#mirror save me… portrait of a dead girl…. burn alive save me…

[b1odeuwed]

prelude to ecstasy save me…. the last dinner party… save me the last dinner party prelude to ecstasy….

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {6}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: I mean....

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Lorcan hadn’t left his room in days, except for the funeral.

He laid in their bed, clinging to her pillow, desperate for her scent.

He knew he had to get up, knew he had a job to do, knew there was more to life than this, but he couldn’t force himself, not yet.

She was gone.

His wife.

Gone.

The mother of his child.

Gone.

The love of his life.

Gone.

The only woman to take his heart and make it a part of her own.

Gone.

He had failed her.

The thought was too unbearable, his reality was too unbearable, so he stayed in bed, sleeping, sometimes, but mostly awake, drowning in his unfathomable thoughts.

From time to time, she appeared to him. One night, he saw her reflection in the floor length mirror in the corner of the room, watching him. And just this morning, she was standing at the foot of their bed, watching him, lovingly.

He knew she wasn’t real, knew it was just his mind playing tricks, knew it was only her ghost keeping close to him, but he lived for those moments, longed for those moments, when she appeared.

But as soon as she appeared, she was gone, once again.

Natalia would check on him from time to time. She would say nothing as she entered, but would bring him food, water, cigarettes, whiskey. She removed all the guns from his room, took the revolver out of the holster that was strapped to his body, but other than that, the nanny left him alone.

And took care of Lucy.

Lucille, his baby.

Lucille, his joy.

Lucille, the little girl that would never get to fully know her mother.

Lorcan rolled onto his back, Elide’s pillow clinging to his chest, and stared at the ceiling as the door to his bedroom burst open.

Rowan came in, silently closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at Lorcan. Lorcan didn’t look at him. A moment of silence passed, in which Rowan took a cigarette out of the case in his front pocket. He put it between his wet lips. He lit the end.

Then he offered one to Lorcan.

They smoked, and let that smoke fill the air as the silence ensued. It wasn’t until the cigarette was nearly disintegrated that Rowan said, “I need you, Lor.”

Lorcan didn’t reply.

He felt nothing.

“Everyone’s coming to the estate,” Rowan went on, still not meeting Lorcan’s gaze. His back was to him as he laid with Elide’s pillow, staring at the ceiling, a cigarette clenched between his  teeth. “We’re staying together. It’s not safe. Maeve has proven that she has men everywhere.”

Still, Lorcan said nothing.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken, had forgotten how to form a word.

“I would like you there, too,” Rowan said. “And Luce. And that scary ass nanny of yours.”

In the back of his mind, Lorcan thought he should laugh, but he couldn’t.

Laughter was pointless.

“Come on,” Rowan said, after a moment. “Pack a bag, meet me downstairs, we’ll go to the estate together.”

Lorcan stayed perfectly still.

“Aelin has requested a pork roast for dinner,” Rowan went on. “You like pork roast.”

Lorcan hadn’t eaten in days.

Rowan looked over his shoulder, then, and Lorcan met his gaze, recognizing the pain in his old friend’s pine-green eyes. If only he knew what true pain was. Rowan had no idea, but Lorcan knew. Lorcan knew pain, Lorcan knew heartache, Lorcan knew what it was like to have his entire world crumbling beneath him with nowhere to land.

“Come on, Lor,” Rowan said, once again, his voice low. “Since when are you one to let the world defeat you?”

Lorcan took the cigarette out of his mouth and slowly met his friend’s, his leader’s, face. “Since my wife took a bullet that was meant for me.”

His words slurred, and he wondered just how much whiskey he had taken in.

Rowan’s jaw locked, but he nodded, gaze falling away from Lorcan’s, as if he couldn’t take Lorcan’s heartwrenching gaze any longer.

After a minute, Rowan said, “I’ll tell Natalia to pack her and Lucy’s belongings. We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Then he was up on his feet, his boots padding heavily against the wooden floorboards, and he was gone.

Lorcan laid there for another moment, processing. He knew Rowan was right, knew it was wiser to stay together, but Lorcan didn’t give a damn about his life, not without Elide.

Not without his fucking wife.

And yet, he wasn’t the only one he had to think about.

He had Lucy.

Lucy needed to be safe. For if he lost Lucy, he would have nothing left.

That, and that alone, was the only reason why Lorcan pulled himself off of his bed. He stumbled to his wardrobe, where he tossed a few things onto his bed, along with his bag from the army. He packed lightly and didn’t realize tears were streaming down his face until he was zipping the bag closed, and the canvas fabric was becoming spotted, over and over again, with wet drops.

He tossed the bag over his shoulder, grabbed a hat and pulled it over his tangled hair, slipped on his boots without tying them, and opened his bedroom door.

He had nearly forgotten what the hallway looked like.

A massive painting of him, Elide, and Lucy hung at the top of the stairs, and Lorcan stopped as he reached it, staring at their faces.

It was beautiful.

Done by one of Orynth’s best.

Now, he wished for it to burn, for it was only a reminder.

Maybe it was best to be at Rowan’s just for the fact that there were no reminders of the life he once had, not so long ago.

Lorcan nearly stumbled down the stairs, hardly able to keep his balance as he took step after step.

Rowan was waiting in an armchair, smoking another cigarette as he bounced a giggling Lucy on his knee. Lorcan wondered if Lucy even realized her mother was gone, dead, nothing. She wasn’t even two.

He pushed the thought aside and looked to Natalia, who was already watching him, wearily. She held two bags in her hands, so Lorcan assumed she had already packed.

With a sigh, Lorcan dropped his bag and went over to Rowan and Lucy. He felt guilty. He’d hardly seen his daughter in a week, but it was probably for the best.

He was not the best role model to have around a toddler.

“Hello, my love,” he whispered, when Lucy spotted him and reached up her arms.

Lorcan picked her up and kissed her forehead. He tried to smile, but failed.

“Dada,” she smiled, smacking his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Lorcan breathed. “We’re going to Uncle Ro’s for a while. Yeah?”

“Ya,” Lucy repeated. He carried her to where his bag lied on the Persian rug, and picked it up, once more, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Mama!” Lucy said.

Lorcan froze, his entire body going tense, his jaw going rigid, his mind replaying the scene he had witnessed.

Elide lying on the tile.

Bleeding on the marble.

Laying in his arms.

Motionless.

Lorcan blinked, following the line of Lucy’s pointed finger.

She was pointing at a small portrait of Elide that was sitting on the end table near them.

“Mama,” Lucy repeated, and it took everything in Lorcan to keep a straight face, to not show fear, to not show sadness, to not cry in front of these people.

