#the reign of terror dwindled but never truly ended

[tyrannuspitch]

cant believe younger me used to be embarrassed about gansey being a republican. babe some of your future blorbos are going to be straight up fascists

[imaginedreamwrite]

Of Ash & Dust

Part 1: The Descent

“If you think this is a good idea-“ You debate cutting the communication of your earpiece, the small metal disk held onto your ear via a small piece of silicone that hand around the shell of your ear.

For a moment you debate cutting her off and carrying on without your partner giving you sarcastic and falsified hope.

“-then you have lost your mind.” There is a moment where you think about rolling your eyes as she gives you her attempt at sound advice but instead of giving in to the urge, you carry on and concentrate on the glass that’s crunching under your boots.

You focus on the landscape of twisted metal that was meant to be a deterrent for anyone who dared to try and locate the places of myths. If it wasn’t for the twisted metal and the overgrown fauna that truly made this place seem a wonder of old, you had wondered if more people like you wouldn’t have wandered over to these abandoned buildings.

“You don’t have to be a part of this.” You scuff your boot against a cement pillar and hiss at the sound of the worn material catching on a particularly rough edge. You know how daunting navigating these kinds of places can be, and yet even you wonder if it isn’t made more treacherous for a reason.

“The risk isn’t worth the reward.” Your partner’s communication device is crackling, the connection dwindling from overuse on her end and you know it won’t be long before she heads to the ScrapYard for another device.

“You don’t know that.” You approach a particularly bent piece of metal obscuring your path and you hesitate, your attention faltering to the holds in the metal that had once been part of a device meant to scale walls. It’s faded, more rusted and ragged than not, but still, you can see the indentation of a symbol that was carved into the metal all those years before.

“It’s a HYDRA facility, abandoned long before Stark and his endless reign of terror.” Your partner’s voice never rises above the level of mildly interested and she makes her mood known yet again with a weary sigh and long-winded mutter under her breath.

“You’re not helping anyways.” You tap the comm in your ear and end the communication stream, then wait for half a beat before your fingers hover above the device. “Little help.”

The device pulses softly and then projects the light you need, the soft blue glow washing over the rusted metal and a hologram appearing to your left. It’s showing you what you need to know, the information you were hoping for was correct.

There is nothing on the other side of the metal to prevent you from going forward and the process to remove the object should be simple however you doubt you are going to be able to move it on your own.

“Okay POGO-“ You reach behind you and slip your hand into the reinforced canvas bag you brought with you, fingers nimbly grabbing one of the tools you had rebuilt and reinvigorated to help you.

“Personal Operating Geo-“ The little robotic creature you had rebuilt a while ago had come to life on its own and scurried toward the metal object you needed to be moved, and stood before the ragged and jarred materials.

“I just need it moved enough to get through,” at your instruction, the little robotic creature, resembling a marmoset monkey, with its small yet wide eyes and cute angular nose made of metal and fibres so tightly wound together it looked like real fur, “can you help me?”

“Help?” it tilted its head, and you knew it was screwing with you as a playful little jaunt. “Did you forget manners?”

“Did you forget who fixed you?” You mumbled under your breath and then exhaled slowly. “Fine, please would you be so kind as to help me?”

“POGO lives to help.” Your little robotic friend, the one you had found in an abandoned facility not completely unlike this one, had curled its metal and fibre toes around the solid bottom of the heap of crap you were trying to go through and raised its small arms, bracing its human-like hand against the top edge of the climbing structure.

It hadn’t needed to use much power, given the strength that was wound tightly in the fibres of his construction and the kind of metal channels that you had found to piece him together. POGO, your sometimes irritating marmoset monkey companion was stronger than you were.

“Thank you, POGO.” you tightened the clasps of your toolkits and started to climb the surface to step through the opening, hesitating when you had seen the slight drop.

There was nothing on the other side to get through yet there was a slight drop that had you steadying your footing.

“You could slide down.” Your artificial monkey companion stated, holding the opening steady. “I would suggest using an anchor.”

“Thanks, P.” Your right hand dug into one of your pockets to grasp the hook and tie you had for occasions such as this and upon pulling it out of your pocket, you threw the hook toward a deep hold waiting until it had caught.

You yanked on the tie twice, trusting the cable and its strength before you started to ease yourself down the drop until both feet had been steadied on the ground again. As you touched bottom, you were further thrown into the cavernous setting that had led to the opening of the abandoned HYDRA building, the steady descent you were making was a stark and drastic change from what the area once had been.

It was as if the building itself was plummeted deeper into the surface of the earth than intended. The front entrance was long gone, long absorbed by dust and clay, black tarnished earth that surrounded the original structure in a cacophonous density of natural substances.

You had gauged the trip as best as you could from a distance, using your drone to give you some kind of layout and it was only after hours of studying the best way, that you discovered the truth about the state of the building.

The top two floors were all that had appeared out of the earth, the rest were driven deep into the earth. Perhaps it was a purposeful action done by HYDRA themselves, whatever or whoever they had been, to hide secrets of their past. Or maybe it was simpler than that, maybe it was the Earth’s way of reclaiming what space was originally hers.

“I know you cut me off, but I see you’re approaching the entrance of the building. I’ve been doing some digging,” your partner’s voice had come back through the comm, the device against your ear vibrating slightly with the approach of the jagged metal that led to the opening you sought out.

“And..?” You questioned her, steadily encroaching on the top of the building while hearing nothing but the subtle sounds of nature, POGO and her voice.

Everything else was quiet, eerily so.

“There are a whole number of floors and corridors but some are blocked off. The bottom floors look the most promising in what used to be the basement. It’s a long stretch down, it’ll take every inch of your tether system.”

“Head for the basement got it.” You stepped forward, encroaching on the edge of the structure and slowly leaned over, peering down at the hole in the roof that would lead you down.

The same archetypical jagged metal and broken beams that had been chaotically thrown together on the premise were visible in the building. It was a clear shot down like your partner had said, yet it wouldn’t be an easy descent.

“You can always change your mind.” POGO chimed, chirping as he climbed up your leg to your shoulders, and balanced on you, his tiny fingers grasping the material of your coat.

“Hang on, PO.” You replaced the hook you had used earlier for a large and longer grappling device, the steady metal and strong points would suit you well as you tried to descend.

You rolled your shoulders back and inhaled slowly, filling your lungs with clean air before you threw the hook at the other side of the opening, hearing and watching it get caught on a sturdy ledge.

With the rope set in your hands, you stepped toward the teetering edge and leaped. Air rushed from you as you began descending, the feather and the hook holding strong.

