Lambert Blaiddyd and his wife to rest in peace.”

“Which one?” She chuckled, as if finding her own joke amusing. “I jest, I jest. You would do well smiling more, you know?”

“Excuse me, your holiness, but I did not find it funny at all.” He responded, with his face in a frown.

“Fine, fine.” She dismisses. “Tell me this, then. You have a goddess before you, one who can grant you any desire you might ever have. Why do you ask for the rest of a long-dead king?”

“Is there anything else I can do?” He counters. “You must know I was in service of the royal family, yes? Of the oaths I have taken in your name? When I was only a young soldier, the king saw fit to make a knight of me. I was given the great honour of guiding and protecting the royal family.”

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Sothis says, as she takes a seat on the throne, as if the subject bores her so. “You have taught both Lambert and Dimitri on the lance, you have offered your candid advice, you have served them faithfully even in face of reservation, which you have certainly had a lot. Until…”

“Until that day.” Gilbert finishes the woman’s phrase. “I was...powerless. When I received word of the attack, it was already too late. His Majesty was dead, along with many knights and soldiers. If only I had made it to Duscur more quickly...”

“This is for me to know and you to wonder.” The green-haired girl smirks. Her teeth were clean white and straight. “Then what happened?”

“After that, I abandoned my wife and child, and fled my homeland. I turned my back on everything I swore to protect.” The warrior finishes the tale with a forlorn look on his aged face. “It is my fault that the King has died, and it is my fault that His Highness, Dimitri, has become... The way he is now. My sins are countless. I will bear the weight of my guilt for as long as I live.”

Sothis avoids his ice-blue eyes, in a solemn expression.

“Perhaps you will, indeed. I have no bearing on the hearts and minds of my children, adopted or otherwise. Only you are the lord of your soul, Gustave, and only you will decide when it is time to let go of the guilt.” The mystical being declared, and then looked at him with a softer look. “However, you must know that praying will not help them.”

“I repeat, what else can I do?” He spats, bitterly. “Apologizing to my daughter and wife. Devoting myself to His Highness. That is the way to atonement, and yet... Even if I am granted the forgiveness of those who still live, praying is all I can do to atone to those who are with us no more...”

“Oh, Gustave…” She says as if he is a naïve child. “I cannot say whether Lambert or Patricia live in my realm or were banished to Ailell, and I cannot say whether you shall end up, either. What I can say, however, is that, wherever they ended up, it was by their own making, not mine or yours. What I can say is that the concerns of the dead are hardly past grievances or the way of their death. What I can say is that, while past actions warrant repent and reflection, there is only one path, and it is forward.”

“Long ago, there was someone who told me something quite similar, and yet, I still find myself unable to follow through with this advice.” The man sighed, worn as if he had returned from a long war. “Forgive me. This will not do. As I grow older, I find myself talking endlessly about the past.”

“Don’t they all?” She smirked. “It seems our time is coming to a close. I cannot tell you what to do, Gustave. I can only hope you make the right choices. Sooner or later, no matter what path you take, you shall arrive at the same place, and then we will know what must have been done.”

A soft breeze blew from nowhere and with that, Gilbert was back to the nave of the Cathedral, alone, as it was before he talked to the girl.

Goddess or not, there was sage advice on her speech. Yet, he is a stubborn man and cannot change so drastically, so quickly.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Goddess, and let perpetual light shine upon them.”

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

[ijustwant2write]

Obsessed-Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

(GIF credit to @whenimaunicorn)

Summary: requested by @walkxthexmoon: ‘Hey love:) could you maybe write an imagine with ivar being obsessed with you and fighting every man that comes near you off?! I would understand if you don’t want to write it. I hope you have an amazing day:)’

Characters: Ivar Ragnarsson x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: jealousy, obsessiveness, mention of violence and injury, mention of weapons, fluff

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

Strolling through the town used to be a lovely way to spend my afternoons. Sometimes I would stop by each stall to chat to the people of Kattegat, both wanting to keep up my appearance and to connect with the people; my family were wealthy, we were one of the well known names amongst the people, and thankfully, all for good reason. I may have not been royalty, but I was the closest thing to it compared to everyone else. However, there had been jokes and rumours that that may change.

Although we were supposed to stay close with the royals, I had only had a full conversation with the family twice, once when I was much younger and the other only a year ago. I was forced to speak with the princes on both occasions, but since then I had only seen them in passing. However, they were now back from a raiding, all coming back looking like real men. Everyone noticed it, and apparently one of them had noticed me.

Ivar, easily the scariest of them all, had suddenly taken an interest in me. When they returned, a huge feast had taken place and of course everyone had attended. This brought the third time I had spoken to the Ragnarsson’s, Ivar the most surprisingly. I had enjoyed the conversation, but what came after startled me slightly. Men somehow stopped speaking to me, even getting within standing distance. It had confused me at first. I was a friend to all, and (I hoped) that I never gave off the wrong impression to anyone; however, it all seemed to occur after that particular feast.

“(Y/N)! I have not seen you out here for weeks!” a merchant called out to me as I bravely walked through the market.

“Well, I think we all know why.” I sighed.

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“No, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Should you not take it as a form of flattery?” he asked as he rearranged his items.

“Not when he’s fighting any man that comes near me. I worry for those poor souls.”

“Have you spoken to him about this?”

“I tried once. He didn’t take it very well.”

As he was about to speak, his eyes locked onto something to the right of us. I followed his gaze, slightly upset when I saw it was Ivar. Sadly smiling at the merchant, I quickly moved away from his stall, hoping that Ivar would not see it in the wrong way. I knew he had spotted me, so there was no point in trying to leave. I waited patiently for him to walk to me, using his crutches like he always did now instead of crawling through the mud.

I bowed my head to him.“Ivar, it’s nice to see you today.”

“He was not bothering you was he?”

I tried not to roll my eyes.“No, it was just a friendly chat.”

“Good, good.” we walked beside each other, and I could see how people moved out of the way for us.“You have not been here for a while, I missed your presence.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

He smiled to himself, seeming proud of his compliment."So why is it that I have not seen you?"

"Ivar," I was about to take a risk with my words,"you know why?"

He darkly chuckled."Because I protect you from men who lust after you?"

"Because you scare away men who come near me."

He stopped walking, turning his head towards me."They shouldn't be looking at you the way they do."

"But not all of them do Ivar! It tarnishes my reputation, something which I must uphold for the sake of my family."

“How can you say that? I am looking after you.”

“I understand your view on this, but men like that merchant back there are simply having a conversation with me. Though it seems nowadays that no one will speak to me.”

“I speak to you.”

I groaned, shaking my head at him. He knew he was winding me up and he was enjoying it. I wasn’t going to get through to him any time soon, and as frustrating as that was I just had to give up before things got messy.

“All I’m saying is I would prefer it if you weren’t so....so-”

“Hm?” He waited for the word, an eyebrow raised at me.

“So intimidating.”

“Intimidating? That’s not the word I would use.” he started to walk again before I stopped him, my hand on his upper arm.

“Ivar, please, I’m practically begging you! Just don’t hurt anyone.”

His eyes were on my hand, and he snarled before looking away.“I will try my best.”

He then walked away, I watched as practically no one looked at him. I felt slightly bad for him, I knew his actions weren’t supposed to upset me, but there was no way he could continue with this behaviour. Men would suddenly waltz the streets with bruises and deep cuts, even broken noses; everyone knew what happened to them, especially since they would have been seen with me just the day before.

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

Just beyond the edge of the forest, I stood with my bow and arrow, practicing a few shots during the peaceful afternoon. It was a beautiful day; the weather was perfect, the atmosphere was calm and no one had disturbed me...yet.

I heard someone approaching from behind me. Their steps were too casual for them to be a threat. Looking over my shoulder (with an arrow prepared just in case), I felt slight relief when I saw Arne (a close neighbour) approaching, his own weapons strapped to him. He seemed to be in a happy mood, smiling at me from far away.

“Arne, what brings you here?” I asked.

“The same as you.” he finally reached me, setting down his axe.“Getting some practice in whilst the weather is on our side.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping your family on the farm?” I found myself looking around, heart beating quickly at the thought of Ivar showing up.

“Well, I should, but this is more important.” Arne caught onto my paranoia and chuckled.“Relax, he’s not here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m a tracker, a skilled fighter, I know when someone’s following me.”

“Still, we must be careful.”

“He doesn’t have claim on you, not yet anyway.”

“Yet? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He picked up his axe, throwing it up and down with one hand.“I hardly doubt he’s going to put this much effort into keeping men away from you and not have you as a wife.”

“What if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

I was too shocked to reply.

“One, your family will agree straight away, and two, I’ve seen the way you look at him. You may hate his little game he plays but whenever you’re with him, you look much too invested.”

“Well....I mean, he’s an interesting person.”

“Interesting, that’s one way to look at him.”

“Arne.”

“I think you two would look good together. He’s calmer with you, everyone seems more relaxed when you’re around him.”

I thought about his words, the weight of them suddenly dawning on me.

His tone was softer.“I don’t mean any offence-”

“Perhaps it would be better to just keep your mouth shut.” Ivar’s voice rang out, startling us both. 

Behind us was Ivar, how he had sneaked up on us was a mystery. My heart beat was racing, hoping he heard none of the conversation. Arne didn’t deserve any punishment, though neither did any other man. Instinctively I moved towards Ivar, almost like a barricade between him and Arne. All of us had weapons, the two men both bearing axes, both as equally skilled as each other. Ivar’s glare didn’t falter as I spoke.