Clearing his throat, Lorcan took the portrait off the table and shoved it into his bag.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mama will come, too.”

~~~~~

Lysandra looked around the room she would be staying in. She had been in Aelin and Rowan’s house plenty of times, but there were so many guest rooms that she hadn’t been in them all.

The one she was occupying being one of them.

There wasn’t a lot.

A bed, a vanity, a few paintings, a wardrobe.

When Rowan called the Cadre to stay in his estate, he thought that Lysandra should be part of that, too. She was the organizer of the Cadre. The heart of the Cadre, as he called her.

And after what had happened to Elide…

Lysandra didn’t protest.

Poor Elide.

Shot for a bullet that was meant for her husband. Knowing Elide, Lysandra knew that was how she wanted to go, knew that she thought she had been protecting Lorcan and hadn’t regretted it. She loved that man, had found some kindness and beauty in him that Lysandra had only recently begun to understand.

She loved him.

And she had died because of him.

Lysandra hadn’t been there. She had been with Aedion, tangled up in his arms. They had never made it to the gala, had only heard the news when Gavriel came pounding on her door hours later.

The guilt had been eating her alive.

Not that she thought there was anything she could have done to have save her friend, but she should have been there with her.

She should have been there with Elide in her last moments.

From what Aelin told her, it was a sight no one wanted to ever relive, Lorcan hovering, sobbing, wailing over his wife.

Lorcan Salvaterre had made Lysandra pissed off more times than she should count.

But she knew one thing, for certain.

Lorcan loved Elide.

And he didn’t deserve to lose her.

Elide didn’t deserve any of it.

Lysandra popped open her travelling case to hang up her clothes. As she opened the wardrobe, a knock came to the door.

“Come in!” she called.

She thought it would have been Aelin, but Aedion entered and shut the door softly behind him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She smiled, softly. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I’m staying here,” he said, simply. “The others are staying with Rhoe while the battle with Maeve goes on...but, Aelin said they had plenty of rooms and offered me one.”

“They do have plenty of rooms,” Lysandra said, looking around, although all she could see was her one room, her four walls.

“That they do,” Aedion said, laughing under his breath, although the light never reached his eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’ve been busy.”

“No, I get it,” Aedion said, quickly. “I just….I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay.”

Lysandra wasn’t sure if she was okay, though. She would survive, sure, but Elide had been a close friend. The absence of her was unbearable, and her death also meant that Maeve was true to her word.

Even if Elide hadn’t been her target.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, slowly, continuing to hang up her clothes.

“Okay,” Aedion breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I just wanted to let you know I was here. If you…..need me, I’m right across the hall.”

When Lysandra said nothing, Aedion turned to leave.

“Aedion,” she said, terrified that he would leave worrying that she was angry with him.

He stopped and looked back at her, over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes was genuine when he said, “It’s okay. I get it. I really do.”

Then, he was gone, and Lysandra was left alone, hanging up her clothes in silence.

~~~~~

Supper time rolled around and Rowan’s chefs prepared them a glorious meal. Everyone ate, except for Lorcan, although no one said a word. He could tell Aelin was on the verge of having a meltdown, whether it was because of the hormones or because she hated prolonged silence, he wasn’t sure.

“I should bring his food up to him, at least,” Aelin muttered, staring at Lorcan’s vacant spot across from her. “He needs to eat.”

“Let him be for tonight,” Rowan mumbled back, and that was that.

He wasn’t hungry much, either. His pork roast sat on his plate with roasted potatoes and carrots, but he hadn’t taken a bite, had only pushed his food around with his fork.

Aelin slowly set down her fork and dabbed her mouth with her napkin before she pushed her chair back and went to the other side of the table, took Lorcan’s plate, and left the room.

Rowan dropped his fork and it hit his plate with a clatter that had everyone jumping amidst the silence. Fully ignoring his manners, not that he had too many, Rowan put his elbows up on the table and threw his face into his hands.

“She feels like she’s helping,” Gavriel said, from the other end of the long table. “Let her.”

Rowan didn’t reply, didn’t even look up from his hands. Yes, Aelin felt like she was helping, but she wasn’t. All she had done in the past week was “help”. It was her way of getting her mind off of things.

Lorcan had lost a wife.

But Aelin had lost one of her best and longest friends.

And it was all his fault.

Rowan had lied awake every night, wondering how the fuck Elide was the first to go. The bullet hadn’t even been meant for her, which only made it worse. Fate was telling Rowan Whitethorn that he deserved the worst the world had to offer.

And it started with Elide, started with his pregnant wife in pain over the loss of her friend, started with his best friend in catastrophic anguish over the loss of his wife.

And it was all his fault.

Maeve had promised him that he would watch the others die, that he would suffer before meeting his end, and at first, they were just words, but now they were a reality.

At least they had all agreed to stay together.

Stay together, until Maeve and her men were dead. Even when Maeve was gone, Rowan wasn’t sure it would stop.

Maeve had to die.

Her men had to die.

And Rowan would see to it that no one else he cared for died.

“Rowan.”

He slowly looked up from his hands and met Gavriel’s gaze. Aedion sat beside him, eating slowly, Lysandra on his opposite side, watching Rowan with sadness in her eyes.

“What happened to Elide wasn’t your-.”

“Don’t,” Rowan said, pushing himself back from the table. “Aelin’s told me as much, countless times.”

A table full of people remained as Rowan fled from the dining room, down the hall and through the foyer until he let himself outside. The sun was sinking, it would soon be dark.

And no one was to be outside after dark.

He felt pathetic, making them all hide away until he could figure out a way to end this thing. He didn’t know how, though. He had no idea how to stop her.

Out of all the people in the world, his aunt, his blood, would be his end.

And Elide…

She deserved better.

And it was all Rowan’s fault.

His fault.

With his hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth, Rowan headed around the side of the house, where the stables sat. He walked up to the stall that was holding his newest, prized mare. All black, faster than any racehorse he’d owned before. Beautiful, fast, and here she was, sitting in a stall for his pleasure.

He sighed, petting the horse, softly. She huffed and swung her head, which only made him snort. She was young, yet. A funny little thing with quite the attitude.

Aelin had grown quite fond of her.

Rowan was pretty sure the horse was her true spirit animal.

Soft footsteps and the crunching of leaves came from just outside of the stables and Rowan froze. His gun was out of its holster, cocked, and pointing in the direction of the threshold as the figure rounded the corner.

And yelped. “Gods, fuck, Ro.”

Rowan slowly lowered his gun as the breath left his body, his shoulders deflating.

Lysandra shook her head as she met him at his side, admiring the horse he was petting. “You can’t just go pointing that thing around.”

“I wouldn’t shoot you,” he said, a little bite to his voice.

“I know,” Lysandra said, quietly, reaching up to brush her fingers along the horse’s neck. “Gav was right, you know, and he means well. What happened to Elide wasn’t your fault.”

Rowan said nothing, he simply turned around and leaned up against the wooden post, his eyes closing as he took a long, slow drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

Lysandra scoffed. “Really? You’re just going to ignore me? Close your eyes and pretend I don’t exist until I walk away?”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“No,” she said, and the cigarette was taken out of his hand, forcing his eyes to fly open. He met her fiery emerald gaze as she dropped his cigarette into the dirt and put it out with the heel of her Mary-Janes. She took a step closer to him and poked him in the chest with a pointed finger. “I’m not going anywhere, and you will talk about this with me.”

“I have nothing to say,” he said, refusing to move.

“That’s bullshit,” she snapped. “You seem to forget that I know you better than that.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said, voice low, a warning in his eyes, in his growl.

“Really?” Lysandra said, brows shooting up. He could smell the vodka on her breath. “Because it sure as hell seems that you’ve forgotten that you’re not the only one involved in this, Ro! We all are, and we’re all hurting right now!”

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think that I fucking know that?” He asked, his voice raising as he pushed himself off of the post. Lysandra didn’t move, though. She stayed put, staring up at him with wide eyes and a locked jaw. “I fucking know that, Lysandra! Alright? I know that Lorcan has been in fucking hell, and I know that you and Ae have been in fucking hell! And I also know that it is my fucking fault, no matter how much you, or my wife, or Gavriel try to tell me otherwise! But you wanna know the truth of it? You wanna know the truth of it, yeah? I don’t know how to fucking make it stop!”

Lysandra didn’t say a word. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as Rowan screamed in her face.

“All I can think about is who will be next,” he breathed, his green eyes wild, dark, crazed. “All I can fucking think about is it being Aelin, or you, or one of the guys, or one of Rhoe’s guys, and, I just, it’s driving me fucking mad! I’ve got nothing, alright? I have no strategy, I have few men, and I don’t know where the fuck Maeve is or what the fuck she’s planning!”

“Rowa-.”

“She won’t stop until I’m dead, Lysandra,” he said, laughing humorlessly as the words flowed out. “She won’t fucking stop until I’m six feet under, so let’s just cut this short, eh? She doesn’t want to kill me first, she wants me to suffer, but I’m the one she wants dead. It needs to stop. It has to stop. Make it stop.”

With a steady hand, and his heavy breaths intruding on the newfound silence as his words came to an abrupt end, he held out his gun to her.

“Take it.”

Lysandra’s eyes widened as she shook her head, quickly, realizing what he was implying. “No.”

“Shoot me.” His words were short, clipped, demanding.

“No,” she said, her word just as hard.

