#silas tried to get her out more than once but ended up nearly getting caught and had to stop when dd put more guards outside

[septimus-heap]

Absudbdjdbf

CANNOT stop thinking abt my "marcia got unofficially adopted into the heap family" au. I have so many thoughts

tell me more 👀

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Beginnings and endings

Synopsis: The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Warnings: Murder, angst, fluff, gore

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @didiintheblog @lol-haha-joke @shannygoatgruff @heavenly1927 @chynagirl13 @queenbeeta @thereareendlessopportunities @astridbaby​ 

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas's punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn't let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn't what she yearned to do. "Are you alright, Vanya?" Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar's shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it's her duty to help choose the way he will die. "Let's burn him alive," Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

"Slit his throat, that's what he wanted to happen to Vanya." Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

"Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out." Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya's hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. "Skin him alive." He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

"Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don't look so good." Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn't care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. "I can't sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that's what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive." She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn't even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming, Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her's.

He didn't check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well, what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice, but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn't take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son's corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar's arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

"Are you sure you want to see him?" The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. "She lives." A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain, and despair. "You look terrible."

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. "I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people's minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat." He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. "You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings."

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her, the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. "It's alright. Please leave." The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. "You mean Father, don't you?"

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn't wait for her to question him, he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. "You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was."

"Father was a good person, far better than you or me." Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. "Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn't follow his rules."

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. "Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are."

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one." Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn't love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn't meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions."

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother."

"I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me, by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife's back."

The princess stared at Silas in shock, Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent's treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

"He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me." Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. "He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood."

"I am not you or them!" Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

"If that's what you like to believe."

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. "You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you."

"If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf."

"Stithulf didn't order men to murder three people!" Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

"He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother's brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great." Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father's cross. "Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won't care for your death. Terrible people don't go to heaven."

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. "Then, I shall see you in Hell. That's where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs." He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. "Farewell, Sister."

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back, she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"Blood eagle," Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

"What?"

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony." She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband's stormy hues. "What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?"

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. "I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again." Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again."

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. "From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!"

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none, all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. "You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me." She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

"I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you'll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I brake this promise. I swear on my arm ring."

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction, with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son's absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again. 

The next morning, five days since their son's birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. "And who will do it? Ivar can't stand." Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

"It doesn't matter. We can give him a chair, or let someone else do it." Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn't matter by whose hand. 

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other's hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier. 

"You are on edge." Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

"I..." A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. "I miss my son, that's all. They still won't let me see him." 

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya's hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir. 

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?" Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. "You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you." Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent. 

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. "Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar's child." 

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd's comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife's arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat." Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya's hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. "With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok." 

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar's confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too." 

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya." 

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him, he didn't see that much of you." She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way. 

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar's brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions, Hoenir, and Aslaug were sure of it. 

"Did you think of a name?" Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew. 

"Yes. But it's a surprise." Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return. 

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni ausinn is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water. 

"My son, Aros!" He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older males smug look.

"From the river's mouth? Really?" He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

"It fits, does it not?"

"I guess it does." He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. "Aros Ivarsson."

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it."

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers." She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy. 

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead's side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

Truth is Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren't for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren't for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend. 

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya's love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn't mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable. 

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya's lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well, she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings. 

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made actually. It's not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don't know how to make dresses like that, so it's plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn't as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It's beautiful. I bet it's comfortable as well." She reassured the other female twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn't get to give it to you." With a  bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger. 

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off. 

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can't just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!"

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That's what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back."

"Nonsense!" Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja's smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn't want anything in return, but that didn't sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours."

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers."

"You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don't ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, liking the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn't complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is he better?"

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya's gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor's widow. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things."

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja's father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children in his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own."

"Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough."

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?"

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head, and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?"

"Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion. 

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it's hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams."

"No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn't happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don't die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you."

"Ivar will be with me."

"Doesn't mean you will be safe."

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear."

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to."

"You are very annoying."

"I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion, till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark. 

"Your husband's coming. And I have a hut to find. I don't want to hear anything I shouldn't." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn't if you were outside! That's so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door? 

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well."

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?"

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess."

"Call me, Vanya. Please."

"As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?" She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well. 

"His. Mother gave it to him." He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn't know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. "Did you take your bath yet?"

"Not yet." She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. "Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?"

"I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster." Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh. 

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. "Let's hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon."

"If it's born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn't worry about you two as I did!" Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

"Ivar." Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. "Torvi shouldn't suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better."

"I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn." 

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!" Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

"Why? Do you not like the view." He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips, to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

"You are a pain, husband. You are lucky I love you."

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. "Good. I would be hurt if you didn't." Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar's arms once again. "What would I be without my Freyja."

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!"

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. "You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn't blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that."

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really think I'm powerful?"

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. "I, for one, find you terrifying." She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. "Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?"

"The people do. And Sigurd as well."

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. "He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it's not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit." She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar's face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn't for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya's wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt.  "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously."

"Obviously." Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night's lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

"Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal," Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son's life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

"Then let's go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn's and Torvi's baby." Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros's head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn't have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. "Wait."

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn't take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best, Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn't alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. "Make him pay. For everything."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

"You don't have to be here, Vanya." Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar's and her hut. "I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don't, I will never be sure if it's over or not."

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd on the other hand, scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. "What is his problem?" Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. "He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you."

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. "If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it's me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer."

"I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don't have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air."

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. "Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room."

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas's flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas's screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn't handle so much gore ever again.

"Vanya!" Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. "Please!"

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas's eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.

[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 13

Siolo Ur Manka had lived in the Jentares system for nearly seventy years by the time their ship, still on loan from a Mandalorian named Silas, touched down on the planets soft soil. It was overrun with thick jungle, and it sang with the Force. With life, and light, in the bird songs and the ambling hum of great beasts that marched through the foliage with thick soled feet and swinging necks. 

And in it’s shadow death and darkness, beneath the undergrowth and in the fanged mouths of predators. 

Maul’s vornskr trotted behind him, their tails raised like tiny black flags. 

“Ahsoka, Ezra, Ben, keep up,” Maul warned over his shoulder. Ben, a biggest and also the most troublesome, turned his face away from a fluttering insect to chirp at Maul. Ahsoka batted his should and knocked him back in line. 

Kenobi, on Maul’s side, had his little lizard hanging from his hair. He’d named her something silly. Boba? Boga. She was tasting the air curiously while Kenobi looked around them in no small degree of wonder. If he’d never left the Temple before Bandomeer then there was no way he’d ever been to a planet with this much foliage on it. 

The air was thick and humid and Jango looked miserable where he tramped through the brush after them. 

Not that it was easy to see with his helmet in place, but Maul was getting better and better at reading his body language.

  Jango still confused him. 

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that even though Maul had accidentally shoved nightmare fuel memories into his skull he still wanted to adopt him into his family. He was lucky that Jango thought they were only visions of the future, and not memories of Maul’s past. 

Even if Jango knew that, would it matter? 

The people Maul had killed before still lived, for one thing, so for all intents and purposes for everyone that wasn’t him they might as well have been visions. Everything he knew was true and detailed, but insubstantial and subject to change. He’d changed Kilindi and Daleen after all. 

Maul was probably lucky that he’d been found by a Mandalorian. Anyone else would have had to many questions up front, or would have tried to force him into the life of a child. Maul would have had to kill them, and cover that up too. It would have been annoying. 

Maul kept an ear out for anything dangerous as they neared the clearing where Siolo made his home. 

Maul had been here years ago, five years in the future, and killed the old twi’lek master. He was a powerful Jedi, and deeply entrenched in the Force. Maul had only beaten him through trickery, and he could teach Kenobi that if it became necessary. 

Maul shook his head. Since when was he seriously considering teaching Kenobi anything? He’d offered, once, to help him harness his anger and turn it into a tool. But Kenobi was too Jedi already to accept it. 

A shame. He could have made a powerful Sith. 

Perhaps- 

No. 

Maul shook the thought off. He was already too attached to too many people. He’d even begun gravitating towards Jango against his will. 

He didn’t need a father, and he had years more experience than the Mandalorian did. 

All the same, there was a part of him that still was ten years old, one that Maul ignored most of the time, that wanted what he could offer. It was faint, beaten down by the Maul that inhabited a body he’d long outgrown, but the longing was there. 

They came into a clearing. 

Siolo Ur Manka was just as Maul remembered him. And elderly twi’lek with mossy green skin, his lekku were draped around his shoulders. He wore the brown robes of a jedi, and he was sitting peacefully, entrenched in his deep meditation. 

The three sentients came to a halt half the field away from him. Ezra, entranced by the thick swirls of the Force around the master, left the safety of their group and trotted over to him. Maul hissed at him, but he was ignored. Ezra’s eyes were caught by the minute twitching of one of Siolo’s lekku. 

“We should probably warn him,” Jango mused as Ezra crept closer, his chest to the ground. Maul watched him. His posture was poor, but that would come with time. His butt wiggled as he stretched himself closer and closer to the Jedi Master. 

“No need,” Maul waved his hand flippantly. 

When Ezra made to pounce he was caught in the air, gently, by the Force. Siolo opened his eyes to looked at the vornskr, who bared his tiny teeth at him and tried to growl. His tail lashed uselessly. He was much too young to properly poinson the Jedi Master. 

“I believe,” Siolo said in his Rylothian accent, “That this is yours?” 

Maul used the Force to pluck the small predator out of his grasp and bring him back to his side. 

“That was poor technique,” he chided gently. Ezra chirped at him and crawled into his shirt instead of answering. Maul didn’t fight him. Ahsoka jumped up onto his shoulder with ease and bumped her cheek against his, as if apologizing for her littermates mistake. She was undeniably Maul’s favorite. She was already scarred, and already a fighter, and she’d destroyed three mouse droids on the way to the planet. She was going to be vicious and unstoppable once she was bigger than a bread box. 

Siolo looked over his assembled audience. He gripped his cane and stood, slowly. Maul was not fooled. He may be retired, but he was still a dangerous adversary. He was one of the few beings that Maul had ever run from in his life time, even if it was for only a few days while he built his lightsaber. 

It felt strange to stand before him without it, and in fact without any conflict between them. He was not here to kill Siolo. 

It was a weird feeling, to seek someone out without the intention of taking their head off their shoulders. Maul was still getting used to it. He was no less deadly than he once had been, but he saw more use in letting people live than killing them outright. 

“Do not see every enemy as an enemy. See them instead as an ally, whether they know it or not."

Mauls cheek twitched but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge the woman’s voice. This was getting old. He was certain it had something to do with the shattered holocrons. He needed to get back to Malachor and find them again, if for no other reason than to make the random voices of unwanted advice shut up. Every time he heard someone speak to him his palm itched where the small scars were pressed into his skin. 

Siolo looked over each of them in turn. Maul could feel him mentally brushing against Maul’d shields, and when Obi Wa- Kenobi stiffened Maul was certain he felt the same thing. If Jango wasn’t wearing his helmet it might well have happened to him too. 

“I don’t get many visitors out here. Certainly none as… unique, as you are.” 

“We look for a Master for Obi Wan,” Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder lightly and urged him forwards. Kenobi took a deep breath and squared his shoulders when he approached. Once he was close enough he bowed deeply to the older Jedi. 

“Venerated Master,” he said politely. “I am Obi Wan Kenobi, of the Coruscant temple, and the AgriCorps. “ 

“Yes, the Force tells me as much,” Siolo inclined his head. “It also tells me you have great potential. Show me your abilities, young one.” 

Kenobi perked up, bouncing up on his toes. “Yes, Master! Um, do you have a lightsaber?” 

“I have not carried one in many years,” Siolo shook his head and brushed his robes out before he rose to his full height and lifted his walking stick. “Shall I repeat myself? Show me, young one.” 

Kenobi looked dubious, but he drew his lightsaber all the same. Maul sat on a fallen tree, and Jango took up residence at his shoulder. He stayed standing, his visor fixed on the two Jedi. Kenobi hesitated before he swung at Siolo. 

The old jedi parried the blow with his walking stick, reinforced with the Force. 

It was a trick that Maul had never quite gotten right. 

“How did you know this Jettii was here?” Jango asked while Kenobi went in for another blow. 

Maul hummed. 

“I was once sent to kill him. “ 

“Yet, here he stands. And he doesn’t seem to know you.” 

Maul shot him a grin with far too many teeth. “I don’t take orders well.” 

Jango huffed a laughed just as Obi Wan was knocked to the ground. Siolo was much gentler with him than he had been with Maul, though looking at him now Maul realized that the old master had been gentle with him as well. He could have killed him, if he really wanted to. 

Even if Maul had tried to flee, Siolo could have cut him down with a single parry when he was a boy of but seventeen. It rankled his pride, but in the end that mercy had been his downfall. 

Jedi weakness. 

(Maul ignored the phantom feeling of warm arms and cooling sand and blue eyes that did not hate

He ignored the refusal to kill and two blue blades, and sharp, predator teeth held back. How much harder it was not to kill the clones on the Tribunal (Or why he listened to Tano in the first place) 

Mercy stung at him and it was so much more difficult than cruelty)  

Kenobi got up, bowed to the Master, and started again. Siolo trounced him soundly each time, and while Maul could feel Kenobi’s frustrations building, he never yelled or threw his weapon down or demanded to know why he kept losing. Maul didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. 

“Aren’t you going to go fight?” Jango asked, nodding towards Siolo. Kenobi had at least given him enough challenge that one of his lekku fell out of place. 

Maul shook his head. He knew how he compared to the Jedi Master. “We’re looking for a Master for Kenobi. As you said, I will have no other Master.” 

Jango placed his hand on Maul’s small shoulder and squeezed it. Maul looked at it, but didn’t knock it away like he might normally have. 

“No,” Jango agreed. “Never again.” 

They sat together until Kenobi had worked himself up, sweating and panting, and Siolo called for a halt to their spar. He barely looked rumpled. 

“That’s enough, young one. You fought well. Was that Cin Drallig’s style I saw?” 

Kenobi nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. He teaches all the younglings their lightsaber forms.” 

“It shows. You’ll have to practice being more adaptable than he is, but I can see your potential. Both with a lightsaber, and the Force. Here.” 

Siolo handed him a water skin, one that Kenobi drank eagerly from. Jango leaned forwards on his knees when the two Jedi started making their way over. Maul made himself stay seated, and kept his hand off of his modified blaster. Siolo’s eyes stayed on him, and Maul was reminded that the old twi’lek had once told him that others had come before he had. Siolo eyed him, but if he could sense the depths of his darkness he didn’t give it away. 

“You keep strange company, Initiate Kenobi,” Siolo mused. “A pair of Mandalorians are unusual companions for a young Jedi.” 

“I promised I’d help him find a Jedi Master,” Jango said evenly while Kenobi flushed in embarrassment. “Maul heard you lived here.” 

“You’re right,” Siolo inclined his head. “And he shows great promise as a Jedi. I have felt few so strong in the Light in recent years.” 

Kenobi sucked in a startled breath. “But, Master! I was angry in our fight,” he argued, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I was upset when you kept beating me so easily.” 

Siolo looked faintly amused. He touched Kenobi’s shoulder. “I would expect so. You’re young, and you will grow out of that if you try. I didn’t sense any true attempt to hurt me, even when you were angry.” 

“But anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside!” 

“So it does,” Siolo inclined his head. “But we are Jedi, not droids. We still feel. Even the greatest of Masters is not immune to anger. The important thing is that we do not act on it, or give it control over us. Do you understand?” 

Kenobi’s brows furrowed. “I… I think so.” 

“Your Master will be able to explain it further to you.” 

Kenobi startled, confusion on his face. “But, I have no Master. That is why we came here, to you!” 

“I know,” Siolo said kindly. He squeezed Kenobi’s shoulder. “But I am too old to raise a Padawan properly. I am retired from fieldwork, and your education would be skewed if I were to try. You deserve better than an old twi’lek for your master, child.” 

“But- I’m almost thirteen,” Kenobi’s blue eyes glittered. 

“Yes?” Siolo looked confused. “I was almost fifteen when my Master took me on.” 

Kenobi gaped at him. “But thirteen is too old to be a Padawan? For human’s and species with comparable life times.” 

“Is that what they’ve decided these days?” Siolo shook his head. “I heard talk about making a cap of youngling’s ages a few decades ago, but I hadn’t known they’d made it a solid rule.”

“Why would they do something like that?” Jango asked, frowning at Siolo. 

Siolo shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. Something about the other branches needing more members, but it seems silly to force younglings into them if they don’t want to be.” 