“Ivar, please we spoke of this.” I quietly reminded him.

“Yes, but he has been running his mouth, spiteful words escaping them!” Ivar snapped.

“No, he hasn’t. He was...just voicing his concern.”

“Concern? Why should he be concerned? I would never harm you.”

“I know, I know. Look, nothing has been done here. Don’t hurt him.”

“I said I would try-”

“Well try harder!”

His eyes widened at my outburst.

“Ivar, if you don’t stop this nonsense then I will never speak to you again. You think this will make me fall for you, that I’ll somehow be flattered by what you’re doing. Well it’s not. I don’t want to be the reason as to why you end up killing an innocent man.”

I too was surprised by my rant, my raised voice making our surroundings seem quieter as I stopped. Ivar and I held an intense stare at each other, neither one of us backing down. He huffed, a deep frown set on his face as he slumped away, his crutches digging into the ground harshly to release some anger. Oh gods, what had I done? I had pissed off the most reckless prince of Kattegat, a man who never held back or thought about the consequences before taking action. Arne and I watched Ivar, only relaxing when he disappeared from sight.

“What have I done?” I whined, wondering if I was taking a risk by going after him.

“He won’t do anything to you.” Arne tried to console me.

“You don’t know that. Ivar isn’t stable, you’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

“(Y/N), go home. Don’t worry, he’s just pissed off because you stood up to him.”

“What about you? Should you walk with me? In case he’s still there or-”

“(Y/N), I’ll be fine. I can protect myself.

My body was filled with tension, my mind swirling with horrible things that Ivar could do to me or anyone else. I didn’t mean to anger him, I just didn’t want a friend hurt. My family noticed, and when I explained they too tried to calm me down. As we sat down for dinner, trying to take my mind off the events of the day, there was a knock at the door. Our thrall immediately went to answer, though we heard a deep voice commanding her to fetch me. My father and I went to the door, he demanded to know why I was needed at such a late hour.

“Prince Ivar wishes to see your daughter.” the guard explained.

We shared a glance, and my father knew I had to go. Although I believed that Ivar wasn’t going to hurt me, there was a doubt in my mind. I didn’t let that show, reassuring my family that I would be safe. As the thrall wrapped a cloak around me, I silently prayed to the Gods, hoping that the worst he would do is viciously yell at me. The guards walked either side of me, holding torches to guide us through the dark. Thankfully no one was out to see this happening, avoiding the gossip that could circle around town. They made sure I walked quickly, almost shoving me into the Great Hall where Ivar sat on one of the thrones. No one spoke as we walked to him, his hand waving dismissively at the guards, leaving us alone.

“I am sorry to drag you away from your home so late. Have you eaten?” he asked casually.

I nodded.“No need to apologise my prince. And yes, I have, thank you.”

“Good, I would not want to make a bad impression on your family.”

Why was he so calm?

“Of course you haven’t. If you don’t mind me asking, why am I here so late?”

He looked like he was struggling to keep eye contact with me, his lips slightly pursed before speaking.“I wanted to apologise for earlier.”

What?

An apology from Ivar?

“I got angry at you and your friend for no reason, and when I saw how upset you were I regretted it.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Sorry, thank you for the apology. I...I’m just-”

“Shocked? I do have a heart (Y/N).”

“I know you do.”

He sighed.“Come closer.”

I took a few steps forward, standing at the bottom of the small stairs in front of the thrones. He reached his hand out to me, gesturing for me to come even closer. I held onto it, hitching up my dress to climb the stairs. Now stood directly in front of him, his hand still in mine, my heart was beating fast once again, but not because I was scared.

“You must realise, I was only ever loved by one woman, my mother. And although she doted on me, I have never known how to reciprocate that love. I only know of violence and anger. That’s why I have been fighting off those men, to somehow show that...that I care for you, that no other man should have you.”

“Ivar, I...I’m also sorry for shouting at you. I didn’t realise that this was how you were showing affection.”

“I understand if you want to run away from me right this second, never speak to me again.” he turned angry, his hand slipping from mine until I snatched it back. 

“Ivar, there has been times where...where I was truly thankful for your actions. There has been some men which were too close for my liking or thought they could do whatever they wanted to me. But this doesn’t justify what you did to others.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I just need to understand a little better. Why did you fight them off?”

“Have you seen me? I’m a cripple! They already have the upper hand. They’re also not monsters, they aren’t feared by everyone they know.”

“I don’t fear you.”

“You should.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You are so much more than you think you are. Do you really think I would be here right now, that I would take even a slight interest in you if I thought those things?”

His sad eyes looked deep into mine.“Do you really mean those things?”

“Of course. I’m not condoning your behaviour, but what I’m suggesting is that we start over. Do this properly.”

“Do what?”

“C-courting? Is that what you wanted?”

He smiled, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.“That’s all I wanted since the day I first met you.”

He gently kissed the back of my hand, and I almost melted at the sight. He was dangerous, unpredictable and terrifying; though there was a side to him that no one saw. He wanted to express his love, his happier side, but didn’t know how to do so, seeing as he wasn’t brought up the happiest of homes. But I was going to change that, make him into a loved leader when it was his time, change the perspective of him from his people. It would take some time, though I was sure that this was the first step of many.

[the-tribune]