“Fucking take it!” he yelled, making tears spring into Lysandra’s eyes.

“No,” she pleaded, her head still shaking, his short hair flying wildly into the dampness on her cheeks as those tears streamed onto her cool, paled skin.

“Someone else is going to die, Lysandra! Take it!”

She couldn’t say it again, but she wouldn’t do it, only watched him with such sadness that it sent his heart crumbling away into nothingness.

“Make it stop!” His voice echoed in the silence of the stables as he screamed, a loud, broken string of three words that had his throat feeling hoarse.

Lysandra kept her hands at her sides as her soft sobs shook her body. But she said, barely audible, “No.”

Rowan’s chest was heaving as he screamed. No words, just a morbid, mangled noise. He was crying, knew he was crying, didn’t care that he was crying. Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me, he pleaded, inside of his mind as his screams faded away into the oncoming nightfall.

But Lysandra took his gun out of his hand and emptied it out before opening his jacket and putting it back into his holster. Then, she took his face into her hands and brushed away his tears before pulling him into her, and wrapping her arms around his body.

They stayed like that for a moment in nothing but the silence before Lysandra said, “We will get through this, Ro, but we will get through it together. And to do that, we will need our leader.”

~~~~~~~~

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[thepixelmoon]

Perseus - The beginning of the end

Another Andromeda Six drabble featuring one of my travellers, Perseus Peg’asi, the day everything changed. 

Disclaimer: The A6 crew, Vexx, Nerissa and the rest of the Peg’asi royal family all belong to @andromeda-six and Perseus is an original character created by me.

Warning: angst, guns, violence, gunshot wounds (not graphic), mentions of death. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

With a frown, Perseus looks in the mirror and adjusts his ceremony attire, smoothing down any visible wrinkles in the dark blue fabric. His scarred face stares back at him in silent reproach, and he does his best to ignore it as he steps away.

Sorenn is getting married today. It is supposed to be a day full of happiness and cheer, bright smiles and nice food. Perseus is expected to be there for a change, but he’s decided he has other plans.

Vexx has been gone for a while, and nobody’s bothered to give Perseus a plausible reason for his disappearance. Perhaps he’s been transferred, they said. Maybe he got fired, others commented. But none of that feels right; he’s the closest thing Perseus has to a friend, and he refuses to believe Vexx would just leave without a word. He’s determined to find him, and this is probably the only chance he’s going to get in god knows how long.

As he determinedly makes his way towards one of the many passages that lead out of the palace, he checks that the hallways are empty before venturing further. So far he’s been lucky, but as far as luck is concerned, he knows it isn’t bound to last long.

“Perseus?” Nerissa’s voice snaps him out of his calculations as he’s getting ready to cross the corridor towards the big portrait of one of their ancestors.

He calmly stops in his tracks, his jaw tightening.

“Sister,” he turns to her, offering a small nod.

“What are you doing over here? The ceremony is about to start,” she asks, then glances over at the portrait painting. “Oh.”

She knows.

He follows her glance, then looks back at her to hold her gaze.

“I have to find him.” He straightens up, squaring his shoulders. “He can’t have just vanished. He has to be somewhere.”

Nerissa’s frown softens into a sad smile that almost makes Perseus recoil in anger.

It’s full of pity.

“Does it have to be today?” she simply asks, making no attempt at stopping him. “Sorenn is excited to have you there. You’re his little brother.”

“Funny how I’m his little brother today, and not for the past twenty-three years of my life.” He gives a bitter laugh, the repressed anger slowly bubbling up inside him. “Where was he the day our dearest father almost cut my bloody face in half? Where were Auberon and Ecko, Noa, or Elettra? Apart from you, where was everybody?” his voice keeps rising with each question, echoing off the walls.

Nerissa doesn’t flinch, though. She’s practically raised Perseus, since their parents seemed to often forget he even existed, as did most of their siblings. She knows him too well to be scared in the face of one of his outbursts, and it’s also because of it that she knows it’s pointless to try to convince him to stay.

“Perseus, I—”

“Save it. Don’t try to excuse them. Don’t excuse him,” he snarls through clenched teeth. It’s pretty obvious who he’s referring to.

With a tentative hand, Nerissa reaches into her pocket and produces a small, shiny silver ball that she places on Perseus’ hand before he has a chance to withdraw it. He eyes it with a frown.

“Why are you giving me the music box?”

“I know it was my gift for your eighteenth birthday, but if you’re doing to leave, I want you to have it. I want you to remember this, remember me, in case something happens.”

Perseus’ frown deepens.

“Why would anything happen? I’m just going to find Vexx, and then I’ll return.”

Nerissa smiles and shakes her head, closing his hand around the kitalphanite music box.

“Just keep it, will you?” she insists. “Please.”

There’s something in her eyes he cannot quite place, something that hadn’t been there before. A shadow, a sort of dread and sadness that make his skin crawl. Unwilling to give it any more thought, he slips the music box into his pocket and gives his sister a firm nod.

“I’ll… see you soon.” His voice almost breaks. Almost. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

She just nods in reply and places her hand on his cheek, gently swiping her thumb across it. The touch is gone in an instant, though, as Perseus quickly steps away and covers his head with a hood. He disappears into the shadows of the passage behind the portrait without a last glance or word, his scar throbbing with pain.

He’s about to reach the bridge that separates the Gold and Silver Districts when it happens.

The ground shakes and rumbles beneath his feet, the sudden echo of an explosion resounding through the city. When Perseus whips around to locate the source of the noise, his breath dies in his throat.

Half of the palace has been blown up and the other half is almost completely engulfed in flames; the windows shattered, the walls collapsed, the trees in the gardens uprooted.

A string of ear-splitting screams reaches Perseus’ ears as the people around him realise what just happened. Some run past screaming, dragging little children behind them, while others stand and stare in horror at the enormous chaos unfurling before their very eyes.

The sound of gunshots is what snaps Perseus out of his shocked trance. Masked strangers in all-black uniforms are opening fire against all the Orsanna Guard officers they come across, as well as any civilians nearby. Bodies fall limp to the ground and Perseus doesn’t think twice before making a run for it—he can’t go back to the palace, so he rushes to the bridge, dodging a few bullets as he goes.

Grenades fly into the buildings and houses, many of them blowing up at the same time. Perseus’ ears are ringing heavily as he tries to find some cover to avoid getting crushed by the debris. He jumps over a fallen tree trunk and sprints towards the bridge, breath coming out in short gasps, until something makes him stop.

In the midst of all the chaos, a child is crying helplessly, clutching her mother’s dead body. She can’t be older than four or five.

“Mum! Mummy, wake up!” she calls, gently shaking her mother.

Those who are still alive or not badly injured are heading for the bridge, paying no mind to the poor child. Perseus’ heart seizes in his chest as he spots one of the masked attackers pointing their gun at the little girl from the other side of the street, and before he knows it he’s grabbing a brick and tossing it at their head. It smacks them right in the face and they fall backwards, their gun slipping from their hands.

Perseus wastes no time. He crosses the street, scoops the little girl up into his arms and takes the attacker’s gun.

“No! No! Mummy!” she screams, tears sliding down her face as they leave the body behind. “Let me go!”

“We have to go!” Perseus replies, running as fast as his legs can manage.

He doesn’t recognise his own voice. He hasn’t sounded so terrified before.

The bridge eventually comes into view. By the time they reach it, the little girl is clinging to his neck like a lifeline, but Perseus manages to set her down on the ground.

“You have to run now, as fast as you can, and don’t look back,” he tells her, breathless. “No matter what, don’t look back, understood? Go somewhere safe, and—agh!”

A searing pain cuts through his left calf, the sound of a gunshot echoing around them. Some stray bullet must have finally hit him. Groaning, he’s forced onto his hands and knees as little spots of light dance in the corners of his eyes.

“Go now!” he screams, reaching out and pushing the little girl into the crowd. “GO!”