You were going steady, descending depths that might not have been seen in decades or half-centuries even, the ruins of old agencies and people who had come before were now your scavenging sight.

“You good, PO?” Your monkey friend had chirped like a physical animal, a sign of his acknowledgement and understanding translating to a vocalized yes.

“Good.” You clung to the tether, your aged gloves keeping your hands from rope burns while the hook held you and POGO safe as long as you didn’t let go.

Every floor you passed was another flashback to the past, the years before and the people that ran the organization called HYDRA had crumbled, their empire and legacy kept only in the shells of marred metal.

“Approaching ground floor.” An autonomous voice chirped in your device, a warning before you had felt the earth below your boots. You stepped down and let go of the tether, dusting your hands off and doing a slow look around the area.

It was dark, dusty and decrepit. The technologies of the past were spared slightly from the torrential weather that would have inflicted the top levels, and you were sure undoubtedly that there would be pumps to drain any residual water but for the most part, the area you could see was dry.

You raised your hand and tapped your fingers against the device, a hologram server appearing before your eyes. You worked quickly, without much thought as you tapped into the electrical systems that were still in place, albeit anciently resting.

“I can only get emergency lights.” You communicated with PO, your partner long silenced. “PO-“

“I’ll find something.” He jumped from your shoulders and scurried off, and you in return had reached into your bag for a small metal orb, fingers grazing the slightly raised edges of the metal grooves carved into it.

“I’ll send the drone ahead.” You pulled your orb out of your bag and gently flexed your fingers around the edges before you had thrown it up into the air, waiting for the tentative moment when it would come to life.

It was a beat, maybe half, before the orb started to glow and a pair of ultralight yet sturdy wings had appeared from the grooves in the side, an almost silent hum from the drone reactive to your command as you willed it to start taking a look around.

With a soft blue glow, the drone started to take off, moving from the place you were in further into the building, going beyond the open area you were in. The light of the drone faded as it had flown away from you, and you had returned to your task of scavenging the area as you had intended. You were looking for Relics, pieces of old that could be used in bartering, trading or for ornamental purposes.

You had tools in your bag to strip all that you could of everything you could find that would be valuable.

It was a task for a person such as yourself, the class and designation you’d been awarded when you defied his orders and made yourself into an enemy. He had stripped you down to the lowest class in his hierarchy, debilitating your abilities to that of a plover bird picking from the teeth of crocodiles.

Or, at least that was according to his words.

“Life detected.” The autonomous voice of your drone had come through your comm.

“Come again?”

“Life detected.” The autonomous voice came with the holographic image of two ancient and out-of-date cryogenic chambers that were still, miraculously, frozen.

The faces were obscured yet there was a heart rate picked up on, and the brainwave patterns of the two men who had been frozen in time, forgotten about.

“Life detected.” Your drone commented again. “Life detected-“

“Ability to unlock and reverse the frozen state?” You questioned, dropping everything to follow the path the drone set out for you.

“Approximate time to reverse the cryogenic freezing: two hours.” You tore into the room at the back and skidded to a stop in front of the chambers.

Your eyes had widened immensely, your breath bating in your chest as the stats, the records of the men were accessed through the database and directed to your comm.

“Two hours,” you tapped your device twice, bringing up the first of the files on the men, “who exactly are you, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes?”

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[hyperfixat]

hi i wrote this in thirty minutes and im probably going to make it a full fic and put it on ao3.. jus wanted to share.

Edit She is freed from my Docs. Link at bottom

gabriel x reader 💕💗💖💞💓

gender neutral reader

…

Gabriel never had much of a taste for humanity, cancer of the realms. They’re blight and he simply seeks to extinguish their reign on Earth.

It seems as though he was the only one that truly saw what the terrible humans do, evil acts full of malice upon innocents happen too often for there to be hope for the species. He has to take matters into his own hands it seems. Gabriel’s time spent in the Human Realm is short and quick. He allows enough time for his minions to spawn from his essence, rarely he stops to terrorize humanity himself.

No, he has much greater things to take care of. His halo flickers in and out of multiple dimensions whenever he summons it. His wings are turning grey, and it’s getting harder to keep up appearances with other angels.

Luckily these adverse effects from taking the Earth into his own hands seem to diminish when he takes his true form, one with many eyes, many hoops, and few feathers. The only thing that could draw suspicion when he’s like this is his eyes, clouding over in a milky white. It isn’t often he takes on his purest form, though. He’s safe, for the time being, that is.

When all of time and space has multiple all knowing Gods, secrets rarely remain such, and after a few human years (a mere speck in relation to Gabriel’s lifespan) he gets cast from the ranks of the Gods.

It wasn’t fair, the others don’t believe him, they don’t help him, they think he’s wrong.

Anger is fuel.

The Light Bringer offered condolences, he too was cast away, an unjust act.

Gabriel stewed in his anger, and much like gasoline and fire he was doomed to explode sooner or later.

The time came when Gabriel couldn’t hold his rage and spite anymore. He stepped into the realm of humanity. They haven't changed a bit, he wasn’t surprised. He’s never wrong, still as much a plague as they were before. They’d progressed in their primitive ways, sure, but they were as horrible as he remembered them to be.

Shadows roll off of Gabriel in billowing gusts of smoke, joining the walls, floors, streets, of cities, helping humanity to its hideous end. There are churches and stores and homes around him, but no sight of the wretched race themselves.

A relief, his minions wouldn’t be caught forming. Few of them were left on the planet, which was to be expected, almost two millennia passed from his last visit.

A new batch of horror to fight the blight. They’re stronger this time, formed from hate, and filled with malacie.

Humanity is dumb, Gabriel watches them from his pocket dimision that has the most delightful view into the realm where they reside.

Perhaps twenty years have passed and his lovely minions did their jobs well. The Earth lived in fear, as it should, but their numbers dwindle.

It forms a pattern, every two decades he releases another batch of his righteous soldiers onto humanity. He never stops to stare, he could do that in private, and that he does.

Gabriel follows the lives of the populus, he’s obsessed with his purpose to destroy them. He takes glee and joy during their self inflicted massacres, sometimes his minions didn’t even have to lure them into fighting. Such violent creatures they are.

With such a close eye on the Earth, he’s bound to notice outliers, but he doesn’t do much to stop their destruction along with the rest of their species, not until he saw them.

Perhaps it was an infatuation, but the moment he saw them he knew that this one, this one human was the exception.

All of humanity is an illness and this one is the cure. He wouldn’t use them to safe humanity, no, but he could save them from humanity.