The Tribune: Chapter 1

A science fiction story The idea of the Galactic Parliament, not to mention it’s associated vast bureaucratic apparatus, would be absolutely absurd if it was not already an ancient and enduring institution. The galactic diameter was greater than 100,000 light-years, meaning even light speed communication methods took one hundred millennia to travel the galaxy’s wingspan. Half a million species of intelligent life across millions of worlds each with billions of inhabitants were governed by The Parliament. What’s more, there was no faster than light travel, for the laws of physics were strict in their regulation. The laws of biology were more lenient, however. A large proportion of the galaxy’s intelligent species were able to achieve biological immortality. This allowed for a communications infrastructure to be constructed which, while glacially slow, allowed for information to be disseminated across the galaxy within a lifespan. With the large distance between these so called “immortonations”, it is natural to ask why a structure was established to govern them. After all, if two groups of people cannot communicate without extreme effort, why bother attempting to impose a common set of laws on both? The answer lay in trade. There were certain highly useful trace compounds which were impossible for life to fabricate because they were formed in black hole accretion disks, neutron stars, or other extreme environments. These resources were not scattered uniformly throughout the galaxy, however, and existed in localized veins. Since these compounds were used in many advanced technologies, their exchange was desirable. Galactic governance thus evolved out of thousands of trade agreements, trade regulatory organs, technological sharing initiatives, and common currency deals. As cooperation intensified however, so did competition and interstellar war was born. Defense pacts and arms sales were therefore woven into the fabric of the emerging Galactic System. As species communicated — even at the slow rate afforded by physics — ideology, culture, and language mingled. Eventually people even began migrating across the void to other immortonations, driven by commerce, war, or exploration. The result was that the galaxy, while colossal beyond comprehension, began to shrink. Friction between democratic and authoritarian immortonations eventually escalated into a billion year period of violence, known simply as “The Struggle”. The Struggle was a brutal, all encompassing total war in which almost a quadrillion lives were lost. The conflict was eventually won by the Democratic Front. In the latter stage of the war, a Galactic Constitution was drafted and signed by the members of the Democratic Front. It established a democratic Galactic Commonwealth — led by the directly elected Galactic Parliament — and reorganized local governance. The independent immortonations became provinces under the new Galactic Commonwealth. In addition to codifying the structure of the government, The Galactic Constitution included a section outlining the inalienable rights and liberties of sapient beings. It also provided for the creation of an enormous Army of the Galaxy and outlawed locally controlled militaries. Because of the huge lag in communications between worlds, a system of closed party-list proportional representation was used to elect members of The Galactic Parliament. Political parties located on the capital planet Zaast created huge lists of people in the order which they would like them seated in parliament. The lists were then communicated to all the inhabited planets in the galaxy where local branches of the Galactic Commonwealth would hold an election and individuals would vote for the parties. Once the results of these elections were transmitted back to Zaast, seats would be proportionally allocated by party. Term lengths were one million years, and if an elected parliamentarian died part way through their term, they were replaced by the next person on their party’s list. Parties could also reorganize their list at any time, meaning that during a term, party leaders could promote or demote members from office at will. This system, while effective at allowing democracy to take place at a galactic scale, had the consequence of power being highly centralized in a political class ruling from Zaast. Only those who lived on Zaast could effectively become parliamentarians, and the parties controlled who was in office at any time. The ruling party could even demote the prime minister and promote someone else to their place without a vote, because the office was not legally held by individuals; it was held by the party itself. The struggle for power between the parties was a cutthroat affair. Alliances and coalitions shifted constantly due to political maneuvering and backstabbing. Competition for power was just as fierce within the political parties, as positions on the parties’ lists were fought over. The maxim of Zaast was “trust no one”. Darker still, assassinations were a normal part of political life on Zaast. Indeed, despite being the richest and most powerful class in the galaxy, the life expectancy of the parliamentarians was fairly low on average due to the murders. The one check on the powers of the Zaast based parties was the Jury of Tribunes. Every one thousand years, one thousand tribunes were selected at random from the entire immortal population of the galaxy (using a pseudorandom number generator called R-19, which had had it’s seed synced with all the planets of The Commonwealth). These tribunes were legally compelled to serve and had to make the long journey to Zaast to do so. Being selected through sortition, the tribunes were diverse in species, religion, language, culture, profession, and class but were joined together in their common duty to the galaxy. The Jury of Tribunes had extensive powers. The jury could propose legislation to be voted on by the parliament and veto and legislation which the parliament produced. In addition, the jury was able to prosecute and try members of parliament: an important role due to the parliamentarians’ immunity to prosecution in the courts. The tribunes were sacrosanct and violence against them was punishable by death. This hardly stopped the parliamentarians, however, who, as a rule, hated the tribunes. The tribunes lived in constant fear of persecution from the parliamentarians and their cronies. Cowed in this way, the tribunes were unable to effectively perform their constitutional duty to curb the parties’ power. The Army, which was usually close with the parliamentarians, would not protect the tribunes, nor would the Zaast Public Order Service (the local police force). The tribunes had to look out for each other on the cruel planet which they found themselves on. Ayr was a shepherd on the agricultural world of Ostlot IV. She lived a simple life with her husband and children moving an indigenous variety of livestock from pasture to pasture. She was content with her lot, worked hard, and loved her family. The animals were calm and easy to work with and the weather was temperate all year long. She only had one thing in her life to complain about: the annual trip to the local city: Qual. The family would bring the livestock to Qual yearly to sell some of them to local vendors and buy what they needed to survive for the year. Ayr loathed coming to Qual. The city was claustrophobic to her and, accustomed to a lifestyle of freedom in the wild, she took poorly to the city’s rules and customs. More than anything else she detested the local branch of the Army of the Galaxy, who would demand a huge sum of “protection money” on top of the taxes which were already due. This type of racketeering was just how things were done. The Army was strong, the people were weak, and there was no oversight. So once again she found herself paying the protection money at the local army office. This time, however, upon tuning to leave she was stopped by the soldier taking the money. “You should really stay in the city for a month until the jury selection happens.” The young soldier said. “Means we won’t have to track you down if you get picked.” This caused some snickers from other soldiers. “No, I’m serious!” the soldier protested. “Just because someone from Ostlot hasn’t been selected in forever doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen!” “I’ll take my chances,” Ayr said and left to find Elic, her husband, who was with the children in the bazaar. When she reached the bazaar and found Elic and the children, she looked at them from afar for just a moment before joining them. She saw her husband tenderly caring for scrape their youngest had just gotten from a little fall and had a sudden feeling like she was seeing them like that for the last time. She joined them and said to Elic “I think we should stay in the city for a month longer.” Surprised Elic looked up and asked “Why? You hate the city.” She paused for a few seconds. “Yes but Jury selection is in a month and you never know if one of us might be picked.” she replied. Elic smiled, he knew better than to question his wife when she had a feeling about something, and he knew better than to question his wife’s gut. “Ok, we’ll stay until Jury selection,” he said. One month later she was chosen. The army came to the inn the family was staying in, took her to the spaceport, and put her on a ship to Zaast. She somehow knew that it would be her. She didn’t know how, she didn’t believe in gods or fate or luck or the supernatural. But somehow she had known. Now she was leaving everything behind. Her husband, her children, her home, her life, even her place in time (for she would be put into cryosleep for the duration of the journey). But she wasn’t alone. Strangely enough, after the long drought, not one but two representatives from Oslot IV were chosen to be tribunes. The launch craft from Qual spaceport met up with the interstellar transport ship, and Mareen, the other green tribune, was waiting for her there. As soon as the airlock opened. Mareen appeared with her hand extended and a smile on her face. “Name’s Mareen, nice to meet you!” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Ayre shook her hand. “Likewise, I’m Ayre!” Ayre replied, happy to see such a friendly face. The two immediately got on well. Mareen, Ayre learned, was a farmer before being chosen. Ayre also learned that Mareen shared some of her more rebellious sensibilities. When no guards were around Mareen said “I mean it’s bullshit! They take a big fat cut of my profits on top of what I’m already paying in taxes! I’m going to give the parliament an earload when we get to Zaask. There’s no way they should let the Army rob us blind like they do.” After talking with Marreen about all manner of things for about three days, the cryopods were ready and it was time to go into suspended animation. “See you on the other side!” Mareen said as they were lowered into the pods. This was it. This was the end of Ayres old life. She would wake to an uncertain dawn on a dangerous planet. She steeled herself and felt the cold and the artificial sleep come.

[mercysought]

@cllgood​ : ‘ That’s the way that I live. ’ / @ maxima from this is our science ( accepting )

She hears in silence, quiet with both hands over her lap. Not truly taking in the words that he had been speaking, but more trying to put the words in an order that would seem to explain her point further. 

The training of young men and women the way that the gunslingers did was inhumane; a cruel treatment that forced children to become desynthesized to violence. Then, threw them outside of the walls that they knew for all their live into a world that would eat them whole and told them: don’t come back if you are not good enough, do not bring shame to your name. Drop dead and that will bring you more honour than to continue living in any other capacity. Green eyes lift to Cuthbert, watching him for a good second, pondering. Is it truly safe to tell him, to initiate this sort of dialogue with him.

She didn’t with anyone else. Personal points of view were bad for business, but so were personable relationships that one might use to pull strings against.

   “Hear me out.” his mouth starts to open and her hand raises. Maxima leans in closer, her leg touching his from beneath the stark white fabric. Her hands cupping his right. Her rings clash against his and neither notice “And wait to get angry or attempt a counterpoint until after I am finished.” 

There was so much brewing unhappiness and it was palpable. Maxima had always known the taste of misery, long before she knew the taste of anything else, and it was starting to seep into everything in those halls. She doesn’t say it, because it would be so stupid that she was certain she would never be able to make a come back from putting words such as those into existence, not in this plain manner that she wished she could. His eyes are on hers as her hands cover his right. 

He was no more a fool than she was a troublemaker of a woman. Both were true, but it was hardly about being a devil or a saint. 

   “Your father is a great man,” she starts and it is already a slippery slope. There is likely none that she likes more in these walls than Louise Allgood and therefore her husband too. When she was a girl she used to close her eyes and imagine what it might be to be another daughter of their, to be kept so close to one’s chest that you might hear their heartbeats. Robert Allgood was a good man, a great one even; all of them were. But to deny the darkness that you could see, a darkness that grows from within them and from outside. To deny how the ground rattles from their steps instead of the music that plays.

To forget the glances of the women that remain within these halls and to deny their pain. Maxima had been called many things; cruel, a manipulative snake that was waiting just to have her head cut off, a coward to hide behind whispers. But they were there, they existed and to deny them was to add more fuel to an already growing forest fire. Her hand squeezes his, green eyes on his “but you are doing yourself a disservice to use him as the only measure of worth.“

The gunslingers whose irons pass to their sons and daughters and with each generation the number of enemies seems to grow faster than the weeds in their gardens. Perhaps this was just another turn of the wheel, another cycle to be expected. Maxima didn’t believe it, and perhaps this was her lifting all of the carpets and filling the air with dust for no good reason at all. But she saw through it, through the dust. There was no dust in the horizon, the rattling of the dust, of hooves over desert floors, the sound of guns. It was inside of their own home, this home.

She didn’t say more, she felt that half a word would be understood. To clear the air and say something that, she was sure, Cuthbert always knew. Deep down somewhere. Maxima would refuse any comparisons done to her when put against any other, why should she not see it wrong when done for others. Why should she not see something built on top of the praises of their father and blood lines as something inherently corruptible? And how could anyone ask her not to be afraid?

   “I am telling you this,“ she whispers, squeezing his hands further, knowing that this was likely the last time that she might talk to him. She would chose to lose the last person that she had felt was like family if it meant that maybe he could protect himself, protect his sisters in some way with the knowledge.

The way that he lived was the same way that all gunslingers did. Perhaps with more joy, more liveliness in his bones not the heaviness of the irons keeping him down. ‘Has forgotten the face of his father’. Cuthbert Allgood was better than Robert, better than Louise and she said this even as she held a love bigger than she ever had for her own blood. It was a disservice because it meant that he would never be able to grow out of his shadow. If she knew anyone that refused to live within the lines drawn for him, to keep painting within them, that was Cuthbert. And she didn’t want him to lose that “because I love you, my dear friend.”

Misery had started growing in their gardens, but if she could avoid anyone from eating from their fruits; from having their hands torn while trying to take care of those weeds, that would be Cuthbert and his family.

[ofhellsbells]

After the Afterparty

SUMMARY: After seeing the potential for chaos within Belphegor, War goes to visit them to try to stir up more. She gets what she wants, but at what cost? TRIGGERS: Self Harm, Blood, Gore, Violence, Suicidal Ideations. WRITTEN WITH: @warbegetswar, Ami, me, myself, I, Mercury

War was not someone that anyone could ever trust, even her allies. That wasn’t to say she would necessarily turn on them, but the promises she made to them were hardly solid. Aamon had known that of course. War didn’t make deals like the princes did. She just did what she wanted whether anyone liked it or not. 

On the night of the gala, she’d told Aamon that she wouldn’t harm his brother, Belphegor. Belphegor had been such a small thing that she hadn’t really thought of him as much of a threat anyways, but after he and Cupid had intervened in their fun for that night, War had seen something different. That spark that had ignited in his chest was like a fuse for a bomb, and War felt an undeniable urge to throw that bomb in someone’s direction.