Sobbing, the little girl hesitates for a moment, but later does as told and takes off, disappearing into the mass of people crossing the bridge. Perseus focuses on breathing deeply through clenched teeth, gripping the gun tightly in his left hand. If only he could lean on something to get back on his feet…

His vision is starting to become blurry as he drags himself towards the bridge, the concrete burning hot under his fingertips and the smell of dust and gunpowder flooding his senses.

His whole family is dead. Nerissa, his brothers and sisters, the King and Queens. All the officers in Orsanna’s Guard. Vexx, too, probably, if he was still in Silta Vie.

He has nothing left. Literally everything and everyone he thought he had is gone, and he’s lying face down in the concrete with a (probably nasty) bullet wound in his leg.

He’d laugh at the irony of it if he had the strength to do so.

He cries instead. The pain, the loss, the loneliness suddenly weighing down on him are unbearable.

He can’t move; the pain running up his leg is too much. It’s starting to become limp, so he refuses to take a look at it because he knows it’s not looking good.

He remembers the sorrow in Nerissa’s eyes just a few moments prior, the warmth of her hand against his cheek when she stroked it. The fact that that’s the last memory he’ll ever have of his sister is enough to make him scream in agony.

There’s another explosion, a much bigger one, and a lot closer to him. Perseus’ ears start ringing again as pieces of concrete and rubble fly in every direction, barely missing him. The shock wave that comes after is huge, so much that he has to cover his head with his arms to prevent any further damage as his body is rolled backwards against the ruins of a nearby building.

Still unable to hear a thing, Perseus forces his eyes open to see what’s going on.

The bridge has collapsed. The explosion must have been what destroyed it.

Smoke and dust fill his lungs as Perseus tries to draw a breath, causing him to cough and retch. Black spots start to dance in his vision as he leans back against the concrete, his body going limp.

Who would do this?

It’s suddenly really hard to keep his eyes open.

Who would think they have the right to decide who lives and dies?

Darkness envelops him. He feels like he’s a sinking ship in the middle of the sea. He wants to speak, scream, yell. But nothing comes out.

Is this how I’m going to die?

I don’t want to die.

A beat.

“Here! There’s someone here!” a voice calls, far away. “He’s alive!”

[minimin1993]

B/L 15

Warning: Violence.

“This is so unfair why do I have to always sit in the back.” Linda complained from the backseat of the truck. 

“Because you are the smallest of us.” Steve said with a smirk making Linda scoff. 

“Pft, but the last time I checked I am older than both of you combined.” She said before looking back out the window. 

“Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” Natasha said as they drive to New Jersey. 

“  Nazi Germany.” 

“  Mm.”

“  And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash.” Steve said looking at Natasha 

“  Alright, I have a question for you, oh, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?” She asked him 

“  What?”

“  Was that your first kiss since 1945?” She asked making Linda laugh from the back seat. 

“  That bad, huh?” Steve said eyeing Linda in the rearview mirror only for her to stick her tongue out at him.

“  I didn't say that.” 

“  Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying.” 

“  No, I didn't. I just wondered how much practice you've had.” Natasha said smirking.

“You don't need practice.” 

“  Everybody needs practice.” 

“  It was not my first kiss since 1945. I'm ninety-five, I'm not dead.” 

“  Nobody special, though?” Natasha asked making Steve chuckle. 

“  Believe it or not, other then Linda it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience.” 

“  Well, that's alright, you just make something up.” 

“  What, like you?” 

“  I don't know. The truth is a matter of circumstances, it's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

“  That's a tough way to live.”

“  It's a good way not to die, though.” Natasha said 

“  You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is.”

“  Yeah. Who do you want me to be?”

“  How about a friend?” Steve said making Natasha laugh softly 

“  Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” 

As they drove up to the location Linda was getting hit with nostalgia only Steve seems to understand. 

“  This is it.” Linda said remembering the past.

“  The file came from these coordinates.” Natasha said 

“  So did I. This camp is where I was trained. Where I met Linda.” Steve said looking around then looks at Linda who gave him a comforting smile.

“  Changed much?” Natasha asked making Linda shake her head with a smile on her face. 

“A little.” Steve said remember his past as well. 

“  This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off.” Natasha said putting her device down seeing Steve stare at the bunker. “What is it?” “

Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place.” Steve said opening the gate with his Shield. 

“  This is SHIELD.” Natasha said walking into the bunker. 

“  Maybe where it started.” Steve said when they enter a room where they find old framed portraits of Howard Stark, Peggy and Col. Chester Phillips. 

“  There's Stark's father.” Natasha said 

“  Yeah that’s Howard.” Linda said with a small smile remember his funny antics when she hung around him. 

“  Who's the girl?” Natasha asked but they didn’t reply, Steve just turns away and walks further down the room. When Natasha turns to look at Linda she just shakes her head at her sadly. 

“If you're already working in a secret office…” He said pushing the book shelf revealing an elevator. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

They loaded the elevator which took them further down revealing tons of old looking computers. 

“  This can't be the data-point, this technology is ancient.” Natasha said before she notices a small flash drive port, she places the flash drive in it which then activates the ancient computer in the room.

“  Initiate system?” The computer said 

“Y-E-S, spells yes.” Natasha smiles as the old computer starts to cranks up "Shall we play a game? It's from a movie that…” 

“  Yeah, we saw it.”Steve said before a very familiar accented voice came through. 

“Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984. Grey, Linda. Born unknown.” The voice said while the old camera moves above them analyzing them.

“It's some kind of a recording.” Natasha said 

“  I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am.” It said showing the picture of Arnim Zola on the screen.

“  Do you know this thing?” Natasha asked. 

“  Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years.” 

“  First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” 

“  How did you get here?” Linda said looking around getting suspicious. 

“  Invited.” 

“  It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value.” Natasha said. 

“  They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.”

“  HYDRA died with the Red Skull.”

“  Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”

“  Prove it.” Steve said

“  Accessing archive. HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.” Zola said showing old footage of Johann Schmidt/Red Skull, of the how the original SHIELD founders

“That's impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you.” Natasha said in disbelief. 

“  Accidents will happen. HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.” Steve got angry and destroyed the screen with his fist. “ As I was saying…” 

“  What's on this drive?” Linda asked.

“  Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.” 

“  What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” 

“  The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.” The door suddenly starts to close, Steve tries to stop it by throwing his shield in between it but he's too late.

“  Steve, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic. 30 seconds tops.” Natasha said 

“  Who fired it?”

“  S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“  I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it's better this way. We're both of us...out of time.” Steve notices a small opening on the ground, he throws the metal door aside and just as the place explodes he throws himself and Natasha into the hole. Linda jumped in after them while Steve tries to protects them with his shield. Linda and him manages to hold his shield as it protects them from the rubble and blast. Both then manages to get them out from under the building rubble just as STRIKE agents arrive to roam the area for them.

Steve was carrying Natasha to an abandoned car putting her in the back as Linda jumps into the driver seat hot wiring the car. Steve sat in the passenger seat not saying anything until he looks over at Linda and saw her arms are trying to regenerate from the burn she had acquired from the blast. 

“Linda your arm.” He said reaching over but she pulls it away. 

“Its fine, better me than you two. I regenerate fast so I don’t need to worry.” Linda said focusing back on the road. “Where should we go now?” 

“I know a place.” Steve said. 

“  Hey, man.” Sam opened the door literally just came back from his run. 

“I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low.” Steve said 