Jango inclined his head. “You’re sure you won’t take the boy as your student?” 

Kenobi was trying desperately to look brave and self assured, but it wasn’t working well. He looked crushed. Like each time he got his hopes up they were dashed upon the ground. 

“As I said, it wouldn't be fair to Young Kenobi for me to take him on. But there are plenty of other Masters in the order. Come, have supper with me, and I’ll see if I can’t think of a few names.” 

Siolo motioned for them to follow him to a hut that was almost completely hidden by trees. Kenobi followed first, then Maul, with Jango behind them. He was saying something into his comlink, but he was too far behind for Maul to hear exactly what it was. 

Maul stepped into a hut that felt far too warm and smelled like stew, and the galaxy turned on. 

Far off in the stars, dozens of comlink lit up with a new order. 

The Mand’alor required a Jedi, and they were to find him one. Gently. 

‘Gentle’, for Mandalorians, was a rather subjective term. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Mace was intensely grateful that Depa was sitting at his side. 

Her Padawan braid hung long down her shoulder, it’s beads glinting faintly in the dim light. It was almost time for the braid to be cut off. Depa was more than ready to be a Knight, and her trials were slated for the next week. She was busily writing on her datapad, apparently absorbed in the last of her coursework. 

Mace wasn’t fooled. 

He could tell from the faint furrowing of her brows that she was listening carefully to what was happening in the council chambers. 

They all were. 

As Mace’s padawan she had a privilege to sit in on council meetings, unless they were more high security. This meeting was troubling, to be sure, but it wasn’t an emergency meeting. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Certain of this, you are?” Master Yoda asked, his normally light voice deep with concern for their newest loss. Mace carefully let his irritation flow into the Force. It was something he had a lot of practice doing, unfortunately. Depa glanced at him curiously before she bent her head over her data pad again. It was balanced on her lap, while a few others were stacked next to the small chair that she was afforded beside his own. 

“Yes, Master,” Qui Gon Jinn’s face was smooth now, but Mace could see the faint remnants of lines etched in with grief and frustration. Mace could only imagine. He’d lost his former Padawan, fallen or otherwise, and his prospective future Padawan all in the span of a single night. “The boy had training, but not from any Jedi, and he was powerful in the Darkside. He was not half grown and he cut down Xanatos with almost no effort at all. Before the night was over he and the Mandalorian had taken Initiate Kenobi and left the planet.” 

It was sparse at best, and there were so many gaps in the story that Mace could have ridden a Bantha between them, but so too were all of Jinn’s reports. Those that didn’t involve a simple end to the story and the rest was filled with ‘I followed the Will of the Force’. 

Mace was not his biggest fan.  

“I fear that the dark child plans on corrupting Kenobi. The boy is already prone to anger and aggression.” 

That was true, but the same could have been said about Mace when he was Kenobi’s age. 

“And the Mandalorian?” Tiin asked, a deep frown on his face. 

“I could not say why he would aid in taking Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn admitted, bowing his head. 

“Perhaps it was for revenge,” Sifo Dyas offered up, his mouth turned in a grim line. “Many Mandalorians were injured during the battle on Galidraan. Perhaps the battle was not enough.” 

A grim thought. 

Mace’s stomach turned. Depa’s grip on her stylus tightened. Through their training bond Mace could feel her intense concern for the youngling. 

“Either way, I will pursue them and uncover the truth,” Jinn announced. 

The room fell quiet. Mace exchanged a look with Yaddle and Giiett. Tyvokka didn’t look any more happy about it than anyone else felt. 

“That may not be the best idea,” Poof said gently. “You are grieving, Master Jinn. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the temple for a time.” 

“I do not need time,” Jinn said swiftly. “Initiate Kenobi needs someone to find him, immediately, and I am the only one who knows the Mandalorian and the Darksider.” 

Eeth Koth looked to Tyvokka, who in turn shook his head. 

“You were not the boys guardian, Qui Gon. And he is not your Padawan. You are too emotionally invested in this matter,” Tyvokka said gravely. “We should send another.” 

None of them mentioned it, but everyone had heard about how devastated Kenobi had been when Jinn had refused to take him as his padawan after the show he put on at the Initiate competition a month or so earlier. Now Kenobi had fought off pirates and draigons at Jinn’s side, and he still referred to the boy as ‘Initiate’. Anyone else would have taken the boy for their padawan in a heartbeat. 

Many would have already, except… 

“Unacceptable. I will find Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn insisted. “And I will bring him back.” 

Finally, Yoda spoke again. 

“Feel that you have failed the boy, you do. Choose to pursue him, for Obi Wan’s best interest or your own redemption. Which do you seek?” 

“I cannot allow a random knight to go after them,” Jinn argued. “The Mandalorian and the dark child are more dangerous than you can imagine!” 

“According to you, the Mandalorian also fought by your side against the draigon’s.” And according to some of the miners they had contacted before Jinn gave his report, he had also helped him disable bombs set to destroy the planet. Curious that Jinn didn’t see pertinent to mention that. 

“That was to save his own life. We have no idea what a Mandalorian would do to a Force Sensative child, let alone a Jedi Initiate. We need to rescue him.” 

“You’re right,” Mace said evenly, catching Jinn’s eye. “We need to. Poof is correct. We all know that Xanatos was important to you, whatever may have happened in recent years. Stay home for the time being. Rest in your chambers, visit your friends, sit in the creche. Trust in the council to retrieve Kenobi.” 

“Have faith in your fellow Jedi, you must,” Yaddle added. Jinn drew himself up to argue before it all seemed to deflate. For just a moment his shields slipped, and the grief and guilt came rippling out to wash over the Council members. Depa gasped quietly at his side. 

“Yes, master’s.” 

Mace could count on one hand the number of times Qui Gon Jinn had actually listened to them. He could only watch the maverick Jedi bow to them and leave, his shields drawing back up around him. 

The door closed soundly behind him. 

“He really should speak to a Mind Healer,” Poof said sadly. Mace had to agree. They’d tried to get him to do as much after Xanatos first left the Order, but Yoda had advised them not to push him on the matter. 

They’d listened. 

Now, Mace wondered if that was the best idea. 

Speaking of Yoda… 

“Why was Initiate Kenobi sent to Bandomeer without an escort?” Mace asked suddenly, drawing all attention to himself. He was the youngest in the room by far, not counting Depa. “When Initiates are assigned to one of the corps they’re typically escorted by a Knight, or a Master who already belongs to them, aren’t they? So where was Initiate Kenobi��s?” 

“Going to Bandomeer as well, Qui Gon was. Look after the boy, he did,” Yoda said helpfully. 

“Yes, and that worked so well,” Koth frowned at the Grand Master. 

“Circumstances we could not have foreseen, there were,” Yoda pointed out. 

“True, this is. Yet still, more caution we should have used,” Yaddle argued. “Did this one purpose, didn’t you? To push the two together, yes?” 

Yoda’s ears drooped minutely. “A good pair, they would make. Show me, the Force did.” 

“This is why you asked that other Master’s interested in the boy not act?” Tyvokka asked with no small degree of unhappiness. The master was well known for his care of Younglings, something that his own apprentice had inherited. Somedays Mace wondered how neither of them were full time creche masters. 

Depa looked to Mace, startled. He frowned at her, but nodded once. It was true. Yoda had staked an unofficial claim on the boy. He wanted him for his own current lineage, and while Dooku was unable to take a Padawan while he had Komari Vosa, and Feemor had been undercover as a shadow until only a week ago, Qui Gon was the only one who could have done it. 

Mace let his irritation flow into the Force. 

The old Jedi’s meddling was getting out of hand. Had the Council of Reassignment even authorized Kenobi’s transfer to Bandomeer, or had Yoda gone over their heads in this scheme of his? 

“A great Jedi, Kenobi will be,” Yoda said again, tapping his walking stick on the council room floor. 

“If he returns,” Sifo Dyas said grimly. 

“We need to send someone after him quickly. In that Qui Gon was no wrong,” Koth admitted. 

“It will have to be someone who is good at laying low, and good at tracking to get close enough to the Mandalorian and the ‘dark child’ he spoke of,” T’un mused. 

“Perhaps Tholme and his new Padawan?” Omo B’ouri suggested. “Vos is one of the Kenobi’s old creche-mates.” 

“Much darkness I sense in Vos,” Yoda argued, shaking his head. 

“...Feemor,” Mace said suddenly. “He has Shadow training, he’s recovered from his last mission, and we don’t have another lined up for him yet.” 

On top of that, suggesting Feemor would get him closer to getting Yoda to agree, since Feemor was Yoda’s Grandpadawan. 

Or should be, if Qui Gon hadn’t publicly disowned him. It was one of the biggest reasons Feemor had asked to train as a Shadow, instead of continuing on his Councilor path. 

Whether Feemor was still Yoda’s Grandpadawan by rights or by sentiment, Mace’s suggestion did the trick. 

Yoda nodded, slowly. 

Good. Trying to go against Yoda as council meetings was light trying to fight the tide. The Grand Master had much sway over the rest of them. 900 years of being with the Jedi would do that. 

“Very well. Send Knight Feemor after Initiate Kenobi, we will. Retrieve our lost Initiate, we must. Learn more about this ‘dark child’ too, we shall.”

No one disagreed. Mace took a data pad from Depa and started writing up new mission orders for Feemor, as well as arranging for his funding for the mission. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a long one, but the Force was tilting around them. New shatterpoints appeared and disappeared everyday. 

Only time would tell where the future would lead. 

Mace commed Feemor to come receive his new mission.  

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Three: Pestilence (Ignis x Reader) Chapter Fourteen

A/n: I know "Ring Around the Rosie" isn't really about the Black Plague, but I found the urban legend to be interesting and decided to incorporate it into my story. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

Minutes turned into hours as the royal retinue waited for anything to change. Gladio stood in the back of the cell, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. Noctis sat on the cold floor, legs stretched out in front of him. Ignis stood at the cell door, staring out at the elaborate setup of cameras and computers located across from their cell. A group of men sat in the chairs available as they worked while a few masked ones stood behind them. Prompto paced back and forth in the middle of the cell, running his hands through his blonde locks. "What're we gonna do?"

"There's nothing we can do," Gladio answered with a hint of annoyance.

"How long have we been here?" Noctis asked with a heavy sigh.

"Nearly an entire day," Ignis responded.

The raven-haired boy looked over at his advisor. "How did you figure that out?"

"The camera feeds are dated and time-stamped. Though, that does not include the time we were unconscious."

"We've gotta get outta here!" Prompto shouted, his sanity starting to fracture.

"Didn't you hear what the bastard said earlier? We're not going anywhere unless that door is opened," Gladio responded.

"Yeah, but how long will that be?" Noctis threw another question toward the brute.

Instead, Ignis was the one to answer. "(Y/n) is our only hope of absconding."

"What if she gives herself up to save us?" Prompto inquired. "We can't let this guy have her!"

"Stop yelling, Prompto," Noctis groaned.

"(Y/n) is a crafty individual. I highly doubt she'd give herself to Silas willingly," the advisor stated calmly.

After those final words, silence fell between the boys. Prompto continued to pace inside the cell until he was exhausted. Ignis kept his eyes glued to the camera feeds, searching for any sign of (Y/n). He knew she was formulating a plan that would involve her safety and theirs.

All of a sudden, he felt a warmth in his pocket. He reached down and pulled out the source of the warmth—the summoning orb. He hissed in pain when he felt the temperature of the artifact rise and burn his fingers through his gloves. He was forced to drop it and watched it fall as it clinked against the cement floor of the cell.

The white orb radiated brilliantly with an intense heat as it began wobbling back and forth. The others saw the glow and peered down at the floor beside Ignis' feet. "What's happening to the orb?" Prompto asked.

"Never seen it do that before," Noctis comments. He reaches out a hand toward it, able to feel the heat emitting from the artifact. When his hand hovered a few inches above it, he was startled when it started rolling around the cell in circles.

Once the orb circled them a few times, it suddenly ricocheted to the side and slammed into the cement wall. The force created a small indent in the wall, a few pieces of rubble falling to the floor as cracks spread outward from the center.

"What the hell...?" Gladio muttered as his eyes followed the orb. It slammed into the opposite wall, creating another indent.

"Do you think it's (Y/n)?" Prompto inquired. As that question slipped from his lips, the orb ceased moving and the bright light emanating from it extinguished.

"Looks like it's out of juice," Noctis commented.

Ignis plucked the orb off the floor and examined it. It was still warm to the touch, but it provided him with some comfort. He slid the artifact back into his pocket as Silas walked up to the cell for round two.

Unfortunately for the advisor, the leader of the Saints of the Apocalypse saw the orb before he could conceal it. "Hand over the orb," the highwayman commanded.

"Like hell we will," Gladio snarled, glaring at the man.

"You've no choice in the matter," Silas hissed back. "Hand it over. Now."

Ignis loathes the idea of handing over the orb, but he knew it was for the best. He took the artifact out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Iggy, what're you doing?!" Prompto wailed. "We can't hand it over!"

Before the strategist could answer, the orb leapt out of Silas' hand and through the bars. Once again, the artifact rolled across the floor in random patterns before bumping repeatedly against Ignis' shoe.

"What is the meaning of this?" Silas demanded, glaring at the tactician. The highwayman clicked his tongue as his eyes drifted toward the orb.

"It appears the orb is being controlled by an external force," he simply replied, eyes focused solely on the artifact.

Silas crosses his arms, deciding to hold back the insult he wished to hurl at the bespectacled man. "Regardless of the orb's strange behavior, I will have it in my grasp alongside Pestilence herself." Turning on his heels, the adversary sauntered off.

<—————<<<<<<

Another few hours zoomed by before the boys knew it. They became fidgety from the lack of freedom and grew anxious as time passed them by. They received a few visits from Silas, but all of them were taunts about how (Y/n) abandoned them. None of them were falling for his mockery, their trust in the Horseman unwavering.

When all was silent, the royal retinue and the men surrounding the multitude of screens heard a gentle, eerie humming. One of the men summoned Silas and reported what they were hearing. Noctis, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis gathered at the front of the cell, curious as to what was going on. They couldn't see the screens, but they could hear the audio the cameras were capturing.

Silas scanned the numerous of screens with his eyes, trying to locate the source of the humming. When he couldn't, he grew frustrated. "Find whoever is making that noise!"

One man sitting at the computer typed away, flipping from camera to camera. When he spotted a petite figure walking down a hallway, he swallowed in fear. "Sh-She's here," he announces in a quivering voice.

"Find her and bring her to me. Do anything necessary to capture her," Silas growled. The men, minus their boss, rush out of the room. He watched his lackeys with the cameras, making sure they would accomplish their task. As he pinpointed Pestilence's location, a group of men engaged. Before any of them could lay a finger on her, they collapsed. He listened to her haunting tone as she sang, stepping over the bodies of his men in the process.

"Ring-a-round the rosie..." She began, her voice filling the cameras' speakers. She walked down the hall, crushing one of the plague doctor masks with her bare foot. "A pocket full of posies..."

On the receiving end of the video feed, Silas gritted his teeth and slammed his hand against the keyboard. "Dammit!" He heard a deep chuckle from the cell and turned toward the boys with a threatening glare. "You think this is a laughing matter?"

"It is," Gladio retorts with another chuckle. "Looks like the tables are turning."

Silas relocates his fiery gaze back to the screens. He searched for (Y/n) and found her in a large room surrounded by a horde of his men. His frown morphed into a wide grin at seeing how outnumbered she was.

In the large room, (Y/n) glanced around at the men surrounding her. She stared into the hollow eyes of their masks before casting them a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ashes...Ashes..." Before they could pull the trigger on their firearms or swing their blades, they slowly began collapsing one by one. "We all...fall..." The last man crumpled to the floor, no more obstacles in her path. "Down."

An angry yell escaped Silas as he grabbed the keyboard, threw it at the screens, and shattered them. With the screens now destroyed, he nor the boys knew where Pestilence was. "It's not easy replacing men..."

"That is an issue you no longer will be facing."

The highwayman spun around and saw (Y/n) leaning against the wall beside the cell. His eyes widen in shock. "How did you...?"

Pestilence snapped her fingers and her summoning orb vanished from Ignis' pocket and appeared between her index finger and thumb. "Finding your headquarters was quite simple. The orb is a manifestation of memories from my previous life. Such a strong, personal bond between it and myself made for a simplistic and facile tracking device." The orb vanished, returning to Ignis' pocket.

Silas growled in annoyance, casting a fiery glare at the Horseman. He reached for his blade and gripped it tightly, his eyes never leaving (Y/n) for even a second. He charged forward, raising his blade in the air.