Aamon had told War of his plans to hurt Michael through the magician close to him, and War knew that his family would not let him get away with it. She’d watched their family for a long time. It wasn’t difficult to see what they would do. They’d all meet up together, talk as if they were really trying to come to an agreement even though they already had plans for Aamon. Adding a bomb to that little meeting would just set them up for more chaos that War could just sit back and watch.

Arriving at the building where Belphegor stayed, War knocked on the door. For a few moments, there was no response, but she could hear movement inside. Eventually, the door opened, revealing a drowsy looking Belphegor on the other side.

Belphegor looked over War with confusion. She didn’t generally come to see them. The few times that Belphegor recalled her coming to see them was so she could get Belphegor to invent new weapons for her bigger wars, but she didn’t have any big wars going on right now as far as Belphegor knew, not that they tended to pay that much attention to them. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

War held her hand over her heart would be if she actually had one. “Why do I have to want anything? You’re Aamon’s little brother. After what happened after the gala, I just wanted to check up on you.”

Belphegor rose a brow at that. War wasn’t generally the type to care about anyone or anything. It was difficult to imagine she’d actually come here to make sure she was okay. “Why would Aamon’s family matter to you?”

“No, you’ve got it wrong. I couldn’t care less about his family. Just you.” After Belphegor looked even more confused, War continued. “While your brother and I were walking together, he expressed to me how much he cared about you specifically. Unlike the rest of your family, he actually looks out for you. We both knew that you and Cupid were following us, but he made it adamant that no harm would come to you.”

Frowning, Belphegor looked down. They weren’t upset about that, quite the opposite. She was just feeling a little emotional about it. They’d always thought that Aamon didn’t care about them at all, but they knew that War was telling the truth now. Under any other circumstance, Belphegor imagined that Aamon would’ve fought whoever tried to stop him from having his fun with humanity that night. He’d threatened Cupid, but he hadn’t done much of anything to Belphegor even though he could’ve.

Belphegor stepped back and allowed War to come into their home. They just wanted to know more, and they didn’t think they could get this kind of information in any other way.

War stepped inside while Belphegor closed the door behind her. Belphegor’s home looked so comfortable. Blankets and pillows covered most of the floor, but it looked intentional instead of disorganized. It was surprisingly easy to navigate, though it probably helped that War had the balance of a celestial being. Both of them moved to one of the actual couches in Belphegor’s home, but War was the only one of them to actually sit down. Belphegor stayed standing, anxiously fidgeting as she clearly was struggling with what War had told her.

“So what did he say exactly?” she asked, rubbing her arm absentmindedly. 

War honestly didn’t remember what Aamon had told her exactly. She hadn’t thought much of it, and really, the truth hardly mattered anyways. She was just trying to build the prince’s attachment to their sibling, so it would hurt her that much more when Lucifer and Michael decided to punish Aamon for what he’d done.

“He talked about how out of everyone in your family, you’re the one with the most potential. It’s part of why he wanted to make sure you weren’t harmed. He also knows that you really care about the family. The others, they don’t care if any of your siblings live or die. If Aamon were to be lost tomorrow, do you think Lucifer would care? Don’t you think Leviathan would be relieved? They feel threatened by him, and they’d rather see him gone than actually work through any problems with him. You know it’s true.”

“I don’t want to see him gone!” Belphegor said quickly. She just wanted her family to all get along. She wanted them all to be together. She wanted them to be happy.

“I know you don’t,” said War. She took Belphegor’s hand, feigning empathy for her. “Aamon knows it too. It’s why he loves you so much. He knows you’d do anything to keep him safe too.”

“I would!” said Belphegor fervently, nodding her head. She already would’ve done everything she could to keep her family together, but she had more of a passion for protecting Aamon now that she knew he’d do the same for her. “Did he say anything else?” She asked hopefully. It wasn’t often that she heard things like this about Aamon. He didn’t really open up like this to anyone as far as she knew.

Smirking, War knew that she had Belphegor right where she wanted her. The bomb in Belphegor was armed and ready for whatever happened with Aamon. The only part that wasn’t right currently was how happy Belphegor was about it. They always had a war stirring inside them, but War needed that to be stirred up a little more. “Well . . . it’s more of what he didn’t say.” War looked up thoughtfully, as if trying to determine if that were really important to the conversation.

“What didn’t he say?” Belphegor asked quietly, worried by War’s tone of voice.

“Your girlfriend,” said War, but Belphegor just looked confused. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any kind of romantic partner like that, and she was practically blind to anything about love. “Cupid,” War filled in, though Belphegor still didn’t understand the connection. 

“What about her?” Belphegor knew that Aamon and Cupid didn’t really get along that well, but she didn’t think that was really a problem after the night at the gala. Both Cupid and Aamon had seemed to give up their fights towards each other to avoid the consequences of what a fight would bring. There wasn’t a problem anymore, right?

“She isn’t off limits like you are,” War smirked.

Belphegor frowned. It didn’t really say anything against Aamon that he didn’t tell War not to harm Cupid. “That’s probably because she doesn’t need to be off limits. Cupid’s not defenseless.” With or without Belphegor’s help, Cupid was capable of as much as nearly any archangel was. If Aamon hadn’t been there that night and it had just been War, Cupid probably could’ve handled everything herself. Most people thought of Cupid as such a small angel, only concerned with love. They thought of someone dainty and cute, and while she was cute, she was still a warrior too.

War rolled her eyes. That kind of reaction made her want to vomit. It was just so boring, and there wasn’t much fight in it. “But if Aamon tried to protect you, then what does that say about you?”

“It says that we’re family, and that he cares about me,” said Belphegor defensively, not realizing that it was exactly the kind of thing War was looking for.

“You sure that it’s not about how defenseless you are. How weak you are? I mean, just look what happened to your twin.” 

Belphegor’s fists clenched together, and a supernatural wind started whipping around the room. The furniture shook, and the windows rattled. The pillows and blankets on the floor started to lift up off of the floor, but War didn’t stop talking. “The only reason you and Cupid got out of there was because Aamon cares about you. I could’ve torn you both apart if I wanted to.” She was getting exactly what she wanted after all, and it only helped that the void in Belphegor’s chest agreed with her. She’s right, it told Belphegor. You could be with your twin right now, but you’re too weak to let go. 

“You’re wrong!” She snapped at both the void and at War. “I’m not weak! You are! Aamon didn’t warn you against hurting me to protect me. He did it to protect you!” 

The wind started to rip through other parts of the house, tearing things apart and sending them through every part of Belphegor’s home. War just sat relaxed on the couch, unthreatened by everything going on around them. She even yawned and leaned back more. “I feel so worried.”

“You should,” Belphegor warned as the kitchen in her home began to tear apart, knives and other cooking utensils started to fly around. Still War was unbothered. “Because you can’t hurt me, not in any way that matters.”

“And you can’t hurt me in any way I won’t enjoy,” War pointed out.

“I know,” said Belphegor as everything but the sharpest objects dropped to the ground. One by one, they flew at Belphegor, puncturing through their flesh. Normally, human weapons didn’t hurt archangels, but Belphegor allowed them to. It wasn’t just kitchen knives either. Belphegor had weapons from the angel war, and they allowed them to materialize in their hands, stabbing them through different parts of their body too. It hurt tremendously, and the wounds from the archangel blades would leave marks, but Belphegor had been careful not to do anything that would actually kill them.

She wanted to cry, and worse, she wanted the pain to just end. The void spoke loudly in their head, telling her that if she just aimed the blade in certain parts, they could be free of the pain. The void was expanding as the urge to just die increased. Belphegor allowed it to grow, allowing those feelings to wash over them. They were a flood of depression and pain.

War was just confused by the show in front of them. They didn’t even feel like doing anything about it. It seemed like too much effort to even care. Belphegor was hardly a problem anyways, and pestering them about Cupid was starting to feel like a waste of time. They’d already armed the bomb in Belphegor anyways. Did they really need to do anything anyways? She could probably just take a nap here, so she shifted on the couch a little to get more comfortable until she realized what was happening. “This is you.” She didn’t fully understand. Belphegor’s powers came from how they were feeling, but if this was only a fraction of how they were feeling, how were they still standing?

“Yeah,” said Belphegor, her breath shaking as she tried to stay standing. Everything ached, but she was used to pain. Physical pain was nothing compared to the pain from the void inside of her. She could take any amount of torture, mental or physical, and if it meant keeping Cupid safe from War, Belphegor would’ve injured herself over and over again. Sometimes, she didn’t even need this kind of pressure to perform these kinds of injuries on herself, but right now, she’d only hurt herself to expand her void. Whenever the void was bigger, her emotions tended to affect a wider area and was a lot stronger, strong enough to affect someone like War. “I don’t have to hurt you to take you down. You draw your energies from wars, and what happens when no one has the energy to fight any wars. I can make it so no one wants to do anything antagonistic ever again. They’ll be too busy with the depression in their hearts. They’ll feel like I do all the time, and with no wars, you’ll be nothing. You won’t be able to do anything ever again.” 