“  Everyone we know is trying to kill us.” Natasha said receiving a pause

“Not everyone.” Sam let's them enter. 

Linda was the first one to clean up heading out to see Sam cooking breakfast.

“Need help?” Linda asked walking next to Sam seeing him a little tense. “I am sorry, where are my manners. Linda Grey.” She said sticking her hand out. 

“Sam Wilson.” He said shaking her hand relaxing a bit. 

“Thanks for this.” Linda said.

“No problem, any friends of Steve is a friend of mine. Though I might say you look great for someone who is 95.” He said with a smirk. 

“Ha Ha very funny.” Linda said helping him set the table up. 

“I am going to see what's taking them so long.” Sam said after plating up the food. 

“So, the question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” Natasha said after they finish their food. 

“  Pierce.” Steve answered. 

“  Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world.”

“  But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

“  So was Jasper Sitwell.”

“  So, the real question is: how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?” Steve asked 

“  The answer is: you don't.” Sam said dropping a file in front of them.

“  What's this?” Linda asked picking up the file 

“  Call it a resume.” Sam answered, Natasha picks up a photo of Sam with his pararescue team.

“  Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you.” Natasha said before turning to Steve. “You didn't say he was a pararescue.”

“Is this Riley?” Steve said looking at the picture.

“  Yeah.” 

“  I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?” Natasha asked

“  No. These.” he answered handing Steve a file.

“  I thought you said you were a pilot.”

“  I never said pilot.”

“  I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.”

“  Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in.” He said smugly.

“  Where can we get our hands on one of these things?”

“  The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall.” Sam said as Linda and Steve looks over to Natasha who shrugs her shoulder making Linda smirk.

“  Shouldn't be a problem.” She said.

[forevercaroline]

Don't touch her

For @scarlet-fire1918 who came up with the title.

“Elijah!”

Klaus Mikaelson is throwing clothes into a bag racing around his room the call he just got still unsettling to him.

Ten minutes ago Klaus was sketching a portrait of his beautiful Caroline when his phone rings and its Damon Salvatore. “I gave bottles of my blood to Caroline it should heal your werewolf bite.”

Damon smirks of course he gave Caroline bottles of his blood. “ Good to know but that’s not why I’m calling we have a bit of a situation.”

That puts Klaus on alert “ What did you do is Caroline ok?”

“ Look I haven’t hurt Caroline in years and I didn’t do this intentionally it’s also Stefans fault too.”

Klaus is squeezing his phone tightly hearing that Damon hurt Caroline “ You’ve hurt Caroline I’m going to kill you.”

Damon realizes what he’s said “ Oops did I say that out loud and to a person that’s completely in love with blondie. Look blondie has a Spell on her not even Bonnie can reverse it her skin is vervain. Do you know any witches who can reverse the spell?”

“ I’m going to kill you the next time I see you.”

Damon pointing out something to his hybrid frenemy. “ You say that a lot and yet I’m still standing here. If you kill me who are you going to get to spy on blondie for for you.”

Xxx

Present: Kol Mikaelson storms into his older brothers room readjusting his shirt. “ Why are you yelling? I’m trying to enjoy some alone time with Davina and you keep yelling.”

Klaus whirls around to face his younger brother “ Where’s Elijah?”

Kol pouring himself a drink “Our stuffy suit clad brother is in his office ever since Freya brought back Katherine he spends more and more time in there.”

“ Just like you except you spent it in your bedroom with a certain harvest girl.”

Kol smirks and sees the concern on his brothers face “ I know that look you only show concern for people you care about let’s see everyone you know is under this roof and safe oh wait I’m wrong there is another so how is Caroline Forbes.”

Klaus pins him to the wall Kol dropping his glass" Don’t ever say her name again if anyone knew about her she would be in danger.“

Kol pushes him back ” Relax brother it’s not like I’m running down bourbon street yelling her name at the top of my lungs. I just know you care about her a lot so what has you all panicked.“

Klaus eyes widen he wants to hit himself he didn’t get why didn’t think of this earlier he’s still adjusting to seeing Kol alive. ” Turns out I was calling the wrong brother I need you.“

Kol looks surprised usually his siblings don’t need him hence all the times he spend in his coffin. ” You need me.“

” Damon has informed me that Caroline has a spell on her body making her skin vervain. You having learned every witch magic out there you need to fix her.“

Kol looks at his brothers face he is actually worried ” What do I get if I help you?“

"What do you want?”

Kol smirks “ A promise and not one you would break so a promise you would make to sweet little Caroline that you do not dagger me.”

Klaus growls at him “ Fine pack your bags we leave in an hour also tell Freya she’s coming with us.”

Xxx

Kol goes back to his room and Davina’s laying on his bed “ You have no idea how much I want to continue where we left off but I can’t.”

“What’s wrong why was Klaus yelling?”

Kol walks halfway to his closet then realizes he doesn’t have a suitcase he was always daggered when they moved so he never had to move any of his clothes. “ Nik got an unsettling phone call and needs my help and Freya’s. He never said you couldn’t come what do you say darling want to come?”

Davina walks over to him and puts her arms around his neck. “ I would love to.”

Xxx

An hour later Klaus has already put his bag in his car and is yelling up for Kol and Freya to hurry up when Rebekah comes down the stairs with a bag. “ And where do you think your going little sister?”

“ Kol told me we’re going on a Mikaelson family road trip.”

Klaus yells up the stairs “ Kol!”

Elijah and Katherine come out of his office “You didn’t invite us on the road trip shame on you.”

Klaus growls at Katherine and shows his teeth to her. Katherine just smirks at him. When Elijah asked Freya to bring Katherine back Klaus was against it but Freya wants to make her siblings happy so she brought back the annoying pain in the ass doppelgänger and her and Elijah have been inseparable for months that is after Elijah had apologized about hundred times for not being their when she died, for breaking up with her and for hunting her for five hundred years.

Freya puts her bags in the car when Kol comes down the stairs and Davina is at the front door bag in hand Kol had to borrow one of Rebekah’s many suitcases that’s how she found out. “ Ready to go darling?”

Klaus looks between his younger brother and the young witch then at Rebekah, Elijah and Katerina. “ Brother when did this turn into a family affair I just need you and Freya.”

Kol leaning against the banister “ I asked Rebekah if she had a suitcase I could borrow and forgot Bekah has a big mouth.”

Kol leans out of the way to avoid the shoe Rebekah just threw at him.

Klaus rubs the bridge of his nose “ Everyone just in the car.”

Xxx

Halfway there Rebekah is getting restless “ So where are we going on this road trip.”

“ To see a close friend.”

“ You don’t have any friends.” Realization hits Rebekah right in the face “ Except for one you didn’t tell me we’re going to see Caroline.”

Klaus just pushes on the gas even harder and Kol decides to answer his sister “ Yes tasty little Caroline has a spell on her body making her body vervain. Damon called Nik and Nik called Elijah but I walked in first and Nik realized he actually needs my help not Elijah’s.”

“ And Freya’s.”

“ Yes but you asked me first.”

Klaus looks back at his brother threw the rearview mirror “ Yes your help not the young ex harvest witch next to you.”

Davina raises her arms to give Klaus and anyerisum Kol catches her arms and puts down and whispers in her ear “ Not even worth it Darling.”

Freya has been watching her siblings go back and forth and she has never heard of Caroline who is apparently klaus close friend. “ Who is Caroline?”

Both Kol and Rebekah answer their sister at the same time “ An annoying girl Nik fell in love with.”

“ The love of Niks life.”

Xxx

They arrive at Whitmore Klaus vamps into the campus and sees Damon waiting just inside the entrance he pins him to the wall by his throat his hybrid features on display as he compels Damon. “ You have ten seconds to tell me why you hurt Caroline and how.”

Damon hasn’t been taking vervain since the originals left so Klaus compulsion works on him. “ It was when she was human she was the perfect toy for me she was friends with both Elena and Bonnie and I needed something from Bonnie. I raped her, feed from her, compelled her, and tried to kill her multiple times.”

Klaus bites him Damon yells in pain as he feels the werewolf venom from Klaus hybrid bite enter his system. “ You deserve to wither in pain and for everything you’ve done to Caroline. ”

Klaus snaps his neck when his siblings enter. Katherine sees Damon on the ground and bends down and see the werewolf bite “ Why did you bite him?”