The girl acted quicker than Silas, summoning her chakrams and diving below the man's blade the second he swung it at her. She targeted his leg, swinging one of her curved blades. It ripped through his pants and sliced deeply into his skin. Due to the location and immense pain from the wound, he crumpled to a single knee and embedded his sword into the floor to support his body. He tried to fight through the pain as blood gushed from the deep gash in the back of his leg. "Damn you!"

(Y/n) gripped her chakrams tightly as she kept her back turned toward Silas. She debated mentally what she'd do with him and came to a gruesome conclusion. Spinning around, she threw one of her blades and watched it sail through the air. It felt as if time slowed down as the curved, sharp blade hit its mark, slicing the man's throat open. Blood spewed from Silas' neck as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding by tightly clutching his throat, gurgling and chocking on the crimson liquid.

With an emotionless expression, (Y/n) caught her chakram and shook the blood off the blade. She heard Silas curse her one last time before his body fell and became lifeless. Dispelling her weapons, she refused to meet the boys' gazes as she freed them from the cell. None of them said a word as she escorted them out of the Saints of the Apocalypse's headquarters.

When the royal retinue came to a halt after emerging from the seemingly abandoned building, they stared at Pestilence as she continued to walk away with her back turned to them.

"(Y/n)," Ignis shattered the silence. The girl stopped, but she refused to face him and the others. Her hands clenched into fists as they rested by her sides, waiting to hear what the tactician had to say. "Such tactics were necessary."

She immediately snapped back. "No. What I did is unforgivable. My judgement was clouded and I made the wrong decision. The proper procedure should've been Silas' capture, not his execution. That is not even the worst part." She grasped the fabric of her outfit, tugging on the material where it hugged her hips. "The worst part was forcing you four to watch such a gruesome sight. You should be furious with me, not seeking to comfort my wrongdoings."

"Your actions are justified," Ignis responds, his tone brimming with honesty and a small hint of determination.

Hearing his honesty made her heart ache. "No, they aren't. Forgive me, Ignis." With those final words, she vanished into thin air.

"(Y/n)..." Prompto muttered her name sorrowfully.

Noctis looked over at Ignis, who was staring at the spot Pestilence once stood. "We're going after her, right?"

"Car's over there," Gladio gestured to the Regalia. "We better get movin'. Who knows where she vanished to."

They headed over to the car and climbed inside. Prompto glanced into the backseat before looking at Ignis. "Where do you think she could've gone?"

"I'm uncertain of her exact whereabouts, but I do have a single destination in mind," the emerald-eyed boy responded as he started the car's engine before departing.

<———————<<<<<<

"Where are we going?" Prompto asked out of curiosity.

"Taelpar Crag," Ignis simply responded, eyes focused on the road. "The bridge where we first encountered (Y/n)."

"What makes you think she'll be there?" Noctis inquired, leaning forward slightly in the seat.

"It is the only location left on Eos with a connection to her previous life."

Gladio glanced out of the window, staring up at the gray sky as it began to drizzle. "You saw how she looked broken after killing Silas in front of us. Think you can keep her from doing something crazy, Iggy?"

The bespectacled man grasped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles and fingers straining under his unyielding grip. "Yes," he answers confidently.

The shield smirked. "Good answer."

The light drizzle morphed into a heavy downpour as the royal retinue reached their destination. Ignis pulled the car over and commanded the others to remain inside the vehicle. They didn't argue, which he was grateful they were able to understand and hopped out of the car. Through the rain, he spotted a familiar figure standing on the stone railing of the bridge. His once styled hair flattened as he felt the cold downpour soak his entire being. Pushing through the chill that overtook his body, he approached the Horseman.

"From here, the fall seems infinite. For me, it felt like seconds before my body and the car smashed against the bottom of the canyon," Ignis heard (Y/n) say through the heavy rainfall. Her back was turned to him, her eyes staring down into the canyon below. "I cherished Raiden will all my heart, but I am the cause of his death. It seems the only thing I can do right is kill people."

"You're speaking irrationally, (Y/n)," Ignis said as he came to a halt a few feet away from her.

"Am I?" She asked with a scoff, not even sparing the advisor a single glance. "You've seen me slaughter men left and right without even blinking. It seems King Aeshema was correct in choosing me as Pestilence. Like a plague, I kill everyone around me. You may be the next name I will reluctantly have to add to the obituary."

"This is nonsense," Ignis sighed in disbelief. He couldn't bear listening to her, especially since he knew what was coming next. This was the same behavior she displayed atop the lighthouse at Cape Caem. He had prayed to the Astrals in hopes his words would've reached her, but killing Silas seemed to trigger something deeper inside her. Taking a few steps closer, he reached out to grab her arm. "Let us return to Caem and place this behind us."

Pestilence stepped out of his reach and closer to the edge of the stone railing. "You may be able to put the past behind you, but I cannot. My past has been haunting me for 80 years. I have made myriads of mistakes and it seems tagging along with you and the others was another one. All I've done is brought bloodshed and nothing else." She lifted her head and finally met his gaze, her (e/c) eyes completely emotionless. "This is farewell, Ignis."

[logicalbookthief]

ʌ: for clown movie

^: comfort after a nightmare

Wow this took a lot longer than I thought, I apologize! Work has been blegh lately and my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I thank you for the prompt and hope you enjoy!

It’s a sort of sequel to my fic “Placebo” that isn’t necessary to read before this but would definitely help. All you really need to know is that it takes place in a universe where Eddie is Carrie White’s cousin and has the same telekinetic powers. 

*

*

"I'm not afraid." 

For once, it’s the truth. Eddie has never felt more powerful than he does here, among the ruins of It’s hiding place, where It lurked for centuries, millennia, gnawing on the bones of children, biding its time for the day It would feed again. The memory of this place terrified him for years-- even when he couldn’t remember, the fear was embedded in his mind. 

Now it’s shattering under the strength of Eddie’s will, destroyed by the sheer force of his mind, and the feeling is-- he can’t describe--

The weak, shriveled form of the clown tries to rally. Eddie squares his jaw, focuses on pinning It down, harder, merciless, refusing to give an inch. "I’m not afraid,” he repeats, the taste of blood in his mouth, hot as it slips down his face. “Not of you." 

The clown laughs-- it’s a raspy, death rattle. Still, Eddie tenses, a sense of doubt creeping past the smolder of anger, the self-righteous flaring through his whole body. 

"Even now I can feel it, that delicious reek of fear,” It smirks, a lopsided grimace turned smug. “Not of me, no. I already know what you are.” 

Gulping, Eddie falters. Only for a moment, the flare dousing to a mere spark. 

"I’ve always known,” It croaks, hoarse and almost unheard above the sound of the cavern as it crumbles. “But do they know, Eddie?” 

Carrie, her hair a tangled mass of flames, her dress a flowing wave of red. Her eyes are nearly electric, a frenzied flash of light that-- and, suddenly, Eddie’s staring at a reflection of himself, manic and panting, bathed in the blood of his tormentor.

“Do they know what you are?”

Eddie springs up, dislodging the sheets curled around his body, gasping for the air caught in his throat. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage, trying to claw out from under the heavy weight atop his chest.

Beside of him in bed, Richie stirs with a low, drowsy groan. Ridiculously long legs disentangle under the blanket. He’s amazed they manage to fit together most nights, what with how much of Richie there is to fit, and how Eddie tends to sprawl if not contained by his boyfriend's octopus-like embrace.

His boyfriend. Now there’s a word he never thought he’d be able to use sincerely. However, there’s no mistaking the realness of Richie as he shifts closer in search of Eddie, even in his half-asleep state.  

"Eds?" he calls in that scratchy voice reserved for the early hours of the morning. Frankly, a freshly-woken Richie is a sight to behold. Even as kids waking up in the Denbroughs’ den, Eddie’s guilty pleasure was waking before his best friend so as to catch a glimpse of Richie as he roused. 

With his glasses askew, his tousled hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted in the memory of a snore. As an adult, the sight’s no less appealing -- if anything, that half-lidded gaze staggers him more, now that he’s aware of the soft, unguarded affection that lingers behind it.

"You okay?" Richie persists, squinting without his glasses.

"Mhm," Eddie replies, muffled by his fingers as they scrub at his face, clearing the remnants of the nightmare.

Unconvinced, Richie struggles into a sitting position. Propped against the headboard, he sizes up Eddie far too easily for someone who can barely see. "Bad dream?" 

Too exhausted to form an answer, Eddie slumps backwards, colliding with Richie’s chest. Flush against each other, he can hear Richie’s breath stutter over the shell of his ear. Six months since Eddie moved in to Richie’s sunny LA apartment, the Derry hospital discharge band still around his wrist and Bev’s divorce lawyer saved to his phone, and sometimes they forget that this is allowed -- this closeness. This idea they can finally have what they want and not be hurt by it, by anyone.

Loving Richie is muscle memory, so natural it may as well be encoded in his DNA. Knowing that he has Richie, and can love Richie freely without hiding who he is, well-- that’s still a wonder, no matter how often Richie whispers the words against his skin. 

Eddie knows this, not only in his mind but in his heart, and yet... He’s perplexed. Besides the Losers, he’s never known a love without conditions. A love that wasn’t dependent on his willingness, his obedience. It’s easy with Richie and harder for the same reason. 

Once it registers that he’s got an lapful of a boyfriend, Richie winds an arm around Eddie and crushes him to the broad expanse of his chest. Hooks his chin over his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek like an over-excited dog. 

“Baby, you’re kind of warm,” he murmurs, two-days worth of stubble scraping fondly over Eddie’s cheek.

The attention sends a shiver down his spine, but it ends in a shudder as Eddie remembers the heat of the flames as they licked his face, smoke curling into his lungs. Was it his face -- or hers? -- the fire a distant heat compared to the warm blood soaking her dress, her clothes, eyes listless as they carnage rages around her, the destruction she -- or he, was it him? -- the cavern collapsing around him as It huffed out its last, dismal breath--

His lungs expand, vainly searching for space to breathe. Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s hold, trying to hide the desperate beat of his pulse. “Fucking California heat,” he mumbles, evasively. “Has me all.. Sweaty.”

New York contains many, many years worth of bad memories, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s the cold nights. Though if he had to choose between the lonely dark of the guestroom where he slept instead of aside his wife or the comfort of Richie’s bed -- well, that’s hardly even a question.

“Did you wanna, ah..."  Flummoxed, Richie wavers over his next words. "Talk?"

It's a song and dance they've done before. A sliver of guilt pierces Eddie through the shields he’s barricaded around this particular issue. How many times has he startled awake and dragged Richie out of sleep -- and then, to add insult to injury, decline the invitation to talk?  

After Richie barred his soul and revealed the initials he carved into the Kissing Bridge, despite the threat of bullies and rejection, it seems hypocritical to keeps his darkest secrets under lock and key. 

Not for the first time, Eddie aches for his pills. He’s kicked the habit, endured the worst of the withdrawal, bears the occasional migraine with no complaint. But in moments like these the urge is almost too much to ignore. 

You’ll feel better, Dr. Silas cajoles, a venomous promise in his ear. Don’t you want to be normal?

It triggers a memory-- the pills in his palm, his mouth parted to swallow, but the desperation of Richie’s screams, the horror in the eyes of his friends. No, Eddie snaps. Of course he wants to be normal. Wants to have a normal life with his boyfriend. 

But he wants it to be real. No more placebos.

"Oh-kay. If you’re sure," Richie sounds uncertain, but he’s unwilling to cross the boundaries Eddie has firmly set. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him for that. "Then it’s back to bed with you, guvnah!”

Usually the British voice anywhere near the vicinity of their bed drew a protest from Eddie -- it catches in his throat when Richie him swings him flat on his back, the bulk of his body sprawled between Eddie’s legs. He blushes to the roots of his hair, clutching at the wide expanse of Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin and the tendons of muscle underneath. 

If he scowls, it’s a dismal attempt to hide how hopelessly turned on he is by every aspect of this ridiculous man.

"Otherwise, you'll be bitchy as fuck for the flight tomorrow.” His sigh blows against Eddie's hair. "And you know how much that turns me on."

Eddie sputters.

"God, you ever travel for upwards of six hours with a boner? Would not recommend, 0/10."

"Rich!" he scolds, which is hard to do when you're spasming with laughter.

"Unless," Richie continues, slyly, "Eds, you minx. You want to join the Mile-High club with me?"

"Richie," Eddie coughs, truly on his way to a ruptured lung. Hopelessly fond as he orders, "Shut up and go to sleep."

He waits until the chuckles peter out, eventually replaced by soft, even breaths. Carefully, Eddie twists out of Richie’s embrace. The soles of his slippers drag along the carpet as he shuffles to the kitchen.

The piles of dishes Richie convinced him to leave for later in favor of more amorous activities -- and to be perfectly honest, Eddie was easy to convince -- sits in the sink. Picking up the dish soap, Eddie figures he may as well be proactive in his insomnia.

Aunt Margaret used to say, Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. It was maybe the single coherent, non-hateful advice she ever gave. 

He’s halfway through the mess and elbow deep in sudsy water when Richie wanders in, stretching. “I thought we had an agreement,” he yawns. “Whoever isn’t accosted by trauma-fueled nightmares gets to make breakfast.”

Ducking his head around a smile, Eddie shrugs. “Too restless to sleep. The thought of you forgetting to pack underwear on this trip haunted my dreams.”

"Ooh, say that again," Richie moans, slotting their hips together from behind. Despite his playful tone, Eddie feels the half-stir of morning wood. "Slower this time."

Eddie shoves playfully at his chin. "Seriously," he huffs. "Our flight's only in a couple of hours and I know you haven't finished packing!"

"Our flight's in eight hours," Richie points out, which is met by a dubious eyebrow raise. "That is plenty of--"

"How many pairs of underwear do you currently have in your suitcase?"

There’s a long, unconscionable pause. 

"Fuck!" Richie snaps his fingers. "Knew there was something I forgot."

One of those rare instances where he isn't joking.

"You're pushing me toward an asthma attack," Eddie deadpans. "Please go pack."

Richie leaves a wet, slobbering kiss on his cheek that Eddie only half-pretends to hate. “Anything you say, darling."

Once he’s gone, Eddie can focus at the task at hand. He glances sidelong at a coffee mug that’s slightly out of reach. Retrieving it isn’t a hassle so much as an inconvenience, since his hands are damp with dishwater and the closest rag is across the room. 

You could do it another way, reminds the quiet voice in back of his head that Eddie’s spent the last twenty-years trying to suppress. Long before that, really. Since the day his mother told him what his cousin-- what Eddie was. 

Do you know what you are?

Eddie bristles. Fuck that clown. Fuck the idea that It has any lingering sway over his life. His mother, too. And those doctors, all those doctors and their tests, their experiments, their pills. Nobody can choose for him anymore. He’s in control of his life. 

Despite this conviction, Eddie dawdles. Strains his ears. He can hear Richie clunking around in their bedroom, a safe distance away. I’m alone, he thinks bracingly. I’m alone, so there’s no harm in...

He shuts his eyes, concentrating. The mug rattles, as though gently prodded by an unseen force. Slowly, carefully, Eddie relinquishes the vice-like grip of the leash wrapped tight around his mind, bit by bit. 

The mug slides along the counter, until it hovers over the edge. It does not fall. Eddie feels a prick of satisfaction tingle at the base of his neck.

I’m not afraid, Eddie thinks with a rush of spite. Remembering his dream, the clown’s laughter a fresh in his memory, he pushes the mug faster. I am not--

"Hey, Eds, did you-?"

The mug smashes against the ground, shattering. Pieces fly out, scattering across the floor. All sharp edges.

"Shit!" Eddie panics. "Don't step over here, the shards–"

Hastily, he reaches for a handful of glass, as if cleaning up the evidence will hide what he’s done.

What were you thinking, you freak? You could've hurt him or--

"Eddie.” That’s Richie's voice calling to him, soft and urgent. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll--” He’s babbling, the words choked, constricted, while sweat pools at the base of his neck and his hands shake with the effort to shove it all down, deep, deep down where nobody can see-- 

"Eddie!" Richie shouts. His face comes into focus near inches from his, eyes, wild with worry. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, see? Just a stupid mess.”

A mess you made, Eddie thinks viciously. Now he's seen, he's seen and he'll run, he'll leave, because you're a–

"C'mon, Eds,” Richie murmurs, both a plea and a demand. Trembling fingers tangle with his own, the bite of Richie’s knuckles as he presses their palms against his ribcage steadying Eddie in the present. “You've got to breathe for me.”