Belphegor moved towards War despite the pain she was in. “You won’t hurt Cupid. You won’t hurt me or my family.” She took a hold of one of War’s arms and dragged her across the room. “You’re going to leave and stop influencing my brother into doing bad things.” She picked War up completely, moving her out through the window which had broken during Belphegor’s fit of anger, and she dropped her. Just outside that window was a dumpster that War fell into. Sound of glass shattering echoed, but Belphegor wasn’t paying attention to it. She might’ve used her own pain to deal with War, but that pain was still there and not so easy to get rid of. There wasn’t much comfort left in Belphegor’s home now. She went into her bathroom, looking into the mirror at herself, knives and blades sticking out of her at every angle. She supposed she ought to remove them, so she pulled them out one by one, whimpering at the pain as her blood dripped to the ground. Eventually, she lost so much blood that she just passed out on her bathroom floor. At least War was gone though. At least Cupid and the rest of her family was safe from War’s presence.

[canimal]

I wanted to write a time travel fanfic and about Evan Rosier/Hermione Granger as a main pairing but... I'm stuck. I didn't choose the most redeemable character (Rosier was killed by Moody after a magical fight) and it's complicated bc how Hermione can fall in love with someone like Evan no matter how charming and smart he is ? How did you deal with that (Hermione, Death Eater and their ideology) ? All I can see is something like Jaime/Brienne (GoT) and a very slow burn. But it still feel wrong.

(Please bear with me as this is going to be a super long response.  I’ll put it underneath the cut so those who want to read it can read it and those who want to scroll past it can do so quickly.)

To be perfectly honest, if a story feels “wrong”, you shouldn’t be writing it.  Trying to force something that you don’t feel comfortable writing and don't fully believe in will not only make for a story that feels forced and unnatural to the reader, but it will also become a story that you will not enjoy writing.  (Never forget that this is our hobby, not our job.). Eventually, you would likely hit a wall where the story was unable to progress further and you’d be stuck.  Lots of writers try to write a story with certain elements or pairings that are “trendy” and end up stuck because they forced a story.  Writing should flow fairly smoothly.  I’m not saying that writers should never stumble or feel blocked, but I am saying that if you’re not allowing a story to remain organic and grow naturally, you will find you quality and likely your own enthusiasm and enjoyment in writing the story suffer.

Why do you want to write a story with Evan Rosier?  Is it because you find his character fascinating or you want to uncover more about him?  Or is it because he’s not a character that’s written about a lot and you’re hoping to stand out in a growing sea of Death Eater stories?  

I promise I’m not trying to be rude or condescending, even if it seems like it.  This is an honest question.  If your answer is on the first couple, awesome.  Go for it.  

But, if you’re hoping writing about him will get you instant recognition and a large number of followers on your story immediately, I’m sorry to tell you that that probably won’t happen.  Most readers don’t want to take a chance on unknown characters.  They just don’t.  I’ve mentioned this many times, but when I first started writing Thorfinn Rowle as more than just a one-dimensional bad guy in the background in first, The Dark Mage’s Captive and then Parolee and His Princess, I frequently got PMs and reviews asking me who the fuck Thorfinn Rowle even was and that I might actually get more people to read my stories if I didn’t write such weird pairings. 🙄 (Let’s not forget the troll who commented “This should’ve been a Dramione” on literally every single chapter at least twice.  Sigh.) So it’s both amusing and incredibly frustrating to have readers in the fandom announce that Thormione is their OTP when most of them wouldn’t have given my stories the time of day when I was writing them and they were the ONLY Thorfinn stories in existence on FFN for certain and probably everywhere else.  Because so few people were interested in reading a story with Thorfinn as the main love interest when I was actually writing Parolee and His Princess, if I was only writing the story in an attempt to stand out and not because that was the story I wanted to write, then I likely would’ve gotten frustrated and quit before I ever finished.

So, if you’re serious about writing an Evan Rosier story because it’s what you want to write, I wish you the best of luck.  It’s always challenging to write a character with little to no background info in canon.  Challenging can also be a great deal of fun.  If we never challenge ourselves as writers, we won’t ever get any better.  Writers must be willing to learn and try new things if they want to get better.  Practice is crucial.  Too many writers (professional and otherwise) get to a place where they don’t believe they need to improve and their writing gets stagnant.  It’s sad.

Now to your question about how or why Hermione might fall in love with someone with such a different and dangerous ideology... there are many different ways this can be tackled.  I must stress thought that you make sure the decision you make makes sense within your story.  Don’t try to force something.  Let it grow naturally.

First of all, I don’t believe anyone is unredeemable.  (Or irredeemable. Same meaning, right?) Perhaps it’s because of my own personal faith and religious beliefs, but I don’t believe anyone is wholly evil or wholly good.  Yes, even in this hyper-partisan world we now live in, I don’t believe that anyone (even those who might disagree with me) are pure evil.  This has actually gotten me a lot of grief from angry trolls and super sensitive former readers alike.  I’ve been accused of being an “apologist” for all manner of depravity including, but not limited to, rape, violence, murder, racism, all the bad things ever, etc. simply because I believe that no is unredeemable... irredeemable.  Ugh, whatever.  You know what I mean.  

Everyone has good qualities in them, even those who appear to be nothing but evil.  Far fewer good qualities than most certainly, but still there.  I’m also a firm believer that people, even really bad people, can have an existential change of heart and want to be a better person.  Many just have to be given the opportunity to change.  Of course, I don’t believe that they shouldn’t be punished for their crimes or they should be excused just because there’s something good about them.  I’ll never understand why I’ve been accused of being an apologist.  🙄 Some people are truly exhausting.

For every story about a Death Eater falling for Hermione, there’s a different explanation.  If you’ve ready any, you’re probably already familiar.  Because I try very hard to make every story I write unique from the others I’ve already written, I’ve mixed it up.  Antonin only joined for knowledge and power without realizing until too late what was really happening.  Rodolphus was pressured by his wife in one and his grief and depression made him fall further in than he meant to.  Sometimes the Death Eater was pressured by family to follow in their footsteps; others by their peers.  There are countless reasons why people join these kinds of groups.  Disillusionment, looking for a place to belong... you really could make it anything.  I’ve known people who were drawn in and brainwashed by cults because they were desperate for purpose, for belonging, for a feeling like their life actually mattered.  It can be super easy to get sucked into a cult and takes years to get out... if you can.

JKR wrote the Death Eaters as being simply bad for bad’s sake.  They’re almost all one-dimensional.  No person is actually one-dimensional.  They have hopes and fears and dreams just like everyone else.  Maybe they thought they believed in the sort of pro-Pureblood world that Voldemort imagined, but once they got in they were in over their head.  Reality rarely meets our expectations.  People grow and change.  Even my own beliefs have changed as I’ve grown older.  What I used to think was important no longer is and there are issues I have done a complete 180 on as I’ve grown up and begun to live in what I call “grownup reality”.  (Life is much different for me than it was even when I was just in my twenties and how I see the world has changed drastically in some instances.). So if experience and time has been able to shape and change my beliefs and even my values to a minute degree, why could the same not be said for a Death Eater who discovered all was not as it seemed when they were recruited?

It’s also important to remember that no one thinks, acts, or believes like everyone in their set group one hundred percent of the time.  Each individual has their own thoughts and beliefs.  Maybe they joined because they hated Muggles, but then they realized they were wrong to do so.  Maybe their family pressured them to join but they didn’t agree.  Maybe they were afraid to die so they joined.  I know a lovely man whose father died in World War II fighting for the Nazis - not because he was an admirer of Hitler and believed in everything dreadful and evil the Nazi party believed in.  No, his father was conscripted into the German Army and fought because he would’ve been arrested in the best case scenario and executed in the worst.  His young wife and their two small children could’ve also been in danger had he refused.  It’s a terribly sad story.  And hardly the only one.  That’s just one example.  History has countless other incidents all over the world when scared people fought and fell in line with a terrible leader because they had no other choice. Or at least it seemed like they had no other choice.  Not everyone is strong and brave enough to stand up to injustice and evil when their lives are on the lines.  Humans by our very nature can be quite cowardly at times.

It’s possible that a person who has done evil deeds or believed just absolutely atrocious things could want to change and be a better person.  Though it wouldn’t be easy, someone like Hermione could choose to forgive them for their past.  Especially if they’re truly remorseful.

Of course, it’s also unfortunately true that there are sometimes relationships that are just absolutely toxic.  Love can make idiots of us all.  How many women (and men to an extent though not nearly as often) see the potential in a man and want to change them into something good and perfect?  It happens so often it’s a cliche.  Woman falls in love with bad boy.  Wants to change him.  Stays with him with hopes and dreams that he’ll stop being so awful.  Is disappointed over and over again.  Have you ever known someone who fell in love with a truly terrible person and even though their relationship wasn’t healthy whatsoever never seemed to quit them?  Kept going back for more even when everyone told them it was a terrible idea?  I’m pretty sure you have.  You might’ve even been in one of those relationships yourself.  I know I was.  No, he might not have been a murderous minion of a madman, but he certainly had his terrible qualities that I thought I could help him get past.  Tale as old as time.  

I could go on and on and on about reasons why Hermione might fall in love with a completely unsuitable man who might even wish her dead, but there’s no reason.  It could be for a thousand reasons.  And don’t forget, Hermione isn’t exactly some innocent paragon of virtue herself.  She’s pretty dark even in canon.  Trapping a lady in a jar?  Cursing a girl’s face possibly permanently?  Leading another witch into a forest knowing there are centaurs in there who are dangerous?  And those are just the things that unobservant Harry noticed!  Who knows what she was doing off-stage?  She has her own darkness and her own demons to fight.  She’s not perfect nor is she some pure angelic creature who only uses light magic for good.  Nah, she’s pretty twisted at times. (On a side note - Please don’t try to write her as being all-powerful, perfect, and never do anything the least bit bad.  That’s not her character at all.  It bothers me to see her written as some sort of pearl-clutching virgin who has never done anything bad in her entire life.  That’s NOT the Hermione I read in the books.)