Klaus looking around for anyone else “ He hurt Caroline I told him I was going to kill him the next time I saw him I’m a man of my word.”

Elijah looks down at the oldest Salvatore he doesn’t particular like him but he would never kill him “ Niklaus we can’t just leave Damon here for anyone to see.”

Klaus doesn’t even glance back at the Salvatore “ Leave him it’s Halloween someone will think he’s a prop.”

Xxx

A couple minutes later they finds Stefan who Klaus also pins to the wall “ Where is Caroline?”

Stefan is surprised he thought the Mikaelsons were gone for good. “ What are you doing here?”

“ As usual Klaus found out Caroline has a problem and came running to save her. And we listened to Kol.”

Stefan looks over at Rebekah “Long time Rebekah.”

“ It has been are you still hung up on Elena or are you ready for a real woman.”

Stefan smiles at him Rebekah remembering the last time they were together when she asked him the same thing. “ Elena is under a sleeping spell and human and she choose Damon we haven’t been together for years.”

Rebekah runs a finger down his face “ Call me when you can say I’m completely over her.”

Klaus growls and squeezes Stefans neck tighter Stefan makes a strangling sound. “ Bekah stop flirting, now tell me where Caroline is or you will be sharing the same fate as your brother dead on the floor with a nasty hybrid bite.”

“ Klaus you have to give Damon your blood.”

“ No he hurt Caroline and you will join him if you don’t tell me where she is.”

Stefan struggles to get out “Enzo has her, Damon is the only one with Enzo’s number.”

Klaus turns to tell Kol to rifle threw Damon’s pockets when the only sibling behind him is Freya “ Where are our siblings?”

“ Kol heard music and left Davina went with him, Rebekah went after them and Elijah and Katherine went to make sure no one was killed.”

Klaus instructs Stefan to get Damon’s phone and call Enzo while Freya gets their siblings.

Xxx

The music was coming from the heaven and hell Halloween party Caroline went as a angel and her best friend/bodyguard for the night Enzo went as a devil they are also trying to stop Mary Louise and Nora from killing everyone at the party which is easier said then done. When Enzo get a text “ Gorgeous we found a solution to your problem.”

Enzo goes to touch her arm but pulls away when he remembers her skin is vervain. Caroline follows Enzo to the hallway and stops when she sees him “ Klaus.”

Klaus smiles he thinks she looks so adorable in her short white angel costume with a feather rim on the bottom and a halo on her head “ Hello love.”

Klaus walks over to her and puts his hands on upper arms he doesn’t care that her skin is burning his hands. “Besides your skin being vervain are you ok.”

Caroline tries to move she doesn’t want to hurt him" Let go I’m hurting you.“

Klaus doesn’t remove his hands ” Love you’ve already hurt me in so many ways this is nothing.“

Caroline shakes her head ” That was all emotional hurt I’m physically hurting you I’m burning you.“

Xxx

"What is that awful smell?”

Klaus looks over at his siblings Davina has one hand over her nose and the other is holding Kol’s hand. “ It’s Nik’s flesh he’s touching Caroline and her skin is burning him. Who knew Nik had a burning desire.”

Klaus glares at Kol for making a joke he finally takes his hands off Caroline’s arms when he hears sizzling coming from his hands he looks down and his skin is so burned he can see his bones. Caroline gasps when she sees his hands “ I’m so sorry.”

Klaus would pull her in for a hug but he wants to keep the rest of his skin. “ It’s ok I’m going to fix you.”

Caroline shakes her head and continues to watch as Klaus hands heal “ You can’t fix me only a heretic can and they don’t want to get on Valerie’s bad side.”

“You’ve met a heretic there rare almost as rare as Nik himself.”

Klaus looks over at his brother “ Kol if your going to continue making jokes I’m sending you and Davina back to New Orleans”

“ Oh come on brother have a little fun.” At the growl Klaus makes Kol gets serious “Oh alright a heretic is a different type of hybrid you being werewolf/vampire a heretic is witch/vampire but not just any witch only a special kind of witch a siphoner who isn’t born with magic but if one touches you they can take your magic and use it as there own.”

“So figure out how to fix her.”

Kol looks at Caroline’s skin then at his brother “ That’s the thing brother I don’t know much about heretic magic because it went extinct in 1903.”

Klaus pushes his brother aside with his elbow his hands still healing. “ Freya is there a spell to fix her.”

Freya has never seen her brother like this he’s scared for her and just wants to fix her.“ I don’t know I will look we might need the witch who cast the spell.”

“ Valerie thought I was dating Stefan and her being the first woman Stefan fell in love with wanted to get me out of the picture. Please just someone fix me.”

“ The little I do know about heretic magic is they siphon all their magic they can even siphon magic from vampires the only thing they can’t siphon is a human with no magical qualities.”

“ I have a better idea where is Valerie?”

Damon waking up and holding his neck “ The boarding house Stefan gave it to them.”

“ They were going to kill everyone in town.”

Xxx

Klaus throws pieces of a fence threw the Windows breaking them and knocks down the door but can’t enter the the boarding house “ Why can’t I enter.”

“ Forgot to tell you when Stefan gave the house to the heretics there was a new deed.”

Lilly and Beau come to the front door Beau giving them all aneurysms “ Freya, Davina.”

Freya and Davina start chanting in Latin.

Lily looks at her sons “ Why are you back and with friends I see you can’t get rid of my family.”

Freya and Davina have got the aneurysms to stop Caroline is next to Klaus. Klaus stares Lily right in the eye “ I don’t care about your family problems. Do you know who I am?”

Lily shakes her head. “ How unfortunate for you I am Klaus Mikaelson the original hybrid. Now if you do not fix Caroline I will kill you, your new family, your old family, plus everyone you know. Now get me Valerie.”

Lily stands her ground she thinks Klaus threats are empty.“ No. You are in no position to make demands. Now leave.”

Klaus laughs “ I’m an original show a little respect.”

Klaus reaches out to Damon and pulls him in front of his mother “ Your son is dying and I will heal him if you give me Valerie. You have no shortage of loved ones. You choose watch your son die of a hybrid bite or watch your son get his heart ripped out if you do not hand over Valerie.”

“ No I will not hand over Valerie to someone who thinks they are in titled to something. Leave this town right now.”

Klaus laughs and rips put Damon’s heart and throws him to the side. “Little sister your nail file please.”

Rebekah pulls her nail file out of her boot and gives it to Klaus who whips it at Beau slicing his head off. “ Do we have a understanding now.”

Lily bends down next to Beau and holds his body. “ How dare you kill my child.”

“ I killed two of your children to get my point across. You can’t order me I order you now get me Valerie.”

Kol and Katherine were tracking down the owner of the house..“ It’s done.”

Klaus smiles wickedly and vamps Into the house and pins Lily to the door by her throat. He tells the others to find Valerie and bring her to him. “ Now what am I going to do with you? Love did she hurt you?”

“ No she only held me hostage then let me go. Mary Louise tortured me.”

Klaus looks back at her “ When this is over your moving down to New Orleans so I can protect you.”

“I make my own decisions Klaus you don’t own me.”

“ Love in the two years I’ve been in New Orleans your mother died, you turned your humanity off and went on a little killing binge, made some questionable romantic decisions, had to evacuate the town, got kidnapped and held hostage, tortured, and have a vervain spell on you.”

“ Have you been spying on me?”

“ I have my sources.”

Lily had been watching the two go back and forth. “ You don’t love my son you’ve been stringing him along.”

Caroline looks between Klaus and Lily “ I love Stefan just maybe not in a romantic way.”

Xxx

Nora and Mary Louise are walking threw the living room when the see lily. “ That’s Mary Louise.”

“ Caroline please touch her. Make sure she watches this.”

“ Klaus this is not necessary.”

Klaus vamps over to Mary Louise and rips her heart out “ You tortured someone very close to me this is for Caroline.”

He turns back to Caroline “They need to know they messed with the wrong person.”

Nora gives Klaus an aneurysm but Freya comes up behind him and gives Nora one. Klaus rips her heart out too Lily is crying watching her family die.

Rebekah and Kol come down the stairs Rebekah is dragging Valerie behind her. “ Here. Also you owe me a new nail file that one was new.”

Rebekah shoves Valerie at Klaus who squeezes her heart “ I’ve killed the rest of your family. Now you will take the spell off Caroline or I will draw out your death and make it extremely painful.”

Valerie looks over at Lily who is being burned by vervain, then at Nora, Mary Louise, and Beau’s dead bodies. Her family is dead she’s the only one left this is all her fault. “ I’ll do it.”