Only then does Eddie realize how rapidly it’s rising, and how difficult it is to inhale. Buoyed by the constant stream of Richie’s assurances, Eddie begins to count his breaths, focuses on the movement of his and Richie’s hands as he breathes once twice, in and out. He judges his success by the tightness of Richie’s frown. 

"Sorry," Eddie croaks once he can speak again. It feels as if the shards are lodged in his throat.

"Don't apologize," says Richie, a furrow nestling between his brows. He keeps his tone level, likely more worried than he lets on, but the lack of panic is what’s grounding Eddie and he’s appreciates it more than words will convey. "Do you need me to-- What do you need?”

Eddie shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites down on the tide of pleas that threaten to overwhelm him. You, I need you. I need you not to leave me once you figure out what I am.

"You know I don't care if you use your Matilda whammy." Richie makes a show of squinting his eyes. Eddie chokes on a stilted laugh. Richie seems to sag in relief 

"It doesn’t change a thing for me,” he reminds, nudging Eddie softly. “You understand, right?" 

Eddie swallows, thickly. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, the reply burrowed into Richie's chest. He kisses his clavicle once, twice in gratitude.

"What were you going to ask before?"

"Uh," Richie hedges. "Do you know where all my clean underwear is?"

Again, Eddie laughs. Helplessly. "Fucking Christ, Rich, I told you: a man needs more than seven pairs of underwear."

"I resent that. I have more," Richie sniffs. "They're just not as sexy as my gluteus maximoose pair. Which, as you know, I reserve for all special occasions."

"You're fucking ridiculous, is what you are," Eddie chuckles. "I'll fold the laundry after I clean this up."

"Let me do that,” Richie insists, shooing him toward the bedroom. “You can shower first.”

Chewing his lip, Eddie hesitates.

"Are you wearing shoes?" Richie gestures impatiently at his moccasins. "Alright... Just be careful with the glass."

“Like you were?” Catching Eddie by the wrist, Richie frowns down at his palm. A thin slice below his thumb, the blood a steady ooze. 

"Oh," says Eddie, woozily. The prick of pain didn't even register. "I'll go, um. Wash this in the bathroom."

He ignores the feeling of Richie’s eyes on his back as he hustles the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He’s ignored a lot of things, lately. 

The familiar yet nameless numbers on the cellphone he ultimately chucked. The decreasing amount of frantic calls from his ex-wife. The urge to tell Richie and the Losers every awful truth Eddie’s spent his entire adult life burying so deep that not even he has to confront it, ever.

At the sink, Eddie avoids his own reflection. Under the spray of water, the blood washes off effortlessly. As if it never happened. Wash your hands, Eddie. Like a good boy. His mother always repeated the order, ad nauseam. Like if he scrubbed hard enough, it would be as if the all the dirty, unclean parts of him she feared had never existed. 

For all her lies, Eddie wishes it was that easy. 

[the-sweetest-dragon]

Buttercups and a Deal

Pairing: Jason Todd x Barbara Gordon

Word Count: 2027

Summary: Barbara knows Jason isn’t ready for a relationship, but it can’t hurt to give in for once.

Warnings: Mentions of death and being shot.  

AN: I hope this is good, because I really love this idea.  This is Jason and Babs first and only date and I think it went relatively well.  A huge thank you to @incorrectbatfamiliaquotes for the idea, and to @audder17 for proofreading it for me!

Tags: @incorrectbatfamiliaquotes

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  Barbara wasn’t sure how she managed to get herself into this situation.  Sure, her life had always been somewhat crazy and it was certainly complicated.  Being Batgirl and then everything that had come after that decision… things weren’t easy.  Nearly dying changed a lot about a person, and no one knew that better than her.  

Soft music played in the background of the small cafe, something Babs didn’t recognize.  The cafe sat in the better part of Gotham, a place where many college kids came to sit and study during the school year.  Babs herself used to sit here with her college friends but now… things were definitely different.  Barbara pushed her glasses back up her nose and sipped her tea, glancing at the menu sat before her on the table.  She had specifically asked for a table, and the waitstaff had barely bat an eye at her in her wheelchair.  They made the necessary adjustments to one of their tables and she allowed them to help her roll up close to it.  

Now, you may be asking yourself, why was Babs there?  Jason had called her yesterday, and had blurted out the one thing she had never thought she’d hear come out of his mouth.

“Wanna go on a date with me?”

To say that she was shocked was an understatement.  Jason had been slowly getting better these past few months, and Babs knew that she had helped him a lot, but him liking her in a romantic way had been a bit crazy to think about.  In a daze, she had agreed to one (1) date, and now that she was here, Babs wasn’t sure how to feel about it.  She had been excited that morning; Babs hadn’t dated anyone in a very long time.  It was hard to find someone that didn’t care about the wheelchair or how she got put into it.  The more Babs thought about it, the more she warmed up to the idea.  

Babs took another sip of her tea, and sat up a little straighter when she spotted Jason walking through the front door.  He was carrying a small bouquet of flowers and Barbara couldn’t help but smile.  Jason caught her eye, smiled, and walked towards her.  He placed the flowers down on the table and Babs finally took note of how good looking Jason really was.  Jason was very striking, what with his piercing green eyes and jet black hair.  He’d filled out these last few years, and he towered over Barbara in a way that felt protective rather than menacing.  

Jason finally sat down and smiled confidently at Babs.  He had dreamed of this moment for a few months now and finally built up the courage to ask her out yesterday.  It had been a long time coming; he had spent a long time convincing himself that it wasn’t wrong to find Babs attractive.  And she really was very attractive, and strong, and caring, and… Jason snapped himself out of whatever thought process he was slipping into when he’s around her. 

“Hey, Barbie.  How long have you been sitting here?”  Her answering smile would have knocked him off his feet if he’d been standing.  His heart fluttered in his chest and Jason could feel his face heating up.  He’d been feeling like this for a few weeks now, and finally he was here.  

“Not long, a few minutes maybe.  What took you so long, Jay?”  Her eyes crinkled with mischief and Jason allowed himself to admire her for a few moments.  Babs raised an eyebrow, catching him staring.  His cheeks heated up slightly and he cleared his throat.

“Joan refused to let me leave.  I finally had to ask Kor’i to take her on a walk so I could escape.”  Babs laughed; Joan was a very needy puppy but Jason was doing wonderfully with her.  His whole team had taken a shining to the small pitt as well, it seemed.  Jason had sent her a picture of tiny Lian Harper curled up next to the pup, fast asleep, and Babs heart had ached from the cuteness. 

Barbara eyed the flowers sitting on the table, unsure as to what kind they were.  Babs was incredibly intelligent, but flower names had never been her forte.  Jason caught her looking at them and shot her an awkward smile, something she hadn’t ever seen before.  Jason was rarely awkward; on the contrary, he typically exuded confidence in every part of his life.  

“They’re Ranunculus’, or specifically, buttercups,”  Babs tilted her head in confusion and Jason continued,  “In the Victorian era, receiving one meant the giver thought the lady charming and attractive.  I read it in a book I found…”  Barbara bit back a smile; this confirmed the thoughts she had been having these last few weeks.  She noted the slight redness on his neck, knowing that he must be flustered.

Jason thought she was attractive.  It took her a few minutes to wrap her head around the idea, but Babs found that she enjoyed him thinking so.  Barbara hadn’t felt attractive since… well, since Joker had shot her.  The wheelchair didn’t help matters.  Men seemed to want to baby her more now than they ever had before, and Babs hated it.  She hated being coddled.  Suddenly, the thought of dating Jason was really tempting.  Jason wouldn’t coddle her or try to make her feel bad; in fact, she felt more confident with him than she ever had with anyone else.  He’d never told her that she couldn’t do something just because she was in a wheelchair.  In fact, he encouraged her to do things when no one else thought she could.  His confidence in her made her feel good again, like she wasn’t broken or missing a piece of herself.  

Babs reached across the table and grasped one of Jason’s huge hands in her significantly smaller one.  Jason felt his heart beat faster from the contact.  He smiled, nervous for once in his life.  Barbara hadn’t always had this effect on him, but in recent weeks he’d started seeing her in a different light.  He wasn’t sure when things had started to shift but Jason knew that his feelings felt different now.  Jason had felt this way before, several times, but he still wanted to try with Babs.  

“Hiya folks!  What can I get ya to eat?”  Jason looked up at the perky waitress, noting the bags under her eyes and the droop of her smile.  The poor thing was exhausted and Jason felt for her.  He handed her a twenty and watched her face become confused.

“I’d like a black coffee, and get one for yourself, too.  You look like you need it.”  The waitress tried to hand him back the twenty, but Jason refused.  Eventually, and with a small smile, the waitress went back to the counter to pour coffee into two mugs.  She came back a few minutes later with Jason’s coffee.  “Thank you…” he eyed her name tag for a moment.  “Kay.”  He smiled at her, making the waitress blush and walk away quickly.

Barbara shook her head and took another drink of her tea.  Jason had always been a generous person, always willing to share himself with people.  For a long time, that Jason seemed far away, but he was slowly returning to the one everyone loved and remembered (?).  His spot in the family had been cemented in place; no one was ever going to replace him again.  Barbara was ecstatic to have him back and acting like his old self again, but she knew it wasn’t always easy for him to be around certain people.  Tim and Stephanie kept to themselves, which was made easier by the arrival of little Silas.  Barbara knew Jason found it hard to be around them, but she also knew it would be easier for him to fully recover once he came to terms with how he felt about the couple.  

Jason turned his full attention back to Barbara.  He noticed the slight amount of makeup on her face and smiled to himself.  Babs never wore makeup.  Maybe she was just as into him, as he was into her.  The thought made him incredibly happy; while new, his feelings for her felt serious and good.  It had been a long time since Jason had felt good.  Babs just felt… right, for whatever reason.  They had a scary amount of things in common, and talking with her had probably saved his life.   

“So, what made you decide to ask me out, Jaybird?”  Jason took a deep breath, wondering how much he should tell her.  He didn’t want to scare her away, but he also didn’t want to ruin their friendship either.  

“I realized a few weeks ago that my feelings had changed and I thought, why not try my luck.”  Jason smiled and Babs felt her face heat up a bit.  She hadn’t felt like this in a while, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel this way again.  “I find you really attractive, and intelligent, and kind, and I really just wanted to explore these feelings before I swept them under a rug.  You deserve someone a lot better than-” 

Barbara cut him off with a stern look and Jason immediately shut up.  She squeezed his hand, her nails digging into the flesh of his palm.  He calmed slightly at the reassuring gesture, something they had been doing for months now.  She had gotten into the habit of squeezing his hand right before he fell off the deep end and into a place he couldn’t get back from.  It was one of the many reasons Jason had started having feelings for her.

“Don’t say that, Jaybird.  We both know you’re an absolute catch.”  Jason chuckled, making Babs join in.  Jason’s laughter was infectious and always made the people around him happy.  He always managed to make any room that much brighter by just being in it.  

Babs came to the conclusion she had feelings towards him, but also knew that now wasn’t the best time for him to be in a relationship.  Jason was still recovering from being dead and coming back; Barbara didn’t want to rush this just to have it end in tears.  It wasn’t fair to him if she pushed him into a relationship that only she was ready for.  So, she decided to make a deal with him.  It was something that she wouldn’t normally say, or even think about, but something about Jason set her soul on fire.  She wanted to pursue this, but he wasn’t ready, even if he said he was.

“I’ll make you a deal okay?”  Jason nodded, waiting for her to speak again.  Almost like an eager puppy, waiting for a treat.  Babs laughed quietly at the thought.  “If we’re both single by the time you reach 38, we’ll try this again.”  Jason opened his mouth to protest but Babs just squeezed his hand again before continuing.  “You’re still recovering, and I’m not going anywhere.  Trust me when I say your recovery needs to be the most important thing to you right now.  Not starting a new relationship.”  Babs rubbed her thumb over the scars on his hand, feeling proud when he didn’t flinch at the touch.  

“I just really like you, Barbie,” he whispered.  Jason watched Babs bite her lower lip and look away.  Jason was overcome with the urge to kiss her but held himself back.  Now wasn’t the time for romantic gestures.  Jason sighed and ran his free hand through his hair before smiling at her.  “I’ll take you up on that deal.”

Jason watched as Barbara’s entire demeanor changed; sunshine poured out of her face and Jason couldn’t help but admire the woman she’d become.  Before he died, she was in her mid twenties.  Now, she was in her mid thirties and looked amazing.  The only signs of her age were the beginnings of smile lines around her mouth, something that made Jason happy.  She’d been through a lot during her life and those smile lines proved how strong she really was.  

“I like you too Jason.”

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine your first Christmas while dating a member of the Justice League (Alternate Endings)

Requested by: Anonymous

Christmas was always a big thing to you when you were little. Waking up, going into the living room and seeing the ribbons on presents sparkle with the lights on the Christmas tree was a magical experience. And then the impatience when your parents would make you eat your breakfast first, and you would squirm as you took the biggest mouthfuls, just to get it down quicker. The radio softly playing Jingle Bells when you opened the first gift of the year ... It faded as you grew older. Christmas was embarrassing when you were a teenager, and nearly forgotten about when you were an adult. But now that you reached your six month anniversary with the most amazing person that you could imagine - you knew you had to attempt to bring back some of the magic.

Arthur Curry

There was only one town that Arthur felt comfortable in, and that was the small town in Iceland where he would occasionally surface and drink his fill of whiskey. That meant that you had to go to him, rather than hope that he would come to you. You rented a small house in the town, and made it your second home so that you could be close to him, and it was here that you had decorated everything to fit with the Christmas season.

While Arthur was in the water, doing whatever it was that he did down there, you dragged a pine tree into the house on your own, cursing at the needles that were now all over the wooden floor, but decided to throw them into the fire that was lit in the fireplace to add more of that fresh winter smell that you associated with the season.

The only problem with the tree is that you couldn’t quite reach the top of it to put the star. It was just a small, store bought star that was very impersonal but flying your decorations from home would cost more money than you were willing to put into it. Not everyone could be as rich as Bruce Wayne, after all.

You made do with the tinsel, and the ornaments that you found in the general store. You didn’t understand what any of the words meant, since you barely spoke Icelandic, but attempting to say them as you hung them on the tree was amusing enough for you. Once again, you tried at the star at the top of the tree, pulling a chair from the kitchen into the living room and standing on it but alas - the tree and the roof were both much too tall for you to manage.

“What are you doing?” A gruff voice from the door caught your attention. A gusty wind, complete with thick snowflakes, blew into the room, making you feel chilly despite the fireplace being close to you.

“Putting the star in the tree, what does it look like?” You huffed, and stood on your tiptoes, reaching towards the trunk of the tree to keep your balance.

Arthur chuckled and stepped inside, finally closing and latching the door behind him. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas next week? I have to get you a waterproof watch or something - that’s an idea.” You were getting close - the star was almost attached but you slipped. Instead of finding yourself on the floor, two strong hands were around your waist, keeping you raised up. You looked at Arthur’s face, who averted his eyes to the lopsided, half-hanging star.

“Are you going to put it on or what?” He asked. You smiled and guided him to lift you a little higher so you could fix it, and then let him bring you down to the ground.

“There, now we can put up stockings. This one is yours. I don’t know what it says but it looks manly.” You let go of him and grabbed the larger stocking, which was a deep green with white trim, while the one you got for yourself was magenta. On his was written ‘Pabbi.’

Arthur looked at it and looked at you affectionately, with a grin on his face. “I’m your Daddy now, am I?” He asked with an eyebrow cocked.

Barry Allen

Barry had always been particular about his things. Only after two months of dating did he feel comfortable enough to let you sit in his second favorite chair rather than a bean bag that he hardly ever used and sat moldering in the corner.After four months of dating, he made you an account on his gaming consoles and let you play when he was there, but he kept them firmly shut off when he wasn’t. Now, at six months - you were going to force his hand a little bit and hope that it worked out well for the both of you.

On Christmas day, Barry went to go and see his dad, and let you stay alone in his little hideout, with the promise that you wouldn’t go out and leave it unlocked and exposed. You put your hand over your heart and agreed to those terms, then Barry rushed on out to the prison. You speed-dialled Bruce, who was number three on your phone after Barry and Alfred, and your Christmas gift to Barry arrived in record time.

A couple of things had to be moved, but you did everything so carefully that not only was nothing broken, you managed not to smudge anything with your fingerprints. You promised Bruce a favor in return, then put on the last few finishing touches in the room by wearing a Santa hat, and adding some tinsel to the top of the TVs, and a large bow on top of the new present.

An hour after he left, Barry returned, but the surprise swept him off his feet - literally. He clumsily slid halfway across the room, wearing out the soles of his shoes almost instantly. “What’s - what’s this?” He asked, his hands on his shiny new gift.

You made a deal with Bruce. In exchange for the fixed up wreck of one of his batmobiles, nonfunctioning of course because Barrie did like buttons a little too much, you would owe him a favor of his choosing. Anything as long as it didn’t involve hurting Barry, of course.

The Batmobile didn’t have wheels, nor did it have the top so it was a convertable style. Barry jumped right on in, and looked as excited as he did when he first ran around in Bruce’s Batcave, looking at everything.

“It’s your new favorite chair. I hope you like it.” You said, leaning over the hood, balancing yourself on your elbows and looked through the windshield. “I did have to move a few things but I can help you find new places for them.”

“I love it!” Barry said, putting his hands on the steering wheel and then honked the horn, making you jump slightly from the startling noise.

“Merry Christmas.” You said, once you collected your nerves.

“Merry Christmas.” Barry said, hands still on the wheel.

Diana Price

Diana was working late at the museum, though she could have taken the day off if she had wanted to. Though she had been away from her home island for decades, she still did not have a grasp on Christmas and why it was important to people. She preferred to just continue working, and treat it like just another day.

You, however, were the opposite. You took the whole week off, from Christmas Eve to New Years day. You told Bruce that unless it was actually life and death of the planet, not to give you a call because you did not feel like swooping in and saving the day when you could be at home in an ugly knitted Christmas sweater, drinking hot chocolate with festive marshmallows.

In the sleek Paris penthouse with the view of the Siene, you were playing your favorite Christmas movies on the tv. You were just coming up to the end of the Polar Express and were browsing what you should pick next when Diana finally came home. It appears even Wonder Woman could get cold, for she kept herself huddled in her black faux-fur coat.

“You’re just in time - Elf or The Grinch?” You asked, holding up the two DVDs for her to pick one. She took off her shoes and glanced over, her eyes barely taking in the bright colors of the movie covers.

“What is a ... grinch?” She asked, trodding over in her bare feet to take a closer look at the green creature.

“I know you’ve never done the whole Christmas thing but the Grinch? You’ve never seen the Grinch?” You said in dismay. You popped open the case and slid it into the DVD player, cutting off the Polar Express early. You knew how it ended, it didn’t matter if you missed it. “Come on, get comfy, have some of my hot chocolate.”

Diana joined you with curiosity, and during the movie, she was on the edge of her seat. The colors of the animation were so vibrant, she couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Colors that would be garish in the museum she worked in but fir perfectly in the film! Her hand went over her heart at the end, when everything turned out to be just fine. You had spent more time taking in her reaction than you had watching the movie.

“That was the grinch.” You grinned when it was over. “What did you think?”

“This grinch ... he was bad but he became good. I like that.” Diana smiled. “Now ... what is Elf?”

Victor Stone

“Victor, it’ll be fun, please? You’re the only one I know who could figure something like this out.” You used your best puppy dog pout, and held onto the string of Christmas lights that you had draped around Victor’s shoulders. Just from touching him, the lights were turned on despite them not being plugged into an electrical outlet. “If you’re not going to do it for me, then do it for your dad.”

Victor would do anything for you - if he thought that it was worth his time. It wasn’t that he was arrogant, he just had many other things that he would rather be doing, like research against the enemies of the Justice League. He was literally built for hacking at this point, and could be doing a lot of good. But corresponding up the Christmas lights to shine and shut off to the rhythm of Jingle Bell Rock?

“Victor...” You said, seeing how much he was thinking about it. “This is our first Christmas together, the three of us. We can make things feel ... comfortable.”

Victor inhaled sharply but then breathed out slowly. “Fine.” He muttered.

“Thank you!” You stood on your tiptoes so you would be able to reach his still-human cheek and press a kiss onto it. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, text your dad, will you?”

You left him to go into the kitchen of the apartment that the Stone men shared. Silas Stone had managed to find the recipe book that his late-wife had put together using magazine recipes cut and pasted right in. The perfect Christmas Turkey, the creamiest mashed potatoes, the stuffing with the most fiber - it was all here and you did all that you could to make the meal just as she would have. You wanted to make her proud, despite not knowing her.

As you set the table, you checked on the lights that Victor had programmed. It had only taken him a solid two minutes to do it. You pressed play on the CD player, and the lights started to flicker. It brought more joviality to the room. You were missing a Christmas tree, but the lights would have to do.

“Smells good in here!” Silas said, coming home from STAR Labs, rubbing his hands together to eliminate the last traces of cold. “Is that Jingle Bell Rock?”

“Sure is.” You grinned, setting the turkey down on the table. Never in your life have you felt like you were a part of a family like this. It was peaceful, it was happy, and you weren’t going to let anything bring you or the Stone men down today. “Victor did a great job with the lights. Do you want to do the honors of carving the turkey?”

Victor, who had been in his own head looking at Arkham files of someone he had been hearing about, turned to look over at you and his father, eye brightly glowing. It never scared you away, how much of him had been replaced by robotics. You knew the Victor Stone that was within. You softened him up with a smile and pulled a chair out for him.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Victor said, finally giving in, shutting the majority of his programs down so that his full focus would be on his family for the night.

Clark Kent

“I think that’s the one we need, right there.” You said, stopping in front of one of the larger trees in the lot. “That’s going to fit a lot of ornaments, don’t you think cutie?” You asked, looking up at Clark who stood behind you and adjusted his glasses.

He took a good look at it then smiled. “If you think that’s the one - then it’s the one.” He agreed with you, and called over the owner of the lot to purchase it. Once he took the payment, he scrambled off so he wouldn’t have to offer to help carry it out of the array of other trees and bring it to the parking lot.

“It’s not going to fit in the truck, is it?” You asked, realizing that only after it had been paid for. You pursed your lips and tried to think of a solution to the problem. You could only think of one, and it meant looking up at Clark with a hopeful expression on your face.

He didn’t need to hear your words to know what you were thinking. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he picked up the tree as if it were a light, fake one, and rested it against his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there?” He asked.

“Meet you there.” You confirmed, and kissed him on the cheek. Looking around one more time, Clark held tight to the tree then jumped into the air. Unlike most men, he didn’t come back to the ground right away, but rather flew in the direction of Metropolis Children’s Hospital.

You slipped out of the lot and got into Clark’s truck and followed the man in the sky, looking up whenever you were at a red light or a stop sign to see if you could still spot him. He was much faster in the skies than you were on the ground, so of course he managed to beat you there.

When you walked into the lobby, Clark was standing near the tree, but there were a good dozen children between him and it. When you approached, he put his arm around you and together, you took in the happy little faces of the children. “They had a special donation from Superman this year.” Clark announced. “Heard it from one of the nurses when I got here.”

“Wow! What lucky children.” You said, pretending to be amazed. “You know what - I think that the ornaments that you kids made last week would go perfectly on this new tree, what do you think?”

The kids all cheered, and nurses came forward to take the sicker ones in wheelchairs back to their rooms to collect the paper ornaments that they had made days before in an attempt to bring about the Christmas spirit. You wrapped your arms around Clark, and pressed your cheek against his chest.

“Thanks for doing this for me.” You muttered so that no one else would hear.

“It was your idea.” Clark said. Being a nurse in the Children’s Hospital wasn’t easy, but you wanted to bring joy, life and festivity into the halls, and having a superhero bring in a Christmas Tree was the best idea that you had in a long time. Seeing those smiles was worth the price, and Clark’s cold flight. His jacket was still damp from the falling snow, but you didn’t care - he was warm underneath.

“Merry Christmas.” You said, hugging him tighter.

“Merry Christmas. Now let’s go see what other ornaments we can find.” Clark said, shuffling along the hallways with you still holding on.

Bruce Wayne

Being with Bruce had meant that you had to get used to the glitz and glamour that came with being a celebrity’s partner. The three hairdressers working on your hair at the same time, being contacted by designers days before an event because they want to dress you, but the worst were the flashing cameras. Lights coming at you from all sides, every angle, and knowing that if you had made the slightest mistake, it would be in the tabloids in the morning.

But you know what?

Bruce was worth it.

You waved off the hairdressers and the make up artists and just ran a brush through your own hair. You dressed yourself in clothes that you had picked out three years ago. They weren’t in style but so what? It was the Wayne Christmas Party. Though it would be full of celebrities, you wanted to feel as comfortable as you possibly could. This was the you that Bruce saw just about every day when you visited one another - not a doll version. If it was good enough for him to fall for, it was good enough for the paparazzi.

The lights assaulted you and Bruce as you stepped out of the limousine and onto the walkway that would lead up to the mansion where the celebration was being held. A five piece band were conjoined near the walkway, playing some old Christmas favorites. Right now, it was Winter Wonderland, which did fit with the snow on the ground.

Bruce took your hand and helped you onto your feet, and you smiled at him gratefully. He looked handsome in his all-black attire, and you held onto his arm with confidence. Neither of you paid much attention to the cameramen as they hollered for you to pose or look in a direction or tell them who you were wearing that night. Bruce went so far as to raise a hand to get them to quiet down, but then the two of you proceeded up towards the well-lit house.

There was a band in there as well, playing 'Let It Snow’, couples were dancing, canapes and truffles were being served to anyone who even glanced at a server, and flutes of champagne were on every table for the taking.

“It looks beautiful.” You inhaled, seeing the beautiful gowns, the crystals hanging off of the chandeliers, and the large tree with the presents underneath it - most of them to charity but a couple to Bruce from old friends.

“Alfred did a good job.” Bruce nodded, looking admiringly around. He took off his jacket and it was given to a butler to be put into a wardrobe with the other coats, and another came and helped you to take off your own coat. Once your arms were exposed, Bruce’s knuckles caressed up and down them, bringing an electricity that made the hairs stand on end and your skin erupt in goosebumps.

“How about we dance?” You asked.

“I’m not a dancer.” Bruce said, stiffly.

“Consider it to be my Christmas present, then.” You insisted, tugging him onto the dancefloor. The song changed to 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’, and you wrapped your arms around Bruce’s neck and rested your head on his shoulder. You could hear his heartbeat, faster than the tune of the song but still a pleasant rhythm.

“You’re very persuasive.” Bruce joked, putting his arms around your waist, and leading you into a turning slow dancing.

“That’s why we work well together. You’ve got to have a bit of fun in your life somehow.” You teased his always serious demeanor.

“Well, since it is Christmas...” Bruce said, surprising you by moving a step back, taking your now free hand and lead you into a twirl.

“Still full of surprises.” You giggled, finding yourself back in his arms afterwards.

“Just wait until you see your present.” Bruce said, confidently.

[nualathebear]

There Are Worst Things (PG-13)

Pairing: Grayson x MC (Alexis)

Rating: MCR level Angst

Word Count: 1691

Request: @anon Please love me ^-^

Prompt: #16 “I’ve got you”

Extra Notes: This turned out a lot longer than I anticipated and sadly, it’s not a happy ending L No fluff, no smut, no nothing. Just heartache. I so sorry!

Warning: Mentions of abuse and trauma. Mild allusion to PTSD.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters but I love them like my babies

He didn’t know how long he had been going to the spot where he last saw Alexis. Demetra…she was Demetra. Finding that bit of information had been a shock to his system but it made sense. All the times she disappeared, the countless hospital visits, the whispered conversations she had with Kenji and Eva. He should have known. And now she was gone, along with his father. Grayson shouldn’t have hope that either would return.

Despite not wanting to give light to the tiny speck of hope he had that at least one of them would come back, Grayson came back to where he last saw Alexis and his father every single day. He stayed there after work, he dropped by before work and during lunch hours. He even briefly wondered whether he should just put a security camera on the spot. He was a mad man. Doing the same thing over and over again day in and day out, expecting a different result.

Neither came back.

Some days, he saw Kenji there as well. Other days, Poppy and Dax would try to be inconspicuous but he knew they were there. He even thought he saw Eva once but he couldn’t be too sure. His mind could have played tricks on him.

Grayson was at the spot again one night, just staring at the crack on the asphalt where Alexis had been thrown upwards into the sky. He got down on the ground and placed a hand on the crease, closing his eyes. A distant rumbling sounded but Grayson didn’t move. If it was going to rain, he didn’t care.

Then, a resounding crack almost deafened Grayson and suddenly a blinding light shone out of the crack. Grayson scrambled to get up but failed when something rolled out of the light. For a moment, all Grayson could do was stare at the black figure before he saw the shock of blonde hair peeking out. “No.”

He launched forward and ran towards the figure, scraping his knees as he kneeled beside it, gently pushing it over.

It was Alexis.

“Alexis!” Grayson rasped and pulled her up into his arms, checking her vitals. Her heartbeat was so weak but she was breathing. “Lex, please wake up.” Grayson cupped her cheek, gently patting it. She didn’t move and Grayson’s heart clenched into itself. “No…Alexis please…can you hear me?” He kept calling her name and shaking her until he saw a crease in between her eyebrows. “Alexis! Alexis, it’s Grayson. Please…please wake up.” He was nearly in tears as he continued to shake her. Her eyes fluttered open and quite suddenly, her hand closed in around Grayson’s neck. “Get your hands off me, you monster!” Alexis yelled as they were both propelled into the air. Grayson scrambled to loosen her grip, choking out her name.

“Lex, it’s me. It’s…it’s Grayson.” He wheezed out. Her eyes flashed red as her grip tightened, closing Grayson’s air passage. “Please, it’s Gray-” Something in Alexis’s eyes changed and the grip she had on Grayson loosened. “Gray…” she looked at him as he passed out and her eyes widened. “No. I’m sorry!” She loosened her grip completely before sliding her arms around his waist, flying downwards and slowly dropping him to the ground. His head lolled to the side and Alexis tried to find his vitals. It was weak but it was still there. “Oh my God…what have I done?”

She scooped Grayson back up and shot up to the sky again, flying in the direction of a nearby hospital. Without even thinking of how she looked like, she went inside and yelled for a doctor. “Please, he’s not breathing.” She got a nurse’s attention and they scrambled to get a gurney and Alexis deposited Grayson on it gently before being held back by another nurse. “You need to stay outside, Demetra.” The nurse said to which Alexis obliged only due to shock. People were staring and Alexis knew she had to leave quickly. She tried to trace where they would have gone and quickly left the building only to start flying around to find where they had brought Grayson.

Her worry for him almost made her forget what she had just come back from. She was so consumed in her worry for Grayson that she had forgotten just mere minutes ago, she was being tortured by Grayson’s father. Or rather, what used to be his father. She couldn’t even tell whether he was a figment of her imagination or he actually survived the blast before they were catapulted into space. But he was different. He was still the megalomaniac she had fought on Earth but somehow he had become even more sadistic in the months she had been his prisoner.

All that somehow didn’t even matter because she had escaped and was now worrying about her Grayson. The real Grayson, not the distorted version Silas cooked up to torture her. She had almost killed him and if he really was about to die, escaping would have been for naught.

She finally caught sight of Grayson and she almost cried out of relief. Pressing against the small window to the room he was in, she watched as he was patched up and given a tube to breathe through. Alexis then really cried, sobbing quietly against the wall, a mix of relief, hatred, guilt and anxiety all rolled in her mind.

Once she stopped crying, she pressed the side of her mask that opened communication with whoever was at headquarters and started to speak. “Poppy…Dax…whoever’s there. It’s…Demetra. I’m back.” She released the mask and flew to HQ.

She didn’t even manage to touch the ground when she was enveloped in a hug by Poppy and Dax as they stumbled over words of worry and relief. She let them talk as she made her way to the couch to lie down. Poppy understood and even though Dax wanted to ask a lot more questions, his partner forcefully pulled him away from her and before she knew it, she was out like a light.

--

When she woke up, Poppy offered her a steaming mug of coffee. She was uncharacteristically quiet but looked at Alexis like she was broken. Alexis pulled Poppy next to her and curled up on her lap before crying once more. She didn’t know why she was crying but Poppy’s soothing sounds and her fingers through her hair calmed her down enough to let her fall asleep again.

She woke up once more in the afternoon when Dax shook her awake, holding a phone to her. Alexis plucked it out of his hand and the voice on the other end was hoarse but recognisable instantly. “Lex…please come. I need to see you.”

Alexis took a quick shower and changed into a tank top and sweat pants. After promising full details to Dax, she flew to the hospital. Going up to information, she asked for Grayson’s room and was directed to one of the executive suites in the hospital. She knocked softly before entering and seeing Grayson on the bed made her pause. Grayson’s blue eyes shone when he saw her and he wanted to move to greet her but Alexis shook her head. She could see his whole body deflate and she felt horrible.

She didn’t understand how he could still want to see her, even after she almost killed him. She wanted so badly to go to him but what guarantee did she have that she wouldn’t hurt him again? Just because she had escaped from Silas’ defiled universe, didn’t mean that she had escaped whatever happened to her there. She wanted to believe she could get past it but she knew it would be impossible.

“Please…Lexi…” Grayson’s voice sounded so pitiful, just like it had when she was choking him. Her heart squeezed into itself and her grip on the doorknob almost bent it in half. Alexis took a deep breath before stepping in, leaving the door open just so someone would at least try to intervene if something happened. Realistically, she knew no one could but it was worth a shot.

She went over to the window and sat on the sill, looking down at her shoes. “Lex,”

“Grayson, I don’t think we can be around each other anymore.”

The silence in the room was palpable.

“I don’t…know how long time has passed here but I was lost for months. And the things I had to see and do in that time…I can’t even begin to explain. I almost killed you because of it and I don’t want it to happen again. I know…I know it will happen again. And nothing you can do is going to stop it from happening again.”

She didn’t know whether her coldness was coming from the fact that she had cried herself out or she actually believed the words coming from her mouth.

“So…whatever we had…it needs to stop. We can’t see each other anymore. I can’t…work with you anymore. I just wanted you to know so you’d stop looking for me.”

Grayson stared at her and a million things ran through his head but none of them even came close to wanting to stop seeing her. It was the furthest thing from his mind and now she was telling him that she wanted to cut things off?

Part of him wanted to tell her no. Part of him wanted to remain obstinate and keep pushing so she would let him in. But he knew that part was selfish and wouldn’t make her life any easier. He had no clue what she had to go through in her absence. He was a trigger. He didn’t want to be her trigger.

He had to let her go.

“Whatever you have to do, I hope it brings you peace.” Grayson finally said as he held back tears. “But if for whatever reason you need me, I’m here. Always. I’ve got you.” His voice broke by the end and when he looked up, Alexis was on her feet. Quietly, she left and Grayson leaned back in the hospital bed.

“I’ve got you, Alexis.”

[ashleighxx]

Klaroline/Charmed Fusion

So this was originally supposed have been written for the infinity event... but here we are.. Sorry it took a bit longer than expected girls... I hope this is okay :D  @austennerdita2533 and @arrenemris

Elena was sat on one of the burgundy, leather sofas with each Salvatore guarding her, taking their time to calm and comfort her. Bonnie, Jeremy and Matt were sat on the opposing sofa ready to stand in the way if there was another attack. 

The Originals- Klaus, Rebekah and Elijah, were spread out in the room. Elijah was standing stiffly close to the door, trying to drown out the multiple squabbles on how to protect the human doppelganger. Klaus was pouring himself yet another scotch in attempt to curb his thirst for murdering one of the brothers, specifically Damon, and Rebekah was leaning up against the bookshelves, glancing down at her new manicure, huffing in boredom.

Things were semi peaceful in Mystic Falls since graduation. The Original Family were gone for the summer in New Orleans to raise their brother Kol from the dead and he hadn’t hesitated to leave the States now that he was alive and free. Elijah kept tabs on the unruly brother to keep him from getting into too much trouble. 

Elena had taken the cure after graduation, wanting to be human, as she always wished and free from the sire bond, she broke up with Damon, needing to concentrate on herself and her own feelings and helping to support Jeremy. Once Klaus came back, Damon and Stefan had become paranoid and slightly over protective of Elena, now that she was human, her blood could make hybrids. Even after numerous heated debates, a few livers being pulled and some snapped necks, Klaus declared he couldn't care less of Elena’s human status and his wish for a hybrid family quickly went down the drain when he slaughtered them a few Christmas’ ago. They were still cautious, thinking he was using the waiting game to catch them unguarded, they didn't understand what was keeping him in this town, neither did his family, but Caroline did. 

And Tyler. 

They had also broken up a few months into college. 

Tyler had come back with his new found freedom from Klaus and their summer had been perfect, sweet and sickly, according to Damon. But towards the start of college, Tyler became agitated, he missed the pack he was living with, that were hiding him from Klaus. The relationship became rocky and Klaus’ return sped up the process of Tyler leaving Mystic Falls, and Caroline for good. She had been upset and begged him to stay, to find a way for her to come with him but wolves will never accept her near their territory. 

Now here they were eighteen months of peace later and a new threat to the supernaturals in the town, well Elena, naturally. She was on her way back from studying in the library on college campus when a demonic person tried to attack her, not in a way a vampire would, his face was also visibly contorted and non vampire like too. It was lucky she was meeting Caroline and Bonnie for them to help. Caroline had snapped its neck but the demon was seen again a few weeks later it struck down on another human, this time a sorority sister. 

Then another. 

Then a third. 

So here they were, gathered at the Salvatore boarding house bringing up theory after theory, looking through grimoire after grimoire searching for the name of this new beast and how to defeat it, With no luck. 

Rebekah sighed yet again, much to Klaus’ annoyance. “Why did you bother to even turn up if you're not interested in helping, Bekah?” 

“Front row seats to the dopplegangers demise? Someone has to sit back and record it for Kol.” She shrugged nonchalantly and carried on inspecting some books next to her. “Besides, we know what ever this is,” she looked over at the gang, “Is a waste of time. It cannot be killed, just let it pass through and clean up after it.” 

“Wait, you know what ever attacked me is and your not going to say anything. Why is it after me for?” Elena stood up in temper, yelling at the blonde Original. 

“Calm down, not everything is about you. It’s a type of demon and we can't kill it. Sorry to dissapoint you all.” 

Caroline finally looked up from her study book at the word demon. She swore she knew something about them or knew someone who did, her mind raced. Keeping her head down into her book she tuned into the conversation, seeking more information with the rest of those in the room. 

“It is pretty fruitless really.” Elijah spoke up. “There is only a certain type of witch that can kill these creatures, and they are rare and well hidden, if alive at all.” 

“What witch line are they, maybe I can find something on them in one of the books?” Bonnie questioned the moral older Original, exhausted, but finally glad they have some direction to go with. If only the Originals had passed this vital information on sooner, when it was needed. 

“The Halliwell’s or something along those lines. They are very unique and powerful in their own way, Niklaus caught word of them a few centuries back when he was searching for a doppelganger and tried to hunt them with no luck. They have been a whispered myth to most witch communities.” He further explained. 

Caroline’s heart sped up at the surname, it was familiar to her and now she had connected the dots about knowing demons, her friend Phoebe was a witch who specifically hunted demons, or something like that anyway. 

Her friendship with Phoebe came as a surprise, for both of them really. 

Caroline was out drinking, still grieving the loss of her relationship and the decreasing need of wanting Klaus to leave. They had became friends after the whole Silas stabbing him the back issue, but deep down she knew it was more, and she had been trying so hard to not open up that pandora's box just yet. She couldn't talk about the issue with her friends, their hatred for the hybrid would overshadow any feeling she had for him and she worried they would cast her out from their group for betraying them. So as drunk as a skunk one Saturday night she stumbled into her dorm, the other girls over at their respective boyfriends for the weekend, and she searched online for an agony aunt. 

She used to love reading these articles in magazines when she was younger, when life seemed so simple and normal, and caught herself pretending to give advice to the person before she read the response, wanting to see if she was right in her judgment. Sometimes she was harsh, her verbal filter wasn’t quite tuned back then, but it was a secret hobby. It was one of the reasons she wanted to major in journalism. 

She typed into the search bar online What do i do if i fallen in love with an evil being for a laugh, giggling to herself when there were quite a few sites coming up on her search results. Scanning them she giggled at some teens wondering if they’re a vampire because they like nibbling their partner’s neck during foreplay or sex. That had caused her to nearly fall out of her bed, clutching her stomach in a fit of laughter, grabbing another bottle of wine and settling back onto the next search. 

This one however seemed a bit more for older women seeking advice and the chat bar was online for instant messaging, in her drunken haze she threw all caution out to the wind, hoping the other person thought it was a drunk, which she was, for talking about vampires and hybrids. 

They had bantered back and forth having fun, Caroline amused that the other person claimed to love a demon, or a source of something, giggling that he was a saucy demon, until Caroline mention the words Original Hybrid. The messages had stopped for a while and she collapsed back onto her bed and passed out from exhaustion and alcohol. 

The next morning when she awoke the laptop was still on and the browser still on the agony aunt’s page. Cringing at her stupidness she went to close the tab the site was on and saw that the other person left a contact number to call, saying something about she knows and the conversation is too delicate to have online. 

Curiosity had won and she caved into calling to number. 

It turned out that the woman’s name was Phoebe and she was a witch, she had two other sisters, one of which was a whitelighter too, and she was also in a similar situation as her. She had fallen in love with a demon, unheard of for the family and they might have accepted him if it had it not been for the fact that Cole was in fact a demon by the name of Belthazor and had been hired to kill the sisters. 

The pair had spoken for hours and kept in touch with each other, shared information about their lives, Caroline explaining that she was a good vampire and despite the witches against vampire bias’ they became fast friends. So even though she was hesitant to share information about the Halliwell line, she also knew Phoebe wouldn’t mind and would help in any way she could.

Her relationship with Klaus became much easier as she had finally confessed her feelings to someone who understood what she was going through, and she felt more relaxed when hanging out, whether having a drinks at the Grill or chatting about her college work, and the more time they spent with each other, the more Klaus relaxed and she could see even more of his personality and humanity. It came with a price because she fell more in love with each passing day, but she wasn’t ready for him to be her last love just yet.

They both knew that. 

Phoebe’s sisters have also become understanding over the months since they chatted, she was now with Cole and are both happy, even getting ready to move in together, so Caroline was hesitant to call for help at her time of happiness. 

“I know someone who can help.” Caroline voiced her opinion for the first time that afternoon and all eyes were on her, some in confusion. She stood up and reached for her phone in her back pocket and dialled the number. 

“Caroline.” The woman on the other end of the phone answered happy. Caroline rubbed her temple slightly as her face contorted. “Hey, Phoebe. I hate to do this right now, but I could really do with your help.” “Care, I said before, if you need any help don't be afraid to ask… What's going on? Is it to do with that Hy..” 

“No no. No, not that but something on the line of demons?” Caroline cut in before her friend said something Caroline wasn’t quite ready to explain to her friends. She tried to avoid looking at Klaus, she could feel his gaze burning at the back of her head, she didn't want to look at him and give the mini slip away that Phoebe nearly made. 

“Ah... That help.” Phoebe chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

Caroline started pacing in the living room. “We think we have one here…”

“You do.” Rebekah butted in.

“And its killed a few girls now, and we can't seem to kill it.” Caroline carried on her conversation.

“You can't.” Rebekah chimed in once again, earning herself a glare off Caroline.

 “We was wondering if you have any knowledge of what it is how how to get rid of it?” 

“Well it all depends on what type of demon it is really. If is a lower level demon it can be killed by anyone really. But if you can't kill it, it is most likely a higher demon and would need to be vanquished. Do you know what it looks like? I could try and get a vanquishing potion ready but it would be difficult to get the right one unless we know for certain what demon it is.” Caroline heard her moving around and some glass clinking together. 

“It's a Lazarus demon.” Elijah told Caroline. 

“Am I on loud speaker? I can here people in the background.” Phoebe asked. 

“They're vampires. They can hear you.” A man, who Caroline assumed was Phoebe partner, Cole was heard on the other side of the line. 

“Oh thats right, I forgot. Right, a Lazarus demon, we already have a batch done. I just need to grab it and we’ll head on over.” Phoebe explained. “How long will that take? They could come back for Elena by then.” Damon finally decided to voice himself. “And how are we supposed to trust barbie’s friend to kill a demon? With the spirit of cheer?” 

“Oh a cheerleading joke, how funny. You must be Damon.” The voice they heard on the other line was suddenly louder and closer to them. 

They looked over to the person who spoke, and Caroline saw Phoebe and Cole stood hand in hand in the Salvatore house. Hanging up the call on her phone, Caroline walked over to Phoebe and the pair hugged. 

“How’d you get here so quick?” Caroline pulled back from their hug to ask her friend. 

“Cole can shimmer himself and others between locations. Part of his powers.” The other blonde answered, then lowered her voice to a near whisper, “So which one is the hot hybrid?” which caused Caroline to shriek. 

Cole leaned down to Phoebe muttering in her ear. “Vampires can still hear you, Originals even more.” 

“I know.” She admitted. “So which one is he?” She nudged Caroline’s side playfully, causing Caroline's face to become redder from embarrassment.

After introductions, and Phoebe practically drooling over Klaus, the gang waited till the evening per Phoebe’s request, as she knew what she was doing. She explained that the demon was most likely to appear in the night to capture his next victim.

Stefan, Bonnie and Matt stayed with Elena in the boarding house for protection, Damon demanding she needed to stay away as far as she could. Rebekah and Elijah went off on their own business, uninterested in the situation. That and they could hear what happened from Klaus when he returns home. 

Damon was going along because he didn't trust the newcomers at all, and Caroline wanted to go so she could spend time with her new friends and keep an eye on Damon's antics. Klaus, well he was going out of curiosity and he wanted to keep Caroline safe, even if he knew she was perfectly capable of saving herself.

Klaus had been curious as to how Caroline had met and befriended a Halliwell witch, and why the witch would study him and catch him looking at Caroline with a knowing smile. It was driving him insane, but he couldn't speak with Caroline until after the demon situation had been dealt with. 

The five of them headed to Whitmore college and wandered around in hopes another sorority sister was stupid enough to walk around on her own after the recents deaths. 

It didn't take long before they spotted a extraordinary beautiful redhead heading out of the college dorms, and a shadowed figure trailing not far behind. On Phoebe's signal, Klaus flashed over to the demon and held him down, while Damon flashed to the girl compelling her to go back inside and forget what she had seen. 

The Lazarus Demon was struggling under Klaus’ strength and knocked him back enough to try and escape, turning around to meet Phoebe which made him try to escape in terror even more. She threw the potion at the demon before he had the chance to run away and he exploded under the spell and turned into dust. Only leaving behind a puff of light grey smoke. The Halliwell witch then collected his ashes and they headed back to the Mystic Falls graveyard to bury the ashes. 

Apparently the demon would stay dead if it was buried in a graveyard, just as long as no one dug him up again. So Bonnie met up with them to place a protective spell over the burial site in order to make sure no one could ever do so again.

Phoebe crashed at Caroline's dorm, as Bonnie and Elena stayed in Mystic Falls. Cole shimmered back to San Francisco to let the women catch up. They had much to discuss and Phoebe certainly wasn’t going to sugar coat anything now that she's seen both Caroline and Klaus together.  

Maybe she could nudge her friend in the right direction…

So chatting with Eve... @delerithmoriwen and she may have helped come up with inspiration for not only part 2 but a possible part 3 too!  So I'm super excited for them to be typed up too :D 

REVIEW HERE

[lovelyisadora]

You seem to have a lot of thoughts abt aunt zeldas 👀👀 do u maybe have some more 👀👀👀👀

DO I EVER I think about it ALL THE TIME anyway have more <3 :

· marcia knows zelda because she visited silas and his mum a lot in the first few years following his dad’s decision to be a tree. they didn’t get along when marcia was a child and they don’t get along now, especially when she takes over her desk and clears it of most of zelda’s things. they do try to tolerate each other in front of the children though

· the first night there they all pass out downstairs, with marcia taking the entire sofa, silas and his kids bundled up in front of the fire, and boy 412 alone in the corner (he doesn’t trust any of them and wants to stay away from them, but it never occurs to him to sneak out and take their boat)

· nicko and jenna are curious about the sign language boy 412 is teaching himself and want to learn too, so in addition to their little magyk lessons with marcia, they also have sign language lessons. nicko and jenna pick it up fairly quick—marcia isn’t nearly as fluid as the three of them

· nicko and jenna treat boy 412 as an additional sibling immediately, even if they aren’t sure what to think of him, and they forget that he tried to scream and get them caught by the hunter. boy 412 is terrified of both of them for a week because jenna is terrifying and nicko bigger than him but both are better than their father and great aunt, and all four of them are infinitely better than enemy number one

· zelda has to scold marcia and silas more than she has to scold the actual children because really this childish bickering is just uncalled for. it annoys both of them because really, zelda, they didn’t get to bicker for ten years. they have a lot of catching up to do

· marcia doesn’t actually believe the message is from silas. she just wants an excuse to return to the castle because she can’t sit here and do nothing and she wants to justify leaving. it proves to be a horrible, terrible mistake

· marcia isn’t a coddler which is nice for the three kids. they’re not used to it and it’s refreshing to not have to explain what they’re doing or where they’re going or be fretted over. marcia just frowns at them

· boy 412 really, really, really wishes that he’s a heap. he wants a family that loves him unconditionally the way that they do.

· nicko is autistic, marcia learns fairly quickly, and his love for the water reminds her of jenna’s father, so she ends up talking to him before she can stop herself. he is more than happy to babble on about boats and the ocean, but he does eventually stop. he must be boring her, but even though she has no idea what he’s talking about, he isn’t boring her. she wants him to continue and that gets her a smile. he wants to travel the world, the river, the sea. she likes traveling too, just not by boat. she had an unfortunate incident as a girl and nearly drowned. nicko puffs out his chest and tries to look older than his twelve years. “when I have a boat of my own, I’m going to help you get over your fear,” he says, and marcia is so startled she laughs. “you know, someone else once promised me that, long ago.”

· with silas gone marcia is the default authority figure but the kids don’t treat her that way. they act as if she’s a weird, estranged aunt and dont do anything she says. which isn’t exactly wrong

· the night septimus learns he is septimus, he and the rest of his family are awake the entire night. marcia does not join them—she is not a heap, so she stays upstairs, but she can hear them through the floor. tonight there is no shushing, no consideration, no quiet “be quiet madame marcia needs to rest” but it’s oddly comforting to hear their voices through the floor. she feels less lonely

· silas spends the entire time he’s there sick with worry because he has no idea if sarah and his other children are really okay, but he hides it from his children. zelda sees right through him though

· nicko and jenna learn to speak for boy 412 easily, and it pains him and makes him miss boy 409, because boy 409 used to speak for him

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

The Harbinger of Death

Synopsis: Vanya has nightmares because of Silas, but one of them chills her to the core. What if it isn’t a dream at all?

Warnings: Ivar, toxic family, angst, nightmare, mentions of hell, mentions of murder

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @lol-haha-joke @shannygoatgruff @xbellaxcarolinax @queenbeeta @didiintheblog​ 

P.S. The next chapters are gonna be angsty and ominous, so get ready. I also want Vanya to develop into a braver person and good ruler. On a side note I am now watching Cursed on Netflix and I am loving Daniel Sharman more than before. You go my murder baby, welcome to Honor and Blood ^^

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it.

Screams were all around her, tearing at her eardrums. Their pain was so deafening, Vanya wanted to cover her ears. But she couldn't, all she could do was stand there and watch them all burn. Everything was swallowed by fire, as the smell of burning flesh filled her lungs. Tears gathered in her eyes from the lack of clear air, while she gasped for breath.

A man walked out of the flames, clad in a cloak that hid his face. The fires didn't touch him as the stranger mover towards her; she wanted to move back but couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the ground as the man advanced to her. The screams grew louder till it was all she could hear, and the smell of burned flesh was all she could smell. Tears streamed down Vanya's face as the stranger grew nearer.

"Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death!" The screams chanted till they faded into whispers that stopped when the stranger reached out to touch her. "Find me."

Vanya sat up from the bed with a gasp, a hand on her chest to ground herself. "Are you alright, Hjertet mitt (My heart)? What's wrong?" Ivar's hand stroked her head and back as Vanya caught her breath.

"A bad dream." She mumbled, looking down at her lap; she put both her hands on her stomach where her child kicked. "Just a bad dream."

Ivar drew his wife closer and kissed her forehead as he held her in his arms. Vanya stared out of the window to make sure the world wasn't on fire like in her dream. She has been having nightmares since the letter came. Sometimes, Silas arrived with a battle fleet slaughtering Kattegat; other times, Vanya miscarried before he hit the shores. And once she dreamt of a thrall slicing her throat in Silas's name while Ivar slept. But Vanya never dreamt of a dream like this.

"You look pale, sister," Hvitserk commented at the table, looking at the redhead. She was pale, with dark rings under her bloodshot eyes. Her hands trembled, and she needed help walking for fear of falling.

"Another bad dream, that's all. I will try to catch some sleep later. I promised to visit the farmers again; they wish to thank me for giving them a few thralls to help with the harvest. It would be impolite to refuse." Vanya explained, washing down a piece of bread down with water. She had trouble keeping anything down these days, but the healers advised her to eat for the baby.

Ivar held her shaking hand in his looking at her in concern. He didn't look any better than she did, his hair was a mess from running his hands through it all the time, his eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles just like Vanya's. Every time she woke up, he woke up too and didn't fall asleep until she did.

"It would be unwise to do that. You are in no condition to go anywhere like this. You look like you are one step away from death." Sigurd spat glaring at Ivar, who didn't say anything. He tried to talk her out of it yesterday, which lead to an argument and Vanya crying herself to sleep. Yet she still wanted to visit the farmers, no matter what points he made.

"What are the dreams about, Love? Still the same?" Aslaug questioned in a soft tone, worried for her daughter in laws sanity and the life of the babe. Vanya shook her head and looked at the Queen with fearful eyes.

"This one was different. I saw Hell."

"Hel? You saw Helheim?" Ubbe asked his brows knitted together, but Vanya shook her head again.

"No... I saw Hell. Christian Hell. With the eternal fire and dying screams of sinners. I stood before the flames, and I couldn't move. The voices screamed at me to find someone. But he was right there, in a cloak, he had paint on his face like Floki. And he kept walking towards me, when he nearly touched me I woke up." The hall was silent as everyone looked at Vanya disturbed by her dreams. Usually, they comforted her, saying they were just dreams, and they wouldn't let them become real. But this had nothing to do with Silas.

Aslaug swallowed her ale and slowly set the cup on the table. She looked at Vanya's shaking frame, and Ivar trying to comfort her. Her heart ached for her son and his wife.  "What did the voices scream at you?"

"To find the Harbinger of death. Over and over." Well, that didn't sound optimistic at all. The nightmare was anything but comforting.

"I will talk to the Seer; you will rest. We will inform the farmers of your bad health and apologize in your name. The healers will give you something to sleep." Aslaug ordered walking away from the table to order the healers and talk to the Seer like she said she would. Ubbe helped Vanya walk to her and Ivar's chambers as Ivar dragged himself behind them.

The healer walked into the room with a cup that she made the princess drink. Ivar tucked the ginger in and laid down beside her, to watch over her and catch some rest himself. "I am sorry, Ivar. I am a burden to you and everyone."

"You are not a burden. You are my wife and the mother of my child. I love you, and if you are hurting, so am I. Now sleep, Hjertet mitt (My heart). I will be here when you wake." Vanya closed her eyes and let the silence and darkness swallow her tired body. Soon enough, she was asleep hoping for a dreamless sleep.

Vanya sat on a field filled with Spider Lilies; the sun was setting, casting a red glow. Vanya sat there in her white spotted nightgown, her feet care and her hair falling over her shoulders. A cold breeze swept her hair out of her face while horses could be heard nearby.

Suddenly the flowers all withered around her as the air grew cold, and the sun went down. Snow fell around her as the sea hit the shores as if to reach her and drown her. "They wish to have you." Vanya spun around to meet the cloaked stranger once again. He stood before her, looking at her with hard eyes.

"Who?"

"The sea. The ice. Death. They all pray for your end. Especially your brother." The man squatted before her as the winds made her shiver from the cold. Her eyes locked with his in a silent argument.

She exhaled and stared at him with hard eyes, all earlier fear gone. He wasn't here to hurt her, that much she knew. "Getting me would mean getting my child. I won't let them take my child."

The man smirked at her tone and stood up. He walked around her and pointed at the sea. Vanya turned towards the raging waters and waited for him to say something. "Prove it. Don't drown, Vanya. And I will find you. You must give me time, you can't drown, or my journey to you will be for nothing."

"Why do I dream of you?"

The man snorted a laugh and looked at the confused princess over his shoulder. "To tell you all this. I had to make a lot of blood sacrifices to see you. So don't waste it."

The sun rose, the flowers came to life once again, the sea stilled, and the wind became calm and warm. "Stop being afraid. Use that fear like a weapon, and no one will harm you are your child. Be a mother, Vanya, not a coward."

This time Vanya didn't wake up shaking and gasping for air. She felt calm. The princess turned her head to her left to look at Ivar's sleeping form, holding her hand in his sleep. She smiled at his peaceful expression and kissed his forehead. All her talk of drawing courage from him, it was stupid of her. She needed to find her own strength, not feed off of his hard-earned one. Vanya required to be more than an afraid princess; she needed to protect her child.

And the only way to do that was to kill Silas. If Silas wished her dead, then so will she. But Vanya will succeed. For all the scars, bruises, and shame he gave her, for every time he made her cry, scream, and fear him. For wanting to kill her child after he married her off to get rid of her. Silas will pay for it all, with blood.

Vanya stood up from their bed and walked towards the window to see the people standing around in a crowd. "They made a sacrifice to Freyja for you to get better," Aslaug said, walking into their room and towards her.

"Did you ask the Seer?" She questioned, not looking at the Queen. Vanya gazed at the folk of Kattegat with their worried faces praying for her and her child. They loved her, out of their own free will.

"He said you would know who he was and what the dream meant," Aslaug explained, observing the girl before her. Her skin regained some color, and her bloodshot eyes were better, filled with determination instead of doubt and fear.

The blue orbs that reminded her of frozen over water turned towards Aslaug. Vanya's face was hard and stoic. "It means death."

"Yours? Your babes?" The Queen pressed on her body, filled with dread. Last, she had been this afraid and angry Harbard betrayed her.

"Not if I have a say in it. I won't let anyone harm my child." Aslaug nodded at the cold tone of her daughter in law. The growth was incredible, from a fearful Christian praying to leave this place or die, to a strong Viking mother. Silas sent her to the savages to break her and get rid of her, hoping she will die. Yet all he did was make her stronger, and Aslaug was proud of that, proud of her daughter.

"So, it means Silas's death," Aslaug stated to which Vanya nodded. It was decided. But they can't let him expect Vanya's plan; he must remain obvious to everything until the time is right. And then, he will get what he deserves.

[thesynthesist]

Hey! We made it to part 3! That’s all the parts there are for this one.  If you’d like to read part 1 and 2 click the links below Part 1: Tumblr / deviantArt Part 2: deviantArt

And it worked out this time, part 3 below the cut if you don’t want to click through! 

He had no body when he woke. Silas didn’t like that one bit. He reached and stretched and pushed against the digital void in which he found himself. It stretched and gave, sweet data washed over him. A high pitched giggle and a small pale hand that appeared to be attached to a brightly clothed arm that seemed to belong to him. There was no online connection, not even the private stream of data Silas was used to from his ship. There was nothing but the body, and that was still somehow out of his reach. Silas pushed again and something else gave. A flood of triumph, and Silas slammed his hand of cards down, or he tried to. Everything was more immediate than it had been but he had no control. “Go fish,” said his mouth in Violet’s voice. Stop that! he sent in frustration, a passing signal of thought escaping. The response was immediate. No. You stole my sister’s memories, tried to expose my nephew. I can’t trust you. Silas tried placating his angelic captor. I met James because you made it possible. I just want to ask him some questions, sate my curiosity is all. The grief that howled through their shared space was hollow and all consuming. Outside Violet put down a pair of fives and went fish on her next turn. Because of curiosity and hubris James is the only nephew I have left. It was a monolithic thought that blocked out any reply Silas could have made to it. It glared down at him, lit in feeling like digital neon. The game outside progressed as he watched. Violet played with all the cunning and strategy of a real human child at her age. The people she was playing with were all adults, but their faces were not familiar. As the game grew to a close, Silas had a better feeling for the space he was confined to. He unspooled himself, tendrils floating and waiting for a moment of weakness. There! As she got up from the table and the hem of her dress caught. Silas sped down the wires in a flash, and he felt the dress around legs that were now properly his, and he untangled himself from the table. The adults had all gone to do something it was that adults do, Silas found he had a hard time remembering. He found that he didn’t seemed to care. He wondered if there were cookies. Then grabbing a hold of himself,  he focused on where he was going. If he could find his way back to Violet’s room there had to be a way to get him back into his own body. The area of Atlantis he was in was unfamiliar, and between the walls and his point of view dropping a few feet he was having a very hard time finding his way about. He considered asking the people he passed by, but he was worried they would notice something wrong with Violet. Without knowing how much time he had that was a delay he could not afford. “Why Little Miss Hull!” Silas followed the legs that presented themselves up to the rest of the person attached and found himself staring once again into Baldric’s face. The man gave the impression of being pointier from this angle. “I thought you were upstairs.” Silas endeavored to tell the man what happened, but the sharp eyes gazing down at him were too intimidating. It was all just a bit much. Fat tears rolled down his cherubic cheeks, and uncontrollable sobs wracked his body. A herculean force of will was required to remain standing, and not just throw himself on the floor. “I got lost,” he blubbered, “and I c-can’t find my rooooooooom.” Baldric scooped up Violet’s chassis into a princess carry and smiled reassuringly, “We’ll get you to your room little miss. Come along.” His long strides carried Silas down corridors he hadn’t even realized were there. The body hiccuped as the waterworks came to an end, and Silas sniffled, wiping his nose without thinking on his sleeve. He stared at it as Baldric put him down to hand him a handkerchief and press the button on the elevator. “Why is this place so wibbly?” Silas clapped his hands over his mouth, but Baldric simply ushered him into the elevator. The words were never meant to leave Silas’s mouth. Not those words exactly, any words at all. Spending the trip in silence was the safest and most expedient way to make it back to his body. It had been a thought about his actions, the artificial mucus on his sleeve. On the way out the words had morphed into something else entirely. “To catch the light,” Baldric said simply once the elevator had started moving, “and to show off construction techniques, a whole series of these were planned by a company a series of luxury resorts. They went bankrupt after building this one, however.” “Oh,” said Silas before shutting his mouth firmly. The elevator deposited them in familiar territory. Much like his despair, Silas’s joy at his ordeal being nearly over was too much to contain. He bounced on his toes in the little buckle shoes, and dashed off as soon as the door had opened to allow the bulk of his dress to traverse it, shouting a hasty thank you to Baldric over his shoulder. Bursting into Violet’s room, Silas found his body lying in bed covers tucked up to its chin and a stuffed animal under its arm. The sight pulled him up short, and opened a yawning chasm between him and the body he was in. His feet were the first things to go, and the chassis dropped to its knees but no further. Without his help, it got up. First time traveler? Violet’s presence was smug, and Silas realized she had never gone away. Her data curled around him, spilling his words, causing his tears. Violet climbed onto the bed and sat down next to Silas’s body, patting it affectionately. Did you do this to your sister too? Silas was still numb. He wondered what happened if he stayed here with Violet for long enough. They might become impossible to separate, his whole self subsumed into a child. I was artificial long before I was intelligent. There was something there. Silas followed the thought to its related data, it was about making connections. It was a slim gap, hard to keep open long enough to slip through but somehow he managed it. Just like that he was out. Not out of Violet, but out in some way that meant something. He looked at his new view, reams of data laid out before him, and saw. You were a protocol set in a back up body. And now.... Something much more dangerous. Violet hit him like a physical force, crippling his process abilities. It wouldn’t be difficult to transfer him back to whatever quarantine he had been imprisoned in while he was like this. Unless, unless he could think of something. Silas decided to risk it all on a bet. He started decoding, and dumping files as fast as he could. Keep me much longer and I’ll make sure that not even a Series 0 can tell where one of us truly begins and another ends. You’ll be the only child secretary. You’ll start keeping gambler’s schedules. The memory of a particularly nasty tour as an aide to a government official left the lingering aroma of office disinfectant and diesel. Rows and rows of figures, days scheduled to the minute, each moment meticulously managed. A hesitation, just for a moment. Silas pushed harder. A protocol set, old and dusty. It had been for a high class family, one of Silas’s first contracts. He kept it in his local storage out of nostalgia. There were rules for everything from the way to stand to eye contact. The regulation settled on Silas like a familiar blanket, but Violet thrashed against it. It withheld against her attempts, pushing and settling. Violet’s hand froze on Silas’s chest, two chassis unmoving on the bed. I will even add to the deal. If you let me out, I won’t write a report. He hoped she’d relent. An unwritten report was a small price to pay for getting his autonomy back. Who’s to say you’re not lying. James is all I have left. Everything about James had read as more or less organic no matter how Silas looked at him. That was a mystery to be solved later despite the fact with his face uncovered he did look uncannily like Silas had expected him to in his mid-thirties. There were other more pressing matters. He had to give Violet something more than just his word, she wouldn’t take it. Not at this point. She might even risk completely losing herself to protect James. Silas unpacked another memory. This one was of a small room in a museum. A folding chair across from a large power cell, and a familiar figure. The memory played in silence, Violet not even trying to interrupt. When it ended, Silas offered, I’ll give you her original memories as a show of good faith. Violet did nothing, she did nothing for so long Silas was afraid she’d shut off, leaving him trapped in this position until he managed to figure out how to override the deadlock. I’ll let you go, but if anything bad happens to my nephew I will find a way to kill you myself. Noted. replied Silas, he wondered if threats were just how the family communicated, and how many times he’d be threatened again before this ordeal was over. He hoped the number was smaller than the one he was imagining. The deadlock melted away, and Violet slid off the bed. The cables came out once more. Silas spent the time packing up again. He didn’t need the transfer to take hours, though he had no idea how long it would take regardless of his preparations. Arriving back in his body was almost as strange as waking up in someone else’s. The sensations were familiar but he felt too tall, too square. It was too much in precisely the opposite way of the overwhelming emotionality of Violet’s body. There was no culprit to be found, everything was the way Silas left it. Out of curiosity he disabled his standard protocol program, enunciated very clearly one swear word, decided he still didn’t like the feeling and turned it back on. It felt better the second time around. James escorted Silas back to his ship. The journey was terse. Violet had refused to say anything further, demanding Silas leave her room immediately. James assured him that she’d come around, if they ever met again it would be like nothing bad had ever happened between them. “You never did tell me why you were looking for me.” James said as the walkway descended from the ship. “Your mother wanted me to check up on you,” Silas paused. “And my own curiosity.” he admitted. James snorted and followed Silas onto the ship. “I think it was more of just a proof of concept thing. Not that I ever got to ask my grandfather. But I’m more or less just human plus.” Silas fought the urge to pry and won. Instead he handed over the frail memory chip, now encased in a clear protective case. He had made a few backups, but he was more than ready to put this entire fiasco behind him. Get a check up and pick up a standard contract. “Here, just as she gave them to me.” James took them and pocketed them without a second glance. “Thanks, Violet will like these.” His shoulders slumped and his voice softened. “And uh... I want to thank you too. Give you something in return, think of it as a proper apology for Violet. I’ve worked on a lot of the series that end up in Atlantis. I crack the software for them. There’s a lot of hidden built in restrictions, not that they’d uh, particularly get in the way in your line of work but I thought it might come useful in a pinch.” “Absolutely not,” said Silas sharply. He was going to say more but the look on James face stopped him. “It’s alright, I do not need recompense.” “Just trust me, please,” said James. “I’m trusting you.” His face contorted into a humorless grin. “After all, you’ve seen my mother’s memories. You’re practically family.” “I’m not certain that’s the honor it normally is,” said Silas but he turned around anyways and led the way to his repair station and sat down. James pulled a small work station from his coat, an unfolding a small fabric monitor and touch keyboard from one pocket, and a computer the size of a deck of cards. The monitor and keyboard were of modern make though the technology wasn’t new in the slightest. The computer case however was old, older even than the settling of asteroid colonies. “My first,” said James, patting it fondly. “Lahzi, though I’ve overhauled it a few times.” “Installed a new local wireless connection point a few months ago,” James hands moved as he talked, his gaze focused on the screen. “Take a time check, accept the connection and check when you wake back up. 10 minutes tops.”   It took eight minutes, twenty three seconds and 5 milliseconds. Nothing seemed different but then Silas noticed a door that hadn’t been there before. It was like coming out of quarantine in Violet, the feeling of space, most of packed with periphery information Silas didn’t even know he processed. James had left a little package for him, an itemized list of everything he’d done. The list of filters and restrictions was astounding. Some of them were little, decreasing his range of sensory input to human levels. He checked out of curiosity, adding infrasound. The acoustics of the world changed startling and Silas switched it off. He could experiment with it later. Most interestingly was an information filter for embargoed planets and systems. Places Silas hadn’t even know were inhabited. One of them was a moon of Jupiter. “You alright in there?” Silas opened his eyes to find James staring at him. He sat back upon seeing Silas was operational and nodded to himself. “There’s a file on there for doing it yourself if you’d like to learn. I don’t know if they reset this sort of thing when you go in for a tune up.” “I’m still not entirely certain the extent of what you did,” said Silas, “but I have a feeling that I cannot thank you enough.” “We’re even then,” James stood up, his workstation already stowed. “I best be getting back.” When he was alone on his ship, Silas was confronted with the fact that he had no idea what to do next. His steps so far had been clear, coming up on 15 years of successful contracts and projects. While he had promised Violet that he wouldn’t write a report, he found that he didn’t even want to write one. He still had time before anything was due, he’d call it a dead end. Take some proper time off. Travel maybe. But there were things to do first. He reconnected to the planetary network and sent a message to Sid. I’ll be on Earth for longer than expected. Perhaps you can introduce me to your band.

[briarcliffmuses-blog]

B I O G R A P H Y - ( includes triggers )

Born in New York City, Karington Todd was the ideal infant, healthy and beautiful, born first to a couple by the name of Walsh that hadn’t quite figured out that their relationship was not built to withstand the addition of a child, forcing them to consider, and ultimately decide, to give their daughter up for adoption.

Despite the inability to deny that the two weren’t ready for children, or even marriage yet (not that it stopped them), Clarisse and Douglas Todd were nothing less than stoked to be parents. Clarisse, a young waitress just out of high school, was head over heels for Douglas, though, that wasn’t much of a surprise to anybody. He was four years older than she was, and while his position as manager at the local mini-mart was less than impressive, he was what every woman dreamed of finding one day. Dreamy and dangerous.

The only problem was the woman’s inability to create a child for the two, on her own. After nearly a year following their marraige and several failed attempts, Clarisse feared she would have to give up her dreams of a family, upon being informed that she was, in fact, infertile. That was when Douglas suggested adoption, while he was still in love with his wife.

When their letter of approval arrived from the adoption agency they had applied through, they were over the moon. It was as though the world was finally falling into place, the day they met their daughter, signing the final papers and taking the legal notions to change the young girl’s last name to their own.

Clarisse thought the world of her small family, believing that the three of them would be together forever. If only she had realized how mediocre the idea was, before Douglas had agreed to raise a child alongside her. When he stopped spending time at home, making new excuses each time, Clarisse turned to the arms of another man, ultimately getting caught in the act. The two made up, to much surprise, but not before he had impregnated the new checkout girl at aisle four.

By the time Clarisse had realized what kind of man Douglas really was, it was already too late. She was pregnant herself, unknowingly, and Karington was two years old and about to start day-care, when the phonecalls began. Her name had been Miranda, and most of her calls were to inform the young couple that she demanded child support; That Doug had a son, and he was to take care of him and his mother. Obviously, Clarisse wasn’t too fond of the man after finding out that bit of information, especially after a praternity test proved it correct.

She didn’t understand at the time, but this was when her parents came to terms with the decision of a divorce. To say that Karington was confused was to say the least, when her mother buckled her into her carseat and began to drive, the entire trunk full of all of her mother’s clothes and all of her toys, aside from Mr. Barnaby, a stuffed blue rabbit the five year old toted everywhere. Her mother had contacted a woman in Canada, whom Karington would later learn to call her grandmother, and they moved into her home for a while. It wasn’t much, and there were an abundance of new rules, but Karington liked the flower shop they drove past on the way to town, and that was enough for the child. Once Clarisse had gotten onto her feet, sending out application after application, finally settling on a position at the local hospital, answering phones.

That was when they packed up once again and moved into a far-too-small home just down the road. And so the small girl tugged her stuffed rabbit down the street, and that was okay too, because she had made a friend. As far as anybody could tell, her name was Emmy, because that’s what Karington liked to call her. The two were young, but inseparable. From the age of five, carrying into the pre-teen years, Karington and Emily were the best of friends. No matter the difference in the two families, primarily financially, they were impossibly close. The kind of friends that agreed to see things through until the end, and actually did.

Karington was in sixth grade when her mother was offered a teaching position in Virginia. In the time the only child had escalated her way through elementary school, Clarisse had managed to finish school, earning a teaching degree, with the help of her mother’s babysitting skills. So, unwillingly, Karington packed up everything, even that raggedy old bunny, and she and Clarisse were off to Prince Edward Island, where they settled into a slightly larger home than before, with the man her mother remarried - the father of karington's half sister. And, that wasn’t okay, because she missed Emily more than she missed her own father. That being said, she wasn’t going to let such a strong friendship slip through her fingers, only because of the many miles separating them. The two wrote letters back and forth, as well as emails, all throughout their high school lives.

But, luckily for Karington, she met a new friend in school. This one’s name was Marcus, and this time she was old enough to pronounce it correctly, as well as introduce herself under a new alias; Kari. She’d grown tired of her full name, and with the new location came the chance the recreate herself. Little did she know in that moment, exactly how much she would love hearing her new nickname roll off of the other boy’s tongue, as they grew older. Easily said, Marcus was her first everything. He was her first date, her first kiss, her first love, and the boy that took her virginity. They were inseparable, much like Karington had been with Emily. Both of their parents believed the children would end up together, and as time proved them correct, they hoped marriage would be next.

Up until the moment Kari packed her bags into the boy’s truck and made their way for Briarcliff University, the college they had agreed to go to together, she believed the same thing. Her dress had been picked out, and her life had been decided, and that was when the strawberry blonde realized just how deprived her life had been. She was selfish and curious. She couldn’t bare losing Marcus for good, but she had to know what else was out there. And that was when she suggested the two took a break. Obviously this didn’t go over well with the boy, being as he helped Karington unpack her belongings and drove off, skipping out on their college experience all together.

The first few weeks were harder than ever. Her best friend was nowhere in sight, and she was in this new, scary place with not a soul she knew. She started writing letters to Emily again, some of them stuffed into the desk in her dorm, never to be sent, praying that the other girls never found them. As time went on, Karington began to fall into the mold of college life, finding herself and her freedom along the way, with different men and even women, along the way. She was slowly beginning to realize who she really was, and with that, came her own string of messes to follow. Of course, she had made decent friends, like Dimitri, Mason, and Megan, but even friendship couldn’t help clean up the girl’s messes.

Among those disasters came one in particular. After hooking up with one of the boys on campus, not once but a multitude of times, something Karington hadn’t done with one person since arriving in Briarcliff, she agreed to become the boy’s girlfriend. And, thus began her downfall.

Things with Keith were great at first. He took her to the campus diner on Thursday nights, and bought her flowers when she passed her most difficult midterm. He brought her tissues when she was sick, and cried her name to high heavens in bed. Things were perfect. At least, they seemed that way, until the night he was pledged as a member of the Delta Gamma Fraternity. That was when everything changed.

He gave up his tightly bound dorm room, and moved into the obnoxious house of men, taking part in parties and events, and, no sooner than he’d settled in, cocaine. He was drinking more and it was evident that something about him was different. He was strung out, more than ever, and it seemed as though everything set him off. He didn’t spend nearly as much time with Karington anymore, and when he did, the aftermath usually resulted in the small girl’s tears against her pillow.

At first, it was only words, reminding Karington of what a horrible person she was. He threw everything she did in her face, as though there had been an accumulated list of wrongs the young girl had performed. Failed grades. Nights she hadn’t come to bed. The evenings she had spent with her friends. How Silas was right to leave her. How she’d put on weight.

Everything was an insult, and Kari didn’t know how to respond, other than cry and ultimately beg that he didn’t leave her, promising that she could fix it.

She turned to her schoolwork, burying herself in improving her grades, all the while making certain to put him before her friends, both in time and sexual regards. And, she began to eat, less and less, counting calories and watching the pounds drop. She had to prove to him that she was worth his time, that she deserved his love, that she could be better.

But, no matter how hard she tried, it just wasn’t enough. And, that was when the abuse began. One day Karington had come home late, after a night out with her friends. The two hadn’t made plans, but she had agreed mid-outing that she would see Keith when she got back to campus. This wasn’t good enough. After an interrogation as to where she had been and who she was with, not that the coked out jock believed her, he clocked her right in the jaw.

But, that was only the first time of many. And, no matter how much Kari wanted to leave him, she couldn’t, because this time, it was him who demanded love, despite the way he went about it, threatening that if she ever left him, she would regret it. Of course, the girl believed him. She had enough bruises covering her quickly thinning body than she knew he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t fearful of hurting her, and he didn’t intend to stop anytime soon. Between cruel words and painful punches, Karington couldn’t help what she had been reduced to; A less than adequate school student struggling with an impending case of anorexia, caused by an abusive boyfriend that hadn’t even noticed the harm she was causing herself beside his own, scars covering her inner thighs.

She didn’t want to be like this, of course. Who would? But, she couldn’t help it, and Keith showed no signs of making her life any easier, any time soon. So, she continued on, battling with herself, and pleasing a man that cared so little for her, making excuses all the way around.

That all changed the night that Keith let things go too far, even for him. It had been the last day of the semester, letting out for Easter break, and Karington had agreed to make a big dinner for the two of them, not that she stood much of a choice. The girl had spent most of the day, baking and stirring, perfecting their dishes to the best of her abilities, wondering when he was going to be home.

When he did show up, his eyes were larger than usual, and he reeked of cigarette smoke and scotch, a deadly combination. Dinner hadn’t been done, and according to the male, that was unacceptable, being as he had given her ample time to do so. Though it was certain that his anger fell into something else; something he actually had a right to be angry about this time around. Kari had been cheating on him, spending her spare time with a man that didn’t love her or promise to, but made her feel safer than Keith ever could, even if it was only sex. When the topic arose, yelling and throwing pursued, and as one thing led to another, Karington was pinned against the refrigerator, struggling to breath as his fingers curled tightly against her neck.

In a moment of fear and panic, truly believing that this could be the end for her, she reached out for the knife she had left on the kitchen counter, after spending what felt like hours peeling potatoes and cutting up carrots, and without a second thought, stabbed the man. She could barely keep her hands from shaking as she washed the blood from her fingers, tears streaming down her face before dialing 911 and explaining her emergency.

With the loss of Keith entirely in her hands, and the stress that came with police conversations and witness confessions on trial, it was no surprise that Karington’s eating disorder worsened, as well as her self harm. Even after she was proven innocent in an act of self-defense, she grew worse. The realization that she had killed somebody, no matter the circumstances, was eating her alive and it was consuming her, to the point that she couldn’t take it anymore.

However, she hid it well, making it nothing short of a surprise when her roommate, Cynthia, found her in the bathtub, one wrist slit, incapacitated and barely holding on to her life. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital, clad in a blue and white medical gown, bandages on her wrist and a lock on her door.

Thus began her stay at Southwood Psychiatric Hospital. It was a dull place, filled with people she didn’t understand and smells she wished she could escape. There were bed times and lock downs and at first, she wasn’t allowed to leave her room. That was when she started writing to Emily again. She didn’t send every letter, but the coping mechanism did wonders for her recovery, and after about a month, she was granted recreational passages, meaning that she could venture the halls and take part in the hobbies the other survivors did.

After six months of making friends with other suicidal victims, clinging to the companions she had made, she was granted her freedom, given the option to leave if she felt as though she was ready. She was eager to head back to school, to catch up with her old peers and fall back into the casual life of college, even if it meant leaving behind one of the good friends she had made in the ward, Marley. But, she knew it was for the best.

Upon her return, however, she quickly wished for her empty bedroom at the hospital back, as she faced the ridicule and rumors of the students at her university, the spread of her suicide attempt and talk of Keith following her everywhere. Not to mention, her grades were on a back burner due to how behind she was, leaving for six months. Afraid that her symptoms would soon return if this continued, Karington made the decision to drop out of school, leaving her undecided dreams behind her, moving into a small one bedroom apartment in the upper part of Lock Haven, where she had found a waitress job at one of the privately owned diners. That is, until she was fired due to the lack of business the place was bringing in.

Short on cash and low on spirit, Karington didn’t know what else do to. She sent out multitudes of applications and when she didn’t hear anything back, began to worry about the loss of her new-found home. She was falling apart, all over again. Her school experience was over, and she didn’t have a single friend to fall back on.

Or did she?

On a whim, she decided to call the one person she always remembered had taken care of her; Dimitri. To her luck, she located his phone number in no time at all, and off to a payphone she went, explaining her situation when the boy hesitantly answered.

Karington is now back at Briarcliff, and trying to readjust to the school, despite the many rumors about why she left, and what happened to Keith. She tries her hardest to cope with everything she has been dealt in life, but some times it is still all too much, and she slips back into self-harm and the ways of her eating disorder.