You just have to find the right motivation in your own story.  If you’re not forcing the story and allowing it to develop naturally, you’ll figure it out.  If you’re forcing it, I’m afraid you’re going to stay stuck.

I hope this can be so some help!  Sorry I’m rambled on and on and on.

[charmedtheselfproclaimedking]

Charmed Again (Charmed Fanfic)

Episode 7 - Mother Knows Best

Warnings: I don’t own the rights to any of the characters from the hit TV show “Charmed” or the storylines related to the show those rights belong to original creator Constance M Burge.

15+ Moderate/Graphic Displays of Violence, Sexual Innuendos, Witchcraft and Potentially Triggering Scenes.

Many Years Ago

Melinda found herself frantically walking up and down the attic of the Halliwell Manor in a state of panic and worry.

“Hear these words hear my cry. Spirit from the other side. Come to me, I summon thee. Cross now the great divide.” She chanted before a non-corporeal Piper appeared within a series of white orbs.

“I figured it would only be a matter of time before you summoned me sweetie.” Piper said to her only daughter.

“Does that mean you know?” Melinda asked her mother.

“Yes, but don’t worry about the elders Paige sure none of the other elders know anything about any of this for the time being.” Piper replied.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do mum.” Melinda admitted as Piper suddenly became corporeal and walked over to her daughter.

“There’s nothing you can do but support them.” Piper told her while giving Melinda a hug.

“Mum our family is dwindling and fading fast Wyatt and Chris were more powerful than I could ever dream of being and they’re gone now.” Melinda admitted her fears as she broke off the hug with her mother. “I don’t want to lose my children like I lost my brothers.”

“I know this family has lost a lot Melinda, but you can find some comfort in knowing Paul and Pan are both powerful witches.” Piper replied, attempting to comfort her daughter.

“That never stops a Halliwell from dying.” Melinda said as tears began forming in her eyes. “I don’t want to have to watch my children die and now Paul’s got this demon pregnant they’re only going to become bigger targets for the Underworld.”

“Paul and Eve’s child will be part demon part witch and that’s going to be one truly unique grandchild for you Melinda.” Piper explained to her. “And a truly unique first great grandchild for me.”

“Let’s be clear here mum being unique just makes you more of a target around here.” Melinda cried. “No-one can ever know of Eve’s pregnancy.”

“I know you’re worried for them and rightly so, but you can’t hide her pregnancy forever I mean she will eventually give birth.” Piper replied to her daughter.

“The elders are never going to allow this which means we’d be going up against them and the Underworld.” Melinda continued to cry.

“I’ve lost count of the amount of times this family has went up against the elders I mean if we never fought with them, I would’ve never married your father or had you and your brothers.” Piper admitted.

“Mum that’s when the charmed ones existed, they don’t exist anymore and even if they did it wouldn’t change anything.” Melinda told her mother. “All this family will do is bring danger to this child. I can’t go through that again losing Patience almost killed me.”

“Melinda this is your first grandchild we are talking about here not just some baby but your grandchild.” Piper said, trying to make Melinda see sense.

“Exactly and giving up this child to a nice normal family would be the best thing for it sparing it from ever seeing the real evils of this world or living life as a Halliwell.” Melinda replied, making her opinion clear.

Modern Day

Drake just stood there in Ash’s hotel room with Ash and The Source of all evil stunned by the source’s claims of being his mother.

“You can’t be my mother both my biological and adoptive mothers died a long time ago.” Drake dismissed the source before turning to look at Ash. “If this is another of your tricks Ash, I’m going to vanquish you so hard.”

“Enough with the flirting.” The Source replied before waving her hand and making Ash blink out of the room.

“No offense lady but I’m more likely to talk to him than I am willing to listen to you.” Drake snapped at her.

“Drake my darling boy I’m the only in your life right now that’s actually willing to be honest with you.” She claimed.

“I’m a reluctant charmed one and an even more reluctant Halliwell so I suggest you better go now because today really isn’t the day to piss me off.” Drake warned The Source of all evil.

“I’m proud to see there’s more of me in you than your father.” She replied with a sinister laugh. “You are a Halliwell and I would hold that against you because I was in love with a Halliwell once and it led to me bringing life to you.”

“Why are you making up these lies?” Drake questioned her, not believing what she was telling him.

“Paul is your father not your brother and unlike your treacherous father I actually want you.” The Source admitted to her son. “Giving you up was genuinely the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make but now I’m the queen of hell making me powerful enough to protect the both of us from anything.”

“Paul’s my father.” Drake replied as tears began forming in his eyes. “That actually makes a lot of sense, why is everything about my life a lie?”

“Honey please don’t waste a single tear on humans not when you can make those humans burn for what they’ve done to you.” She told her son.

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon enough he’s probably just in a bar somewhere drowning his sorrows and I can’t blame him after everything he’s had to deal with recently.” Pan told her brother as she walked down to the bottom of the stairs in the foyer of the Halliwell Manor and sat down next to Paul.

“Pan he just learned he killed the people he saw as his real parents and he was traumatized enough about their deaths before learning he was the cause of it.” Paul replied to his sister.

“I know but it’s not like he purposely went out of his way to kill them it was an accident and we’re just going to have to make him realize that.” Pan reassured him.

“If only I had bound his demonic side when he was a baby none of that would’ve happened.” Paul said, blaming himself.

“You could never have known any of this would happen and the last thing your son needs right now is you blaming yourself. All we can do is just be there for him while he tries to work this all out for himself.” Pan explained to her older brother.

“I just want to tell him everything’s going to be okay that I’m his father and I’ll make sure no harm will ever come to him again.” Paul admitted as tears began forming in his eyes.

“Paul even if he was raised by you, he would’ve still had to face some hard times we all do, and you would never be able to protect him from everything that’s just life.” Pan told her brother as she gave him a hug.

“Not meaning to cause alarm to my grandchildren or anything but all hell is literally about to break loose once again.” Piper declared after appearing from out of nowhere, standing in front of her two grandchildren.

“Grams what are you doing here?” Pan asked as her and Paul stood up to face their grandmother. “Not that it’s not good to see you.”

“I’m here because Drake is in danger.” Piper revealed to them both.

“What do you mean?” Asked a worried Paul.

“Eve or The Source as she now calls herself is with Drake as we speak.” Piper told her grandchildren.”

“Quinn!” Paul instantly shouted before Quinn quickly orbed into the foyer of the Halliwell Manor.

“Drake’s alone with the source of all evil.” Quinn revealed, a little too late.

“You’re not the quickest on the news front, are you?” Piper said to Quinn sarcastically.

“I know that this is a lot to take in, but I want you to know I’m here right now because I love you.” Eve revealed to her son as he walked up and down the hotel room frantically. “You couldn’t possibly begin to understand what I went through to become the queen, but I did it all for you.”

“You are literally the source of all evil why would you ever think I would want that as a mother?” Drake asked her.

“I only gave you because I was a low level demon I was too weak to protect you but I rose through the ranks clawing my way to the top to become powerful enough to protect you from anything.” The Source admitted to him.

“So, the person I believed was my best friend was spelled to befriend and protect me, my brother is my father, the queen of hell is my mother and the only real parents I ever had are dead because of me.” Drake replied frantically.

“They were never your true parents they would never be capable of loving you like I love you because I love all of you unlike everyone else. I love the person, the demon and even the witch.” Eve declared.

“My parents were amazing people.” Drake snapped. “Don’t you dare say they weren’t my real parents because they were. They raised me not you or Paul they raised me!”

“Drake I only want to give you the world, I want to make the world bow beneath you.” She told her son. “You are so much more powerful than you could ever possibly imagine.”

Before Drake could respond to his birth-mother Piper, Paul, Pan and Quinn orbed into the hotel room together.

“Back away bitch!” Piper shouted at Eve before raising her hands to explode her, which only hurts the source making a wound and doesn’t explode her.

“Halliwell’s really need to learn when to stay dead.” Eve snapped back at Piper.

“Are you my father?” Drake asked Paul with a broken look on his face only for Paul to remain too silent to respond resulting in Drake punching Paul across the face before blinking out of the hotel room.

“Looks like you’ve lost him again Paul, but I won’t lose him twice.” The Source said to the eldest Halliwell sibling. “Sooner or later he’s going to realize I’m the only parent he can really rely on.”

“Eve you better watch yourself you’re hardly the first Source I’ve came up against.” Pan warned her, defending her grandson.

“How could you just tell him like that?” Pan asked Eve looking genuinely hurt by her. “Drake has already been through so much.”

“Pan, you were the one who always told me it’s the truth that sets you free.” The Source replied to her before disappearing within a burst of flames.

“I can’t believe he found out like this he should’ve never have found out like this.” Paul said as he frantically paced himself up and down the attic of the family home while Piper and Pan stood looking through the book of shadows.

“You’re right about that because you should’ve told him the minute you told him he was a charmed one.” Piper told her grandson.

“Grams take it easy on him please.” Pan said, defending her brother.