Klaus let’s her go and Valerie runs over to Caroline and touches her arms she siphons the spell off. “Who’s going to touch her first.”

Klaus growls at his brother. Caroline snaps Valerie’s neck “ That was weirdly satisfying.”

Klaus reaches out and touches her arms when he doesn’t feel stinging he pulls her in for a hug. Caroline wraps her arms around his waist “ I may not approve of your methods but thank you Klaus for helping me.”

Klaus leans down and kisses her forehead “I will always help you love.”

[marktwainsuggestions-blog]

Honesty hour? Honesty hour. Opinion on everyone you've met so far~? (All the suggestion blogs-)

//Well this can get tricky because I have met the suggestions blogs off and on in this RP nonnie. So I’ll refer just to in character RP:3//

Chuuya @chuuyasuggestions - way too fucking defensive. So many anger problems. Probably solves the fridge door that won’t close by yelling at it and punching it close. Probably hates me and if I were in a room with Bin Laden and Hitler, he’d shoot me twice just because. Seriously has no chill. 

Dazai @dazaisuggestions - in and off with the best one liners. Literally Dazai from canon? Problematic husband, please seek therapy.

Yosano @yosanosuggestions - she is literally bae? Very fun and murderous. Nice drinking partner. Apparently when everyone has had enough of my Twain charm (because lets be honest you cannot not stay in my presence too much without being blown away by my amazing personality) she will probably patch me up? Which is the nicest thing ever? Wow. Probably will dissect me for fun. 

Ranpo @ranposuggestions - smol, angry child that has had too little sweets and too many nightmares. Probably hates me for calling him on his obvious praise kink. Actually everyone here hates me for that~ Well, it’s not my fault they are obvious!!  He is fun to be around. His sass is almost as good as mine, though he gets upset easily and I don’t have energy to deal with that. Finny and Huck are too mean to me already. 

Tanizaki @tanizakisuggestions - he just joined and is traumatised already. Still considering if he is going to start burning people or not.

Kunikida @kunikidasuggestions - kinkiest dad, in a relationship with the weirdest creature on earth, seriously like how and why?!?! (Mark is scared). The saltiest shit ever. So, so, so angry. Threatens people away with maths and facts. Probably has a spreadsheet on how to hold his pants right. In the alphabetical order of their colours. Has no chill since he was born, would probably kill a bitch. Hates me too. 

Kyouka @kyoukasuggestions - sweet, precious Sherlock daughter. Probably has a database of all our posts and is great A stalker and assassin. Cold savage and calls everyone out. The most polite person on this shit, which incidentally did not deserve any of this. 

Poe @eapoesuggestions - small, scared child. Was thought to be a cryptid for a day. Hates himself but loves raccoons. 

Akutagawa @akutagawasuggestions - Boiiii. This one is issuesTM. Literally someone save him. So angry that when you open a dictionary searching for the word rage you just find a portrait of him. Actually, you find him in a thesaurus too for every synonym of the word fury and issues. Seriously has no chill. Is into weird questionable shit. Vore. Vore. Vore. (Stop the vore, pls.)

Odasaku @odasakusuggestions - dead dad friend so done with all this shit. Probably regrets his alive and death choices. Is concerned and slightly scared. Overprotective cinnamon roll but he could kill you if you tried. Probably recites Shakespeare in front of a mirror every night.

Souseki @sosekisuggestions - even more concerned granddad. Secretly kinky. Disapproves of everything here and is too tired of this shit. Loses 9 years of his life every time Chuuya burns a meal. Probably cries while inhaling catnip because he can’t deal with any of these. 

Fyodor @fyodorsuggestions - daddy as fuck? He probably collects organs from his enemies for fun. Has the fluffiest hat ever. Awkward sinnamon that doesn’t interact much but when he does most people there is an awkward quiet. Probably visits bdsms club to watch people. He can come kill me any time. 

Mori @morisuggestions - poor mafia lord that is always way over his head with what he has to deal with. He is so fancy he probably drinks tea out of porcelain from 5th century or some shit. God help me he is even more extra than his wayward adopted son. Probably is caught in between murdering Aku and teasing him so he would vore PM enemies to death. Has a thighs collection. 

Higuchi @higuchisuggestions - tired port mafia lady. Very nice and respectful but very thirsty. Loves her girlfriend so much it’s like I’m watching a gay chick flick every time she interacts on this dash. I get diabetes. Also very tired. Probably did not sign up for this shit. If I took a shot each time she thought of murdering me I would put to shame the population density in NYC

Gin @ginbsdsuggestions - The other Mafia girlfriend. Very shy but so kinky. Literally so kinky and gay. Probably murders people so fun. Very chill for being the sister of MiniEmoSatan but prettier. Finally one of these siblings learnt how to use scissors. Probably drinks 8 shots of coffee in the morning as a self care routine but then she’s fly as fuck and ready to kill you.

Kouyou @kouyousuggestions - Another PM lady. Probably a queen from another life. Very concerned mum, but only for DrunkenMidget he could sell the rest of us to Satan for all she cares. Very polite too but so very savage. Dresses to impress, and probably if someone saw her just a bit unpolished they would die on the spot. Has a selfcare routine that includes the blood of her enemies and macha tea. Probably so elegant that makes people cry by feeling blessed to look at her. 

Lucy @lucymaudsuggestions - small, innocent girl THAT WOULD MURDER YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. Listens to hipster bullshit and thinks she’s unique because of her traumaTM. Cries to Melanie Martinez and Halsey every night. Is very nice and sweet until she goes bat shit crazy. Collects the weirdest stuff (pls save me). Loves dresses, frills, and making boys cries. Never impressed. Is full of hate but hides it because of her aesthetic.

Atsushi @atsushisuggestions - someone give this kid therapy. Poor kid is probably scared of his own shadow. Very defensive and pure. Literally I feel bad for picking up on him. Probably grooms himself like a cat but is ashamed. Needs some love. Thinks he doesn’t deserve to relax until he suddenly starts eating ice cream at 3 am on the kitchen floor crying. 

Elise @elisesuggestions - cute demon child? Has cute dresses.

Motojirou @motojiroukajiisuggestions - has a lemon fetish? He is that guy who joins the party and makes everyone wonder how from all the possible combination this was the sperm that won. Thinks he is a genius but actually is a poster for crack addiction. Has interesting ideas that you want to see fail for your own amusement. Probably plays Happy Wheels and thinks how he can make that into a real life experiment. 

Fitzgerald @fitzgeraldsuggestions - always absent. Too extra. Has so much money that he filled a pool once and tried to swim in it. (Plot twist, he almost drowned). For some reason he has this weird relationship with HotTopic that scares the living daylights out of me. Probably twerking in Tenerife for fun rn. 

Lovecraft @hplovecraftsuggestions - Octopus man. Made me research reproduction and anatomy of the octopus. Has as much will to live as SuicidalBandages. Is always tired. Probably falls asleep in public transport (he totally does that). And on missions (he does that). Makes me wonder about if he suffer about Narcolepsy. Hates me and he scares me. Always wearing that suit so probably has a very big cleaning bill? Makes me wonder if he eats human or octopus food.

[ilakumar-blog1]

A New Style of Immigrant Story

When my grandmother, my father’s mother, died in January of 2014, in Bihar, I was here in New York. My father was on the next plane to India. I remember the night, he walked down the stairs that evening, slower than usual. He told us that he was going to India because she was unwell. And he felt he should be there. And that night, I was ten years old, barefoot on the kitchen floor completely uninterested in commiserating with my father. A child’s first exposure to death is a tragically hopeless and confusing time. And in the case of my grandmother, she wasn’t dead yet. It was a matter of jet fuel which determined whether my father would be with his mother, his hand in hers, when she died. He knew this, and I did too.

By the time my father had packed his shaving kit, clothes and notebook, I should have been asleep. I was brushing the curls, which I get from my dad, out of my hair. From my bedroom window I saw him climb into the taxi. Needing somewhere else to focus my energies, I then, baked a cake. I labored over it, for like three hours. Carefully, I piped small pink flowers placing one of those pearly sprinkles in the middles. This cake served as my nagging problem through the night. It was this perfectly vanilla cake, a simple or impossible task, to which my mind insanely clinged to avoid its real trouble. As I tried to move it from the counter to the plate, it crumbled in my hands like clay that’s been under pressure for too long. I began to cry, between the sorrow and guilt the jack-in-the-box inside my skull finally escaped my control and flooded the entire house with tears.