Gabriel sent out a no hit order almost instantly, and his focus was drawn away from world events to the little human.

[hellsbellschime]

So what's your theory about what happened to the dragons?

LOL, well it might not be the most thrilling theory behind their demise, but I think there is substantial evidence to back it up.

When it comes to the world of ice and fire, there are few beasts that inspire as much fear and awe as dragons. Dragons are fire made flesh, their unstoppable power allowed the Valyrians to conquer and subjugate most of Essos for centuries, and enabled the Targaryens to conquer and subjugate the Seven Kingdoms for centuries after that. 

However, after revolutionizing most of Planetos in blazes of glory and terror, instead of this species flourishing or even going out with a bang, they went out with a whimper. Barely a hundred years after the Targaryens united the kingdoms of Westeros and named themselves kings and queens from the backs of seemingly unstoppable dragons, the few dragons that even hatched wound up being sad remnants of this once titanic species. And the Targaryens, along with the fans and viewers of the series were left asking themselves, why?

After all, while the number of dragons that were left in the world were already dwindling rapidly, the fact that the dragons that survived the Doom of Valyria went from beasts that could destroy the world to small, sad imitations of the fearsome animals that they once were in the matter of a few generations would indicate that something had gone very wrong with them very quickly. 

While dragons are hardly normal animals, if any living species in the real world went from relatively normal to barely able to reproduce and only able to spawn extremely unhealthy and stunted offspring, people would be rightfully alarmed. Yes, the gene pool of remaining dragons was distressingly small already, but even so, one would think that a species on the verge of extinction like that would still peter out rather than almost instantaneously collapse. 

Understandably, fans have many theories about what happened to the dragons, or more specifically, who made what happened happen to them. And unfortunately for House Targaryen, the list of suspects isn't exactly small. Dragons are the most dangerous weapons in the world, they allowed the Valyrians to become the most powerful civilization in the world and allowed just three Targaryens to invade and conquer an entire continent. They seem to be the foundation on which Valyrian power was built, and everyone who could control dragons could in turn control everything and anything that they wanted to. 

House Targaryen ultimately became the most powerful family in the world, and they never made a habit of sharing their power. When they conquered Westeros, they were extremely reluctant to marry any Westerosi families into their own, and they certainly weren't keen on letting any non-Targaryen gain access to their literal firepower. But what that means is that, although there are certain people who are more suspicious than others, literally every non-Targaryen in Westeros likely wanted to see the reign of dragons come to an end. 

But although the list of suspects should be about as long as a census of the Seven Kingdoms, most theorize that it was either the Faith of the Seven or the maesters who were the masterminds behind the destruction of dragons. And they certainly make sense as prime suspects, given that they are two of the largest and most powerful organizations in Westeros that have access to anything and everything, including the Targaryens themselves. 

There are more reasons to suspect these organizations as well. Just as with every powerful family or group in Westeros, when the Targaryens arrived in the Seven Kingdoms, the power that they took diminished the power of the people who had already existed there. It's clear that the subjugation of the kingdoms was not willing on the part of it's citizens, so they would likely feel quite motivated to take some of that power back, and given that the maesters were one of the only organizations that wielded power across every kingdom, it makes sense that they would in a way want to undermine the rule of the Targaryens. 

And beyond that, the maesters in particular have very little love for magic in general. Despite seemingly believing in magic and even offering study in the subject, they seem to have a keen interest in ensuring that others don't believe in magic, and they also seem to take certain steps to prevent magic from returning in the contemporary timeline of the story. 

And of course, arguably the biggest reason why the maesters are the prime suspects is because Archmaester Marwyn the Mage seems to outright state that it was the maesters who killed off the dragons. 

That would seemingly end the question of how the dragons all died, except... does it really? Yes, Marwyn claims that the maesters were the ones that did it, however in the history of A Song of Ice and Fire, it seems that more often than not, those who claimed to do something extraordinary are lying. 

But if it wasn't the maesters, or the faith, or some diabolical or politically savvy house in Westeros, then who or what was it? Well, perhaps people are looking for conspiracy theories where none exist. Maybe the dragons truly did just die on their own. 

Now, this would seem like a fairly outrageous and extremely convenient idea given the circumstances. Because again, any species going from a dwindling number of relatively normal animals to being unable to produce anything but stunted and malformed creatures seems exceptionally unlikely. However, dragons are not relatively normal animals. 

To understand the end of the dragons, it's best to start from the beginning. As creatures that are both mythical and real, there are unsurprisingly a lot of origin myths surrounding where the dragons truly came from. Some say that they came from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, some say that they came from a second moon that cracked like an egg and let all of the dragons out. However, given that their entire empire was built on the backs of dragons, it seems like what the Valyrians say about where the dragons came from may be the most relevant. 

According to the Valyrians, the dragons sprang forth from the Fourteen Flames, the chain of volcanoes that served as the steam engine that fueled the Valyrian empire itself. However, this origin story is a strange one. After all, the Doom of Valyria appears to have been some sort of massive explosion of the Fourteen Flames, one that was so large that it even killed the dragons. But if the dragons originated from the Fourteen Flames themselves, then how would not one of them have survived the Doom?

But perhaps this origin story is both true and false. Septon Barth, Hand of the King to Jahaerys Targaryen, has some very interesting theories regarding how the Valyrians came to control and very possibly create dragons themselves. The Valyrians were quite fond of experimenting with magically and biologically blending different creatures anyway, and it's hard not to notice that if a firewyrm and a wyvern were thrown in a blender, something like a dragon would seemingly come out of it. 

Interestingly, one of the strongest indications of dragons possibly not being an animal that naturally occurs in the world comes from the Targaryen invasion of Westeros. Westeros is not a land that seems to be home to a lot of fire magic, but it does seem to be a bit of a hotbed of magic in general. And while abilities like skinchanging and warging are extraordinary powers, they are not a particularly uncommon power. 

Dragons represent the greatest power that the world has ever known, and the Targaryens invaded a land where there are seemingly hundreds of people who can take possession of an animal with their minds. So it seems incredibly, astoundingly strange that there are no reports of anyone ever skinchanging or even attempting to skinchange into a dragon. 

Granted, it would likely be incredibly difficult, and perhaps there is some other explanation for why no one has ever done it before. But, even putting the appeal of dragon power aside, once everyone saw what an existential threat dragons were to Westeros, it seems unlikely that no skinchanger ever even thought to try to wrest the total control that House Targaryen had over the country away from them. 

And even putting the skinchanging issue aside, contrary what the TV series would have everyone believe, the dragons will not be going beyond the wall anytime soon. In fact, the wall seems to be some sort of natural repellent to the dragons, which is another extremely strange indication that there is something very abnormal about the dragons themselves. 