“Look I’m not blaming you for all this Paul well not just you.” Piper replied to Paul. “I know your mother pushed more than a little for you to give Drake up and I’m still pissed at her for that but you had a chance of telling him the truth the minute you were reunited with him. This poor boy lost his adopted parents believing his childhood sweetheart was to blame, discovered he was part witch part demon and now he’s having to get his head around the idea his father has been pretending to be his brother and his mum just so happens to be The Source of all evil.”

“Grams I know you’re right I’ve failed him all I’ve ever done is fail him since the day he was born.” Paul admitted to his grandmother. “All I ever wanted was the best for him and now I fear we’re going to lose him forever. What if he chooses his mother?”

“To hell with letting that happen.” Lacey snapped as she stormed into the attic of the Halliwell Manor. “I’ve not been a witch’s lapdog for most of my adulthood life just to fail Drake now.”

“Lacey Morgan I can’t begin to thank you enough for all the things you’ve done for my great grandson but you’re only human so everyone would be a lot safer if you just sat this one out.” Piper replied to Lacey as politely as possible.

“Great grandson,” Lacey said confused as she stopped to look at Piper. “Hold on aren’t you Pan’s dead grandmother.”

“I guess you’re not particularly well knowledgeable in all things ghosts then.” Pan cackled at Lacey. “Glad to know there’s something you don’t know.”

“I’m sorry Mrs Halliwell I really am but your daughter made it literally impossible for me to sit on the side lines when it comes to Drake so if you have a problem with me being involved you got your daughter to thank.” Lacey responded to Piper.

“I see why you like this one sweetie, I’m glad you’re finally seeing someone I approve of.” Piper said to her granddaughter Pan before turning her attention back to Lacey. “You can stay.”

“Drake doesn’t seem to be stopping long enough for me to find him he clearly doesn’t want to be found.” Quinn revealed after orbing into the attic.

“Okay that means it’s time to take this approach from a different angle.” Piper said as she walked over to a nearby unit getting white crystals before walking over to form a circle with the white crystals. “This should hold him long enough to make some sense out of him.”

“Wait, what are you doing?” Paul asked his grandmother.

“Power of the witches rise, course unseen across the skies. Come to us who call you near come to us and settle here.” Piper chanted before Drake suddenly blinked into the circle of crystals.

“What the hell?” Drake snapped as he tried to escape the crystal cage just to be shocked by it. “Get me out of here!”

“Yeah that’ll just keep doing that every time you try escaping from the circle.” Piper revealed to her great grandson.

“So, now I’m your prisoner?” Drake asked, shouting at everyone in the attic, each of them looking equally guilty.

“Of course, you’re not a prisoner.” Quinn stated before looking at the others with uncertainty. “Right?”

“Drake we’re all just really concerned about you after everything that’s went down.” Pan admitted to her nephew.

“So, you decide to trap me in a bloody magic circle.” Drake snapped at his aunt.

“Drake, we are all just trying to protect you your mother is very dangerous and you’re not safe.” Lacey said, giving it a shot to try and convince her best friend.

“I can look after myself just fine.” Drake replied, clearly furious with everyone in the room.

“Drake you have no idea what your mother is capable of.” Piper warned him.

“Who the hell are you?” Drake snapped at the woman he didn’t know was his great grandmother.

“I’m Piper Halliwell your great grandmother the original charmed one and I will blow you up if you keep up that attitude with me whether your distressed or not.” Piper explained to him.

“Forgive me but I must have missed school when we were discussing magic crystal prisons.” Drake said while looking down at the crystals. “One of use tell me how they work, please?”

“I’ll happily give you any magic lessons you want once you hear us all out.” Piper replied with a smile on his face.

“Crystal!” Drake shouted as he held out his hand, breaking the crystal circle as one of the crystals blinked into his hand. “I guess that’s how they work.”

Pan quickly held out both her hands and attempted to freeze Drake.

“Good witches don’t freeze Pan, but you already knew that, so my guess is you thought I was evil just because I’m half demon.” Drake stated while looking at Pan before blinking away.

“Why the hell did you try to freeze him?” Piper snapped at Pan before looking over at Paul. “And why the hell did you just stand there mute the entire time.”

“I didn’t know what to say.” Paul admitted looking defeated before he walked out of the attic.

“Melinda you better get your ass down here right now and help me fix your bloody mess.” Piper shouted while looking upwards before Melinda appeared in the attic from out of nowhere.

“There was no need for shouting mother I could hear you loud and clear.” Melinda told Piper.

“I will never forgive you for this!” Pan told Melinda before she was next to stormed out of the attic.

“Okay I knew they could summon ghosts but seeing it is beyond weird.” Lacey admitted to Quinn while Piper and Melinda stood there both looking hurt.

“You know I’m technically a ghost too.” Quinn replied to her.

“Yeah but your basically Caspar.” Lacey joked with the white lighter.

“You need to talk to your son Melinda the two of you made this mess so the two of you are going to fix it.” Piper ordered her daughter.

Jake woke up from his nap in his prison bed shocked to see Drake once again standing in his prison cell.

“Finally, you’re awake I was beginning to think I’d get caught by the guards before your lazy ass woke up. I don’t know how you can still nap during the day I mean how can you be tired when you literally stare at the same four walls every day.” Drake said to him.

“Drake, why the hell are you here now?” Jake asked him as he got out of his bed and stood up to face his former lover.

“Because I’ve only just worked out you really were innocent all this time.” Drake admitted to him.

“Wait, are you telling me you finally believe me?” Jake wondered, clearly happy by the possibility.

“Jake I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking so long to finally believe you but I’m here to try my best to make up for it now.” Drake apologised to him.

“If you’re telling me your going to try to get them to re-open my case it’s not going to be easy.” Jake replied, looking defeated.

“Yeah that could take forever I know which is why I’m breaking you free now.” Drake revealed before grabbing a hold of Jake’s hand and blinking the two of them out of the prison cell.

“Poor Drake he looked so disappointed in me for assuming he was evil which I never I don’t even know why I tried freezing him it was just some knee jerk reaction.” Pan said to Lacey as the two of them sat on the edge of Pan’s bed in her bedroom. “I hate the thought of him not being able to trust us, but I can’t say I blame him after all the lies.”

“Pan you can’t go blaming yourself for any of this you were put in a truly impossible situation.” Lacey replied trying to reassure her girlfriend as she took a hold of her hand. “I’m sure once he gets over the initial shock of all this, he’ll realize all we’ve all ever done was to try and protect him.”

“I’m so blessed to have you in my life I never thought I’d ever find someone who’d understand me let alone the witch stuff too.” Pan admitted to Lacey.

“All families are crazy your family just happens to have magic infused with all the crazy.” Lacey told her before placing a kiss on her girl’s lips.

“Do you really think Drake will forgive us?” Pan asked her.

“Drake has never been big on forgiving or trusting people but he’s always been big on doing the right thing and deep down he knows being a charmed one is the right thing however I don’t think any of us will be playing happy families anytime soon.” Lacey explained to pan before The Source appeared within a burst of flames once more, standing in front of the two lovers.

“So, I’m guessing your Drake’s biological mother?” Lacey said to Pan as the two of them stood up to face The Source.

“Well done you must be a good detective,” The Source replied before waving her hand, making Lacey collapse onto Pan’s bed completely unconscious as she turned her attention to Pan. “She’s merely sleeping I’m not here to kill anyone at least not yet.”

“What the hell do you want?” Pan snapped at Eve.

“I want you stay away from my son and allow him to reconnect with me.” Eve replied to her.

“You must be raving mad if you think we’d ever let you anywhere near Drake let alone hand him over to you.” Pan told The Source.

“Listen I don’t deny that I am a villainess bitch who stops at nothing to get what she wants which is exactly the reason you should remove yourself from my son’s life before I remove you myself.” The Source warned the Halliwell woman.

“Eve you should know by now the power of three defeats the source of all evil every single time.” Pan threatened her.

“If we were talking about the original charmed ones I’d agree and as for the original source he had nothing on me.” Eve stated. “I came here to be kind and deliver you a warning because of our history but I promise next time I won’t be so nice.

“No, you came here to try and scare me which is a fool’s move because I don’t scare easily.” Pan argued with her.

“Paul and I were nothing but a meaningless affair, but I really did love you once upon a time Pan.” Eve admitted as she placed her hand lovingly on Pan’s face. “It’s only because of that I’m allowing you and your girlfriend to live another day but if I have to kill you all to get my son I will.”

“Where the hell am I?” Jake asked as him and Drake blinked into the middle of a seemingly endless field. “How are we even here?”

“I’m part witch part demon.” Drake revealed to Jake. “That’s how this is possible.”

“But demons are witches aren’t supposed to be real.” Jake replied while in a state of shock.

“Then how are we here instead of being in that frankly smelly prison cell which totally ruined all prison porn fantasies for me.” Drake said to him.

“Oh my god you really are a witch.” Jake realized.

“And part demon although clearly a good-looking version of both unlike the horrid movie renditions.” Drake boated to his ex.

“I’ve known you my entire life and I knew you were special, but I never knew you were some kind of witch/demon hybrid.” Jake told Drake as Drake couldn’t help but smile by being called special by his first love.

“Yeah it was quite a shock for me to but if it wasn’t for me learning about that I never would’ve found out you were innocent.” Drake admitted to Jake.

“Did demons or witches kill your parents?” Jake asked him.

“Ruck sack!” Drake shouted before a ruck sack blinked into Drake’s hands.

“Oh my god how did you just do that?” Jake wondered.