I could not bear to imagine my father, alone in that dark plane. You see, his sisters who were already in India, knew their mother had died. To save their brother from the most uncomfortable and saddest plane ride of his life, they didn’t tell him. It was a cousin, on FaceBook, offering condolences right before he was boarding the plane that really screwed the whole operation. Sixteen hours of torture and despair all suppressed in an illusion of composure for the flight attendants and the man sitting next to him. He might have been flying above the world, his heavy heart must have been the only thing tethering him to the world.

When my grandmother died I realized that I had hardly ever spoken to her. I am realizing, now, if her husband, my grandfather, was to die today, I would still be writing the same sentence. I haven’t learned from my mistakes, I have made no effort to know my grandfather. Nevermind that, my mother, who stayed with us--didn’t tell me or my brother what happened. The idea was that when my father returned, we would all talk. That night, I lay down to sleep. My mother didn’t tell me my grandmother had died, so was it even true? Had it even happened? Maybe she really was alive, breathing the same air as me. My grieving heart did not care for logic.

And my dad and I didn’t talk. When he finally came back home his head was shaved. Curls gone. He brought gifts- toys for my brother, dresses and jewelry, silver coins, a gold statue of a young girl reading a book from his mother’s bedroom. I remember the night he came back, he was jetlagged and I just couldn’t sleep. He came into my bed and I lay in his arms, trying to sync my breathing to his. We lay there, for hours in the dark, neither one of us falling asleep. He spoke once, he asked me if I had any questions, about anything. Of course I did. But I would never ask them.

My father and I didn’t spend evenings in a treehouse talking about boys, he was never my lacrosse coach or whatever most dads are for their daughters. The mornings we share together are silent. I wake up disturbingly early, but he wakes up earlier. The heat is on, the house is warm. Breakfast and tea is waiting for me to finish my mascara. He waits for me. And we leave our warm grey house to stand outside. Just us in the cold. He likes to listen to writer’s almanac and drink his coffee. I don’t like it, but this day, I did. Robert Hayden’s poem, a tired one, my father had read to me so many times, played.

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

My bus hasn’t come yet. We stand in silence as it nears 7am and more and more cars drive by. “It always reminds me of my mother,” he says. “Did I thank her enough?” The bus came. There was a kiss on the forehead and that was it.

I found my answers almost a year later, in London on Christmas day. That sounds misleadingly glamourous. There was a party, everyone was outside in the lavish backyard smoking cigars. I was in an awfully crappy mood. It was the smoke, that really was the cause for my drama. My father does not smoke, as in cigarettes, as in regularly. But the occasional cigar is an attractive idea. It’s a stylish thing-- an accessory, a fetish object, something to help pass the time, a communication tool. It’s selfish, if he only knew it bothered me. But anyway, this night is only relevant because as my father was distracted, outside, doing what he does so perfectly--he left a book inside, on the kitchen counters. It was the mock-up of his forthcoming book of essays, including “Pyre” about his mother’s death.

All I desired was a simple medical diagnosis--but that is not what was given to me. I didn’t want to feel sad, there was no need to, we barely knew each other. And then, I read. It was my grandmother's life, suddenly revealed to me-- her wonderful charitable life, and then what happens to my father after her life.

I have not yet learned how to properly, live and talk and write about my very peculiar relationship, my limited understanding of where I come from. The drift began at the age of 6, when I became aware of my thick hair and big lips. It was not so much being aware of the large lips, but knowing what they meant--it was a symbol of difference in power, I felt like a clown. What is more, is I had a feeling, not being white, meant I was inferior to the rest of their world and the rest of my life would just be so exhausting.  

I can cannot help that those inaccurate portraits of Indians on TV make me sick, I cannot help the bitterness I feel whenever I stumble upon the inescapable stereotypes these shows have burned in our brains. I need you to understand, the images of the Indian in America have impacted my early life in such an influential and very dangerous way. At least, I now know why I have made no progress in accepting my public identity, and why one should not serve, or give into national taste. What has ruined me, is the most subtle form of oppression-- how one thinks about itself.

The story of an immigrant child in this country could be written a million times better and sadder and more eloquently. But that’s not the point and I don’t care. My fight for a seat at the table was based on how fast I could look or become like the table. Yet, I remain trapped and despised within this republic--and my situation is unique because I have not been kept in bondage for three hundred years. I have only been held together by my future, unwilling to accept my past. I have drowned in my past. As it was deemed unfashionable, so I hoped it cracked and crumbled under the pressures of drought.

No one is in the position to tell me that my only problem, Indian people on TV, is not a valid complaint. It’s a recipe for murder, really. I know mostly only white people, they have no intention to exploit me, and I love them for that. But their own glorification, their place in the sun and on the screen--has forced me to endure a great deal of pain and festor some anger and jealousy. These shows had told me I had a very specific place, socially. My dignity was just a character to the very ill people creating the illusions on of the screen. Of course, the sick illusions do not stay on the screen. The accents, of course, follow one around. The goal, is to separate yourself from that. And perhaps I have made a mistake, because in my separation of “Indian in America” I look back, as a stranger to “Indian.”

My mother is Muslim, my dad is Hindu. They got married when their two countries, India and Pakistan were fighting a war. Ila is a Hindu name; it is the opposite of my mother's last name, Ali (a Muslim name) Ila Ali. It forms a palindrome. It mirrors my mother’s, yet keeps its difference.

My father had written about the marriage between a Muslim and Hindu, and got himself on a hit-list. Far-right India was not happy about his news. But still he went to meet the man who put him on the hit-list, for lunch.

And what is worse, is it was the death of my grandmother that had brought me back to where I had started. No one told me she died. It was a text I saw on my mother’s phone, from a cousin, offering condolences. Really, it was my father’s essay, “Pyre” that I only saw because of the liking Franzen took towards it, gave me the scraps of information of her death. What is interesting, is his own drifting from what used to be his world.

“I left India nearly three decades ago, and would see my mother only for a few days each year during my visits to Patna. Over the past ten or fifteen years, her health had been declining. She suffered from arthritis and the medicines she took for it had side effects, and sometimes my phone rang with news that she’d fallen asleep in the bathroom or had a seizure on the morning after she had fasted during a festival. I knew that one day the news would be worse and I would be asked to come to Patna. I was fifty years old and had never before attended a funeral. I didn’t know what was more surprising, that some of the rituals were new to me, or that they were exactly as I had imagined. That my mother’s corpse had been dressed as a bride was new and disconcerting, and I’d have preferred a plainer look; on the other hand, the body placed on the bamboo bier, its canopy covered with an orange sheet of cotton, was a familiar daily sight on the streets of my childhood. In my notebook that night I noted that my contribution to the funeral had been limited to lighting my mother’s funeral pyre. In more ways than one, the rituals of death had reminded me that I was an outsider.”

In my school, we have been learning about India. Do you remember, in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, the chilled monkey brain for dessert? That desire to exploit other worlds using film, again, is not only in TV but documentaries too. The supposedly “accurate” or perfectly innocent or good and straight parallels that are supposedly drawn in documentaries-- they are a false and biased  look into the lives of others. Lives, that colonial powers have no place in, yet they do. I blame film, which is the most was the influential weapon old colonial power has, for my drift with India. That is my confession of to desire to be in that burning house seated at the broken table.