After all, the wall wasn't even built with dragons in mind. And the wall is an extremely powerful magical barrier, but as the direwolves that the Starks find at the beginning of the story seem to indicate, it's not a barrier that keeps magical creatures away. One might assume that it was a barrier to keep ice magic at bay, but the dragons being repelled by it would indicate otherwise as well. It's possible that Bran the Builder was just exceptionally prescient and imbued the wall with magic that would serve as a barrier to something that would threaten Westeros in the future, but it seems far more likely that the wall was built as a barrier to keep all unnatural magic out. 

And honestly, the theory that dragons are unnatural magical creations would answer a lot of questions about dragons in general, like why it was that the Valyrians were the only civilization that could control them, why the rise of Valyria seemed to coincide with the sudden proliferation of dragons that was localized to soley this area of Planetos, and why the Doom of Valyria seemed to translate to the doom of dragons themselves. 

There seems to be more background information that supports this theory as well. While the Valyrian civilization is mostly gone from the world, their civilization seems to be built almost entirely on fire magic, and fire magic in general is certainly alive and well in Planetos.  

The followers of R'hllor seem to be the most powerful human magic wielders in the series thus far, and their magic seems to be almost entirely fueled by fire and ritual sacrifice. But it's hard not to notice that their power seems to require a LOT of ritual sacrifice. There is a very clear through line connecting blood with magic in the world of Ice and Fire, but from what we know about the history of Valyria as well as what we know about fire magic users that exist today, it seems like fire magic seems to be extremely consumptive. 

In the Valyrian Freehold, slaves were dying constantly, many of them dying by fire in and around the Fourteen flames themselves. And while the information regarding the advanced Valyrian technology like Valyrian stone and Valyrian steel is lost, there is a lot of subtextual hints that they also involved blood magic. And in the contemporary storyline, there are a lot of fire magic users who are doing some spectacularly impressive things, but they are killing an astounding number of people in order to do it. 

And this concept, the idea that the most powerful magic in the world requires the most sacrifice, seems to hold up within the rest of the universe as well. Ice is clearly meant to be the magical counterpart to fire, and given that the army of the dead literally requires thousands upon thousands of dead people, it seems like there is a clear indication that great power comes from great sacrifice. So then, if dragons are truly creatures that do not occur in nature and were somehow created through fire and blood magic, it would make sense that the sustenance of the dragons as a species would be dependent on the continuation of that blood sacrifice. 

And this idea seems to have already been confirmed in A Song of Ice and Fire itself. Daenerys is in possession of her dragon eggs for quite a while, and she seems to have an instinctive understanding that she will be able to hatch them, but she then comes to realize that hatching them would require some sort of blood sacrifice as well. When Daenerys actually does this, dragons are finally brought back into the world. 

So, while there are plenty of potential suspects when it comes to the destruction of the dragon race, it actually seems incredibly likely that these magical beings simply couldn't survive without the enormous blood sacrifices that it took to create them in the first place.

[theworkofxanderking]

Dracula: The Originals (Fanfiction)

Chapter Two: Battle Lines

Warnings: I do not own the original content to “The Originals”, “The Vampire Diaries” or “Legacies” or any of the characters from the television shows.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

New Orleans, 1722

It had been almost 2 and a half centuries since Klaus, Rebekah, Elijah and Kol Mikaelson spent that one fateful night in the Transylvanian castle belonging to Count Dracula and neither Mikaelson had seen of Dracula or his brides since although they heard many stories as the myth of Dracula grew larger almost as large as the original vampires themselves which only served to saturate Klaus’ obsession with Dracula.

During his tedious investigative work into Dracula and the brides he claimed Klaus learned that Dracula was witch-vampire hybrid made possible due to his siphoning nature as Klaus assumed Dracula must have had some of his bloods after learning Kol had not so literally handed the brides his own blood to make them what was known as heretics.

Klaus had never come across anyone who had claimed to know any understanding of him until the day he came across Dracula and since that fateful night he had never found another. Sure, he had romances, flings and loves during his seven centuries on this earth but he had never found someone who he believed could truly understand him and this had him intrigued for 2 and a half centuries without any wavering of interest.

Little did he or his siblings know that a reunion with Dracula would lead to a war for the city the Mikaelson’s had claimed as their home.

Long before the Mikaelson’s boat arrived in New Orleans the place had become somewhat of a haven for witches and werewolves thank to a peace treaty kept in place by witch regent Gabrielle LaRue and self-proclaimed wolf king Abel Kenner.

In time they allowed humans to join the peace treaty allowing a human representative Pastor Andreas Labonair into their peace treaty and humans, witches, and werewolves lived relatively quietly in mostly harmony, but nothing could prepare them for the arrival of the family of original vampires.

Klaus knew if he was to claim New Orleans, he had to eliminate any potential distractions to his master plan which meant daggering his chaotic youngest brother Kol and putting his body in a coffin next to their oldest brother Finn.

Elijah was desperate for Klaus to claim New Orleans as his so-called throne as Elijah saw this as an opportunity for him and his siblings to finally call somewhere home once again and set about turning as many humans as possible turning them into compelled undead allies of his family in the process knowing that with enough vampires they would eventually need representation a role which his brother Klaus was eager to accept.

Rebekah even found herself helping her brothers hoping that keeping Klaus busy would be beneficial to her having some sort of life and the prospect of a love her older brother didn’t wind up murdering before marriage. She set about New Orleans looking for secrets the kind of secrets that could used against their owner to her family’s advantage and succeeded one night after hearing rumors of Pastor Andreas Labonair being a werewolf only to later confirm it with her own eyes one moon shining night in a church basement.

Klaus had come up with the master plan to take New Orleans, Elijah had provided him with enough allies to form an army if needed be and Rebekah was ready to out secrets of anyone that opposed them.

New Orleans was there’s for the taking or at least that is what they believed not realizing while Abel, Gabrielle and Andreas played dutiful to the original siblings that they were secretly plotting their downfall not realizing their attempts to save New Orleans from one terror would only serve to unleash another.

Klaus had gathered Abel, Gabrielle and Andreas down to a warehouse near the port of New Orleans where they had their usual bi-weekly meetings to discuss each faction’s needs, responsibilities, concerns and fears although since Klaus had taken over the meetings it was mostly him demanding more and more from the others while continuing to boast about his growing population of vampires at the hands of himself, Rebekah and Elijah.

“You already have property within this area why on earth should we allow you to acquire more?” Gabrielle asked the original vampire as Klaus, herself, Abel and Andreas sat down at a table placed within the dark and damp warehouse.

“I was not asking for permission I was merely informing you that I’ve acquired some space and my vampires have begun work on the property.” Klaus revealed. “It’s a much more fitting location for my siblings and I.”

“Since you have arrived the human numbers are dwindling, fatal casualties have risen and hostility between witches, werewolves and vampires are at an all time high.” Pastor Andreas Labonair told him. “You have brought nothing but misery to Mystic Falls and quite frankly we’ve had enough of it.”

“I am not going to sit here and listen to human rights from a self-loathing werewolf.” Klaus snapped. “You will all smile while I go about my business and if you dare defy me, I’ll kill you all and everybody you’ve ever met.”

“We are not scared of you anymore Niklaus Mikaelson!” Gabrielle LaRue said defiantly as she stood from her chair. “The witches have lived under your reign of terror for too long I won’t allow it any longer and nor will I allow my children to grow up in a world where we kneel before some abomination.”

“I’d be very careful of your next words!” Klaus warned her after rising from his chair. “Or on the other hand don’t I do enjoy killing witches after all.”

“You are no longer our vampire representative,” Abel admitted as he and Andreas both stood up. “We have sought out another vampire more fitting of the role.”

“Who the bloody hell could be more fitting than an original vampire?” Klaus shouted in fury.

“A vampire who is more than a mere vampire, a witch who is more than a mere witch.” Dracula stated in his Hungarian accent after vamp speeding his way into the warehouse. “It’s nice to see you again Niklaus Mikaelson it has been far too long.”

Klaus stood there completely speechless by Dracula’s arrival that night he had longed to be reunited with the man behind many myths the man that lured him and his siblings into a trap two and a half centuries ago and now he had been reunited with his one time lover he wanted nothing more than to rip his bloody head off and make him suffer for ever daring to take his kingdom from him.

Kol Mikaelson had found himself daggered by his older brother Klaus once again despite how many times he had been daggered by his brother Klaus always had a way of surprising him each time.

However, this particular coffin spell proved to be one of the shortest as he found himself awaking in his coffin the color returning to his body before sitting up to find himself in an underground cellar and instantly recognizing the brunette beauty who was stood across from him holding the very dagger that was recently in his chest.

“Well this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” Kol said to her as he climbed out of his coffin. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but we have met before, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have only both of us were wearing a lot less materials.” The brunette bride replied with a flirty smile. “My name is Zsofia Benedek the bride of Dracula, the first bride of Dracula.”

“And why may I ask have you freed me from my imprisonment at the hands of my bastard brother?” Kol asked Zsofia.

“Well for one we started a little dance I intend to finish,” Zsofia revealed before she vamp sped over to Kol, close enough their bodies were almost touching. “My husband also has an opportunity for you one that will grant you revenge on that bastard brother of yours.”

“Consider me well and truly intrigued.” Kol said with a smile before passionately kissing Zsofia.

Zsofia and Kol continued to kiss passionately as Zsofia pushed him up against his coffin before Kol vamp sped with her across the cellar slamming her against the cellar wall as he began kissing her neck and tearing at her clothing as she began tearing at his.

“You have some nerve coming to my home and attempting to claim my throne.” Klaus snapped at Dracula as it was only the two of them that were left standing in the warehouse.

“Oh, please I’m not here to play king or involve myself in any of this nonsense I’ve been a king before, and the crown may have fitted nicely but it only led to the beginning of an eternity of death and despair.” Dracula explained to him. “I’m hardly a fan of the undead or witches and yet I find myself both. However, I am somewhat a fan of yours.”

“If you’re such a fan of mine then why the bloody hell are you trying to take my city from me?” Klaus shouted as he stormed his way over to be face to face with Dracula.

“Because Niklaus Mikaelson you are a worthy opponent and last time I encountered you I had the unfair advantage.” Dracula replied with a wicked smile. “My brides are my companions the only light in my never-ending darkness, but you make me feel like setting light to that darkness and along with it the world.”

“If you think you can trick me, I swear I’ll take great joy in removing you from your eternal darkness and straight into a bloody coffin.” Klaus warned the prince of darkness.

“There’s no trickery this time around Niklaus merely just a test,” Dracula admitted to him. “You want this place to be your home then prepare for a war if you win I’ll leave never to return if you don’t kill me of course and if I win I burn this place to the grounds and you leave with me as my first groom.”

“You are well and truly completely insane.” Klaus said in shock before looking at Dracula with his devilish grin. “Consider me well and truly ready for war.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be able to turn down a good proposal.” The undead Count chuckled away to himself.

“Just so you know I don’t play fair in war,” Klaus replied as he grabbed Dracula by the waist and pulled him in for a kiss. “It’ll be a shame to have to kill you in the end, but I’ll make sure to make this a battle you’ll never forget.”

“Now Niklaus no pre-showings before the wedding.” Dracula laughed as he brushed Klaus’ arms off his waist. “Although I never was one for keeping a tradition.”

Dracula and Klaus began passionately kissing each other and tearing at each other’s clothes before vamp speeding over to the table in which Dracula threw Klaus down and began kissing his way down Klaus’ toned and muscly chest causing Klaus to groan in pleasure louder with each kiss Dracula placed on him the kisses going lower and closer towards the original vampire’s waist.

Elijah looked out of the window of the Mikaelson family home, which was located on the outskirts of New Orleans, the same home from season one although more fitting to the era of 1772. Upon looking out the window in the living room area he saw a blonde-haired beauty standing in the garden looking straight at him with a knowing smile before waving at the Mikaelson brother without fear which amused Elijah tempting him outside.

“We don’t get many women stalking our home especially considering most of New Orleans are terrified of me and my siblings.” Elijah said upon opening the front door of his home and walking over to the blonde-haired beauty.

“I’ve seen many horrors in my life, and you are one of the more pleasing to my eyes.” She admitted to him. “You’re the noble Mikaelson am I correct?”

“That has been said once or twice, who are you?” Elijah asked her.

“My name is Evike Arvay and for the last two and a half centuries I have been one of Dracula’s brides.” The blonde-haired bride revealed. “Dracula is a cruel and tedious husband more like a master than a companion and I need your family’s help to rid me of him once and for all.”

“Why on earth would you come to me and my siblings for help?” Elijah quizzed.

“Dracula has arrived in New Orleans eager to claim it as his own only to burn it to the ground for his own amusement and destroy your family in the process,” Evike replied leaving Elijah no time to adjust to the news. “I’ve heard that you Mikaelson’s value family above all else.”

“And what do tell do you value most of all?” Elijah asked her, uncertain whether to trust this stunning yet mysterious bride of Dracula.

“Freedom and revenge.” She admitted causing Elijah to smile at her honesty.

“You should come inside and fill me in on everything Mrs Arvay.” Elijah said to her.

“Call me Evike I am nobody’s Mrs.” Evike replied.

Rebekah walked into the Rousseau’s bar which design was very fitting of the 17th century era but at the same time had similarity to what it looked like throughout The Originals TV show. She spotted a red woman girl sat in a booth and found herself immediately drawn to her walking over to sit down next to the mysterious red headed woman she had never seen in New Orleans before.

“Not many women roam New Orleans without a suitor present well except for the witches.” Rebekah said to her. “Although I’ve made it my everything to know every witch who resides within this city and you are a new face.”

“That’s because I’ve only just arrived here Rebekah and I’m not your typical kind of witch.” The redheaded bride replied to her noticing the original vampire’s shock at her knowing her name. “Don’t be so surprised miss Mikaelson that people know of you and your siblings after all you have are the original undead family.”

“Fair point, what do you mean when you say your not a normal witch?” Rebekah asked her.

“My name is Wilhelmina Helsing I am what is considered to be a bride to the infamous Count Dracula I believe the two of you have met before.” Wilhelmina revealed herself to the original female vampire.

“You’re one of the three brides that got the better of my foolish brother Kol two and a half centuries ago,” Rebekah realized. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume all his brides are heretics like himself.”

“You are correct I always told my husband you were the smartest Mikaelson, but he seems to have some morbid fascination with your brother Niklaus.” Wilhelmina explained to her. “I do love my husband dearly he freed me from a miserable existence, but I desire much more than to be somebody’s bride.”

“What exactly do you desire Wilhelmina?” Rebekah asked her curious to know the answer.

“This city,” She replied with a sinister smirk. “Dracula and Niklaus will destroy New Orleans long before they’ve finished their romantic little dance in the darkness whereas I’d rather lay claim to it. After all Dracula is no older a vampire than I nor is he any more powerful a witch than any of his brides why can’t I become this city’s queen?”

“Your delusional if you think myself or my siblings would ever allow anyone to take claim of our home.” Rebekah warned the redheaded bride.

“I guess you haven’t been informed that the battle for New Orleans has already begun,” Wilhelmina informed her as she stood up from her seat. “Boys are nothing more than children and they’ll gladly burn their toys instead of allowing others to play with them it’s our mission as women to teach them how to behave.”

“And how exactly do you intend to teach them?” Rebekah quizzed her as she too stood up from her seat.

“One bride is foolish following her master’s orders while the other plots to murder our husband I on the other hand have a much more delicate plan for both my husband and your brother one that includes neither of us having to ever wield again to any man!” Wilhelmina declared. “Tell me Rebekah are you tired of falling onto a dagger every time you dare to disagree with your brother?”

Dracula had set his sights on Klaus his brunette bride Zsofia had freed Kol and aligned herself with him while his deceiving brides Evike and Wilhelmina were seemingly plotting against their husband.

One thing was for sure neither Dracula nor his brides were to be fully trusted although after over seven hundred years of squabbling the Mikaelson’s didn’t fully trust each other.

Kol wanted revenge for Klaus’ cruel ways towards him, Rebekah wanted freedom from her siblings, Klaus wanted the throne at all cost and Elijah wanted nothing more than for his siblings to be happy despite how difficult a task it had proved to be.

Kol and Zsofia just lay there on the ground of the abandoned cellar using their clothing as sheets to cover their naked bodies.

“I always imagined sleeping with an original would be an extraordinary experience, but I must admit that was truly beyond my wildest dreams.” Zsofia admitted as Kol climbed on top of her and began kissing her neck.

“I guess this Count Dracula isn’t too good between the sheets so to speak.” Kol replied with a cheeky smile before kissing Zsofia on the lips.

“My husband sees his brides more like sisters than wives,” Zsofia revealed. “He saved us all from terrible fates and he can save you too.”

“See that’s the problem my darling Zsofia,” Kol told her before launching his hand into her chest causing her to choke up blood while looking at her lover in shock. “I don’t need saving and when I seek revenge, I seek it family style no outsiders allowed.”

Before Zsofia had a chance to respond or even defend herself the original Mikaelson vampire had ripped out her heart and her body began to desiccate.

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (11/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (mentions of violence, previous mentions of alcohol abuse,and sex)

Wordcount: 4000

Links: ao3 // ff.net // spotify chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // chapter 10

A/N: Would you look at that another week has passed and we're back! Thanks to my betas @acourtoftruelove and @ofshipsandswans and my lovely artist Sophie @shady-swan-jones for making this art  (ch 1 // ch 2 // ch 5 // ch 7 )

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“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Killian’s sleeping form. “I have to do this even though you’re probably going to hate me afterward. There’s no other way.”

She crouched in front of the bed, leveling her eyes with his closed ones. She yearned to touch his face but didn’t dare to; he could not wake up. It would ruin everything. Her head dropped, her forehead burrowing into the grey sheets adorned with small blue anchors. He’d apologized for them as they lay catching their breath, slowly getting down from the high they experienced. The sheets had been another incentive. He was innocent. Gold was the bad guy in this situation.

Which is why he needed to be eliminated.

So that they at least had a chance of a peaceful life. They stood a chance in life. The world would be a better place without him; Killian would still have a brother if he’d never encountered Gold. He would’ve had a different life, one without so much heartbreak and sorrow. She couldn’t fix that but at least she could make sure Gold’s reign of terror ended.

Her eyes fell on Killian’s sleeping form one last time, attempting to print the image of him into her mind, looking at every detail, every aspect of him in the darkened room. She was doing this for the greater good. Maybe she was ruining everything that they had, but how else would it stop? How else could she live with herself knowing all that she’d done wrong. It didn’t matter if she was putting herself in a dangerous situation, all that mattered was keeping him from harm. She was finally fighting instead of running away, finally facing the issue instead of sweeping it under the rug and ignoring its presence there.

She felt a demanding presence of tears in her eyes and willed them to go away, to not make this even harder than it already was. To not make this as much as a goodbye as it was. She should get going, they were getting closer and closer to sunrise and she was losing precious time. Not to mention that Killian had said he was an early riser, the last thing she needed was him waking up to her fully-dressed, sitting next to his bed with tears in her eyes. That would only lead to questions she did not want to answer. This was her only shot, her only chance to make a clean cut. So she had to go.

She got off of her knees, her bare feet slowly tiptoeing backward while she kept looking at him, his chest still steadily rising and falling, his expression without a care in the world. He’d thought they were able to solve it. They hadn’t talked a lot but she knew that Killian was planning to do so in the morning, attempting to clear the air to see if they could move forward, move past this. Emma knew they couldn’t. She had to be realistic and if there was one thing Emma Swan was good at, it was being realistic. And running.

The door was still half open before her hand pushed, changing the crack to a wide opening.

“I love you,” she said in the faintest of whispers, almost not loud enough for herself to hear.

The door closed again and so her view of Killian was obstructed. One stubborn tear fell in spite of her efforts to keep the tears at bay. Quickly, she used her thumb to flick the droplet away, letting out a big breath as she went in search of her shoes.

It had been some time since she last uttered those words, a long time even. Since Neal. Killian deserved more, deserved someone who would tell him they loved him every day with so much ease and actually mean it. Not her, who already struggled with saying it in the dark and in the middle of the night while he was asleep.

She just had to say it once. Finally voice the sentence that had popped up every time he smiled at her and crinkles formed around his eyes, every time he’d sent her soccer memes, every time he seemed to know exactly what she needed to a point where she wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t a telepath.

She loved him.

It was different from when she was with Neal. She was younger then, more innocent and carefree and Neal had seemed like the perfect guy for her. Even though they didn’t truly know each other. They had lived in their own secluded world, a bubble filled with running and hiding, never really being able to catch their breath to talk about more than where they were going next.

It was different from when she was with Killian, drastically so.

It was real with Killian. So real. Which was why this hurt so much.

The lock of the front door clicked behind her. Emma stood still, glancing over her shoulder one last time, pretending she somehow had X-ray vision and could see him a final time. But in reality, all she could see was a dark, wooden door, a separation between the both of them.

She took the hood of her sweater and put it over her head before running down the stairs. She pushed the entrance door open and her skin was hit with the cold night air. There was not a soul in sight, it was the ghost hour. Slightly too late for people to still be awake, slightly too early for people to have woken already.

Emma began to walk. She’d only been in his office once; it was now months since Gold had made her sign the contract, that damned contract. After that one meeting, it had been dark corners and shady alleys, anything but highly frequented public spaces, anywhere but places where they could be seen, could be connected to one another. She didn’t expect Gold to be there right now, it was the middle of the night after all, but perhaps she could find a clue, some sort of indication where she could find him. An address, a phone number, something that would lead her to him. That was what she was focusing on right now, the rest could come later.

The street lit up with the lights of an oncoming bus and she turned her head, inspecting the line number before rushing towards the bus stop a few yards ahead, extending her hand while running to signal the driver to stop. The vehicle came to a halt and she hopped up, managing a tight-lipped smile in gratitude towards the woman. The bus was completely empty save from one man in the complete back of the bus, lost to the world as a soft snore blended with the roar of the engine. Emma picked the middle ground, the precise spot between the driver and sleeping beauty in the back, to sit down.

She let her head rest against the window, her eyes trying to register the fast-moving scene outside. The flashing lights were bright, too bright for her two-hour-of-sleep brain to handle, so she shut them. Her heart began to speed up in fear. Of how it all would end, whether it ever would. A shaking breath left her lips. Her hand went up to pinch the bridge of her nose, fingers brushing along what Emma would assume were some award-winning dark bags under her eyes.

It was too late to back down now.

Her eyes opened again, the fear dwindling as determination prospered.

She was doing this.

It took the bus a few additional minutes before they arrived at the stop closest to Gold’s office and when she more or less saw the familiar surroundings, distorted by the dark but still recognizable enough, a ding alerted the bus driver of her desire to get off.  The woman complied, slowly braked and eventually stopped the bus, allowing Emma to leave.

If she remembered correctly, the office should be about a ten-minute walk from the bus stop. The lack of sunlight was not helping, however, and was only contributing to disorienting her even more. Time for the return of Google Maps, it was.

Due to one wrong turn, it took her slightly longer to reach the building than the navigation system had predicted, but she didn’t particularly mind. Reaching her destination was all that mattered.

The building wasn’t impressive as such, just your typical two-story building with a storefront on the ground floor and a side entrance that led to apartments—or an office in this case—upstairs. She knew, however, that this was a deliberate choice. It looked easy and simple enough to break in but, knowing Gold, it would not be. There would be some hidden trap. He used this tactic when it came to his contracts—make them seem agreeable enough only have some hidden clause—and Emma knew he’d do it here as well. She needed to be cautious.

It had been a while since she’d last done this, since she’d lived off of petty crime and had no qualms with it. She was now on the right side of the law, barely, but at least she hadn’t done anything downright illegal in the last ten years.

Making sure the hoodie over her head truly covered her features, Emma went inside. She immediately spied a camera pointed at the entrance and she bowed her head, avoiding a flash of her skin to be recorded on the tape.

Out of her pocket, she fished two bobby pins, using her teeth to straighten them out and turn them into tumblers. She crouched in front of the door, eyes close to the lock to inspect it, to try and figure it out while she shone the pocket light of her phone on it. She softly inserted one of the pins, her ears searching for any sound that was out of place. If she got caught like this, it was over. No one would believe she was just coincidentally trying to pick a lock. The second pin joined its companion in an intricate dance, one where every step had to be precise and correct. Shutting her eyes, she let her ears take over. After a couple of seconds of wriggling, a satisfying click brought movement to the door.

She was in.

The door creaked open, granting her passage to her single greatest enemy’s lair, giving her access to his treasures and secrets.

Emma had to be realistic, however. The chances that she’d be able to find some incriminating proof against Gold in here would be minimal. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack and she had no idea what a needle looked like. She also knew that that wyrm of a man would find a way to escape the accusations, to put the blame on her instead and walk away freely. Killian had spent years attempting to prove his guilt and he’d only come up empty-handed.

She walked over to the main office, extremely cautious about everything she saw and everything she touched. She pulled on the left sleeve of her sweater and hid her hand inside to grab the handle and open the door. There lay a large carpet covering the floor and Emma hesitantly stepped on it, only letting her feet touch the places that seemed worn enough, ratty enough to have been stepped on every single day. Following the path Gold always took, she ended up at the massive desk standing in the middle of the room.

She carefully checked the sheets of paper on the desk. Nothing. Softly opened the left drawer and took out an address book that contained about a hundred addresses but his own. Nothing. In the right drawer, she could only find a collection of gold fountain pens and fancy looking paper. For his contracts, Emma thought before moving on.

There had to be something that tied back to his home or his life outside of this disreputable business he was running. What was a place she could find something that had been carelessly left? She searched around the office peering before her eyes fell on a metal paper bin which was glimmering in the bright light that her phone was emitting.

Gotcha.

Most of the paper she found in the trash was just scribbles, half printed pages of some forms, empty package boxes and Emma was about to give up, deem her only last resort useless when she came across a tiny paper. Once she picked it up she could see it was folded and as she slowly peeled back the layers, the small square became larger and larger. Her eyes scanned the paper once it was fully unfolded and came to the conclusion that it was a bill. The light on her phone got brightened until she could properly read the document. It seemed to be an order and while the delivering address was stated as this office, the billing address said something else. A sinister smile appeared on her face. She knew where to find him.

The valuable piece of paper got folded back to its original size and got stored into her back pocket as she attempted to not leave a trace of her presence there. Books were put back in their original place, papers got stacked again, drawers were closed.

Emma followed the exact steps she took back, head held low and steps quiet. The door locked behind her again and she started running. Until her breath got out of control and she felt that she truly was far enough away from the office that if some silent alarm had gone off, no one would suspect her of being the instigator.

She retrieved the paper from her back pocket and unfolded it again, this time properly reading the address in the illumination of a lonely street light. It felt completely foreign to her, so she tapped the airplane mode of her phone off and let the map guide her again.

The sky at the horizon shifted from midnight blue to azure, an indication of what was to come. There wasn’t a lot of time left.

It took her over an hour to get to the place which gave her a lot of time to think. All the while she kept repeating the mantra in her head. She had to do this. She had to do this. This was not the time to get cold feet. Not when she was so close to him. The urbanization had slowly vanished, filtered out and was infiltrated with green, a vast surface of trees and bushes, decorating the brown soil.

The sun began to rise, the previously dark woodland now dusted in the gold of dawn. The warm yellow rays hit her skin, lighting it up and while the rain dew still drifted through the air and covered the ground, she embraced the tiny fragment of heat she’d been gifted wholeheartedly.

It had to be one of the cabins that were scattered around the forest.

Having no idea which direction she was supposed to go, she could only explore. She walked around, an odd branch snapping under her shoes. The grass was long, brushing against her boots as she walked with a steady step. She was a woman on a mission.

The first cabin she came across was not even close to the cabin number she was heading for, Emma sighing at the longer search before returning to the main road, a path of worn, flat grass, and continuing her quest of finding the number that corresponded with the one typed on the bill.

She was expecting to find a locked door but still grabbed the handle with her sleeve to test it, more out of reflex than anything else. Emma frowned and surprise hit her as the handle didn’t get stuck halfway but went all the way down, granting her access to the building.

Was Gold that careless? That seemed unlike him. But who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?

With the utmost stealth, she pushed the door open, her eyes racing to take in everything there was, to be able to prepare herself for any threat that might present itself.

It was still early enough to catch him asleep, the light still faint enough for Emma to be somewhat hidden, to be somewhat able to take advantage of the trace of darkness that still tainted the sky.

She breathed in and a musty air hit her nostrils, a stark contrast with the crisp, outside air. That air had been young, rejuvenating and the one she was currently breathing was old. It symbolized stagnance and immobility. Obsolescence.

Her nose scrunched as the scent now took complete control, but she attempted to ignore that sense and focus on the other, her eyes and ears specifically were vital here. Emma continued her venture inside, now actually stepping into the room the front door led to. Trepidation roiled in her gut, how was she supposed to react? What was she going to find inside?

Emma looked around the cabin and...

It was empty.

Not only empty but deserted. A thick layer of dust covered the table and cabinets, delicate cobwebs were spun in the corners, decorating the room like garlands. There was not a single sign someone had been here recently, not one clean surface or filled cupboard. Emma checked the other rooms but they more or less bore the same story. Filthy, empty, abandoned.

She went back to the piece of paper and the map on her phone. The blue dot on her screen glowed, telling her she was right, this was the place.

But how could it? How on earth could this neglected cabin in the woods be important to Gold?

Emma’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room over and over again, trying to find some clue, some passage that magically appeared after pulling a secret lever. But there was no magic to be found, no hidden treasure.

She didn't understand. He should be here. He was supposed to be here and then she could… take him out. Protect Killian. This was why she was doing this, to protect him. If she couldn’t, what was there left to do? If she couldn’t, it meant that this whole escapade had been for nothing. That she’d left him for nothing.

Fuck, what had she done?

She had to get back to Killian.

Before he woke, before he realized she’d left, before it was too late to turn back the clock. She had to run, had to rush back home.

Home.

She stopped moving, froze with her feet nailed to the dusty wooden floor, her hands limp next to her body and her eyes wide as she realized what she just thought.

Home.

She’d thought about home.

The place that gave you a warm feeling, the place you could be yourself, one hundred percent. The place where Emma was comfortable, with walls that dampened the need to run, with things that made her feel like she was a part of something, with people that made her feel loved.

And now, after a mere four months, Killian had somehow become synonymous to home?

She loved him, had admitted it earlier that morning but this meant more than that. She’d loved before. She’d never truly felt at home. An eternal orphan at heart; she was never completely at ease. Mary Margaret and David’s apartment had felt like a safe haven for some time but one she couldn’t stay at forever and had to leave after a couple of hours at most. They could tell her she was welcome anytime as much as they liked but Emma didn’t even want to come close to overstaying her welcome. So she left, ignoring the offer of another drink or dessert with some half-baked truth of having to start work early or just a plain lie like that she wasn’t that much of a Rocky Road fan anyways.

But being with Killian felt like home.

And she wasn’t about to risk that.

Emma spun around and bolted out of the cabin, the door slamming shut in her wake.

Her feet moved on instinct, taking her to the gravel road uphill, the fastest way to return the way she came. Time was of the essence here.

The sun’s rays suddenly felt too warm as she ran down the road, her jacket too impeding as she tried to run faster and faster. That gym membership she was thinking of getting would’ve come in handy right about now.

In the distance, against the backlight of the rising sun, a blurry figure emerged. The closer Emma got, the more details became visible. She still had to narrow her eyes to fight against the bright light. It was a man. A man stood in the middle of the road, blocking her way. She knew that face, recognized the long, greasy locks and grey stubble, angry sneer furling his lips.

“You.” She came to a halt. Her brow furrowed as she blinked in confusion. Gold’s minion had resurfaced. His presence here meant she was right about this being Gold’s cabin. And she hadn’t been careful enough earlier.

Or maybe this was all part of an elaborate plan and she’d done exactly what