“Clearing your name is going to be a long and tricky process so until then I want you live a great life.” Drake admitted to Jake before throwing the ruck sack at him, which Jake quickly catches. “In the bag there’s enough money to get you started anywhere in the world as well as a fake ID which I won’t reveal how I got but I promise you I’ll never stop trying to clear your name.”

“I can’t believe any of this is even real.” Jake admitted in disbelief.

“Jake, I failed you a long time ago when I refused to believe you. I knew you had your problems, but I should’ve known you were no murderer.” Drake told him. “You were the first person I ever loved, and I should’ve believed you no matter what. I want you to never look back and accept this as the new start you truly deserve.”

“For what it’s worth I really did love you too Drake.” Jake replied sincerely.

“I know,” Drake said with a soft smile on his face. “Okay so where in the world shall I blink you too?”

“I think it’s time you and I had a conversation.” Melinda said to her son as she walked into his bedroom to find Paul sitting on the edge of his bed still looking completely defeated by recent events.

“I’m not really wanting to speak to you right now mum.” Paul replied as his mother sat down next to him.

“I need to say something I should’ve said to you years ago I’m sorry Paul. I’m sorry that I forced your hand and allowed my fear to be pushed on to you resulting on you giving Drake up.” Melinda admitted. “I genuinely believed the further away he was from all this the safer he’d be, but it turned out the human world is just as dangerous as the Underworld.”

“I don’t understand how you could know where he was this entire time and never tell me.” Paul told his mother. “You knew how hard it was for me to give him away and yet you kept that from me.”

“I believed giving him away would the best option for him and I didn’t mean to lie to you about knowing where he was. It started out as curiosity over what my grandson would be like but the minute, I saw him I just couldn’t stop from going back.” Melinda revealed. “His life seemed perfect although his taste in men was awful, but he was happy and safe and to me that’s all that mattered. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared you’d want him back and that he wouldn’t be safe anymore.”

“How many times did you go and see him?” Paul asked her.

“Only a couple of times when I was alive but once I died, I watched over him just as much as I watch over you and Pan.” Melinda told her son. “He’s a truly remarkable man.”

“What am I supposed to say to him mum?” Paul wondered.

“You tell him the truth that’s all you can do and then you just got to hope he listens and understands.” Melinda said before hugging her son.

Drake stood on the top of the golden gate bridge looking down at the busy traffic when Quinn orbed there to stand beside his charge.

“I’m so relieved that I finally managed to track you down.” Quinn admitted.

“I knew it would only be a matter of time before you showed up to ruin my peace.” Drake replied as he turned to face his white lighter. “Did you know Paul was my father?”

“Yes, I did.” Quinn reluctantly revealed.

“Was anyone ever going to tell me the truth?” Drake asked him.

“I want to lie and say yes but the truth is I honestly don’t know Drake. What I do know is that Paul wants you to be in his life so badly and I know may fell like he doesn’t with all the lies, but he loves you. Everyone loves you.” Quinn told his charge.

“Why are the evil more honest than the good?” Drake questioned him. “I mean the good should be honest and the bad should be deceitful or at least that’s how it’s supposed to be but clearly the world’s not so black and white.”

“I’m sorry Drake I really am.” Quinn apologized.

“I want you and everyone else to leave me alone from now on and you all need to respect that decision.” Drake told Quinn bluntly. “I’m going to get on with my life, live it for me and that life doesn’t include any of you anymore.

“Please don’t say that.” Pleaded a heartbroken Quinn as tears began forming in his eyes only for Drake to blink away to leave him alone with his tears.

Lacey walked into the police station only to be shocked as she walked over to Drake’s desk to see it completely clear with his name plaque in an office bin next to his desk before picking it up from out of the bin and rushing to her father’s office.

“Dad where the hell are all of Drake’s things?” Lacey asked her father after knocking on his door and walking into his office.

“He resigned earlier today but that’s the least of our problems right now.” Eric Morgan revealed. “Your brother has somehow broken out of prison.”

“Hi honey.” Melinda greeted her daughter as she walked into the dining room of their family home to see Pan sat at the table drinking a glass of white wine.

“You spelled my girlfriend and it’s partly because of you I’ve been forced to pretend my nephew was my brother you don’t get to call me honey right now.” Pan snapped at her mother before taking a drink from her glass.

“Pan I never knew for a single second when I cast that spell on Lacey that you would wind up with her and I’m far from proud about what I did to her but I was just so desperate to make sure Drake was safe.” Melinda told her as she sat down next to her daughter. “If I didn’t intervene when I did Drake could’ve wound up in prison for something that wasn’t his fault and it was bad enough, he lost his parents without having to go to jail for it.”

“I hate what you did mum I really do but in a weird way I understand it too. When we went up against Barba, she made me realize my greatest fear was losing another loved one and it made me realize I would stop at nothing to protect the ones I loved.” Pan admitted to her mother. “I don’t forgive you for how you went about everything, but I do understand why you did it and I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if I were in your shoes.”

“You would’ve done the right thing sweetie like you always have.” Melinda told her as she reached out and held her daughter’s hand. “You’re a lot like your grams in that sense and that makes me so incredibly proud of you. I wasted my time alive being in this constant state of fear especially after losing my brothers, my cousins and my baby girl. You’ve never once let your fear control you and I admire that so much. Pan you were born to be a charmed one and I believe you whole heartedly that you will be the glue that helps put Paul and Drake back together.”

“I had a feeling you would wind up here at some point.” Paul told Drake as he walked up to his son who was stood outside his burned down and boarded up family home.

“I guess Quinn never passed on my message so I’m going to make myself loud and clear I’m done with charmed and I’m done with you.” Drake told him coldly as he turned to face his birth father.

“Drake you’re my son and I’m sorry I never told you that sooner, I’m sorry that I ever gave you up.” Paul apologised. “If I could go back and do it all over again, I would’ve kept you no matter what.”

“Why did you give me up?” Drake asked him.

“I wanted you to be free from having to be a Halliwell I wanted a better life for you than that.” Paul admitted to his son.

“Here’s the thing Paul and I’m not saying this to be cruel I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You might be my biological father, but I will never see you as my dad because I already had one and he was a great one.” Drake made himself clear.

“I just want to be a part of your life.” Paul told him.

“I don’t want that, and you need to respect that if you do care about me like you claim.” Drake replied.

Pan walked into the living room of her family home shocked to see Quinn teary eyed while sitting on her couch.

“Quinn are you okay?” She asked while sitting down next to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you upset before.”

“Sorry.” Quinn apologised while drying his tears. “I came here to give you guys an update it’s just I can’t seem to pull myself together.”

“Quinn you’re more than just my white lighter you’re my family you can tell me what’s wrong.” Pan told him.

“I don’t think Drake’s ever going to come back.” Quinn admitted.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Pan asked Quinn.

“Yes!” Quinn replied finally admitting it to not only Pan but himself.

“I hoped I would see you again, but I must admit I never thought you come to see me so soon.” The Source said to Drake after he blinked into the caves of the Underworld while she sat on her throne.

“You’re the only person in my life who’s never lied to me and I’ve got to give that some merit.” Drake admitted to his birth mother. “I’m not evil and I’m never going to be evil.”

“Good and evil is such a black and white point of view my darling and I prefer to live my life with a bit of color.” Eve replied. “You can be whoever you want to be because I love you for exactly who you are.”

“That’s a relief because I never wanted to be royalty and I sure as hell don’t want to be prince of hell.” Drake told her honestly. “I’m not going to start calling you mum suddenly but as long as you play nice and stay honest, I’m sure I can make some space for you in my life.”

“Really?” Eve asked with excitement at the prospect of finally being a part of her son’s life.

“As long as you stop killing innocent people and make all your demons stop hurting innocents.” Drake demanded to a speechless Eve. “Just because we’re demons doesn’t have to mean we act like monsters.

“Today has been one surprise after the other.” Lacey said to Pan and Quinn as she walked into the living room of the Halliwell Manor and sat down next to them both. “I can’t wait for this day to be over already.”

“Same!” Pan and Quinn replied in unison causing the three of them to laugh at each other.

“Drake quit his job in a clear attempt to stay as far away from me as possible and I’m pretty certain he also broke my brother out of jail.” Lacey revealed to them both.

“That’s good your brother’s no longer in jail.” Quinn said to the detective. “Not so good Drake may have exposed magic in the process though.”

“My brother’s probably out there with Drake right now, both of them despising me and having every right to.” Lacey told Pan and Quinn.

“What you did you do because you were under a spell cast by my mother none of it was ever your fault.” Pan reassured Lacey.

“Looks like the elders want me.” Quinn declared after hearing the jingle from them in his ears. “This can’t be good.”

“Is it ever?” Pan scoffed before Quinn orbed away.

“I love you Pan Halliwell.” Lacey admitted to her with admiration in her eyes before kissing Pan on the lips.

“Thanks.” Pan awkwardly replied.

“Drake please tell me you’re here because you’re already reconsidering your resignation because like I told you earlier, we really would hate to lose you.” Eric said to Drake as he welcomed him into his office before closing the door behind him.

“Trust me when I say this place is a lot better off without me.” Drake told Eric as he the two sat down at a nearby sofa.

“Is this about Jake’s recent prison break?” Eric asked him.

“Jake never started the fire your daughter lied.” Drake admitted to the man who was like a second father to him. “I know this because I’m the one who started the fire that killed my parents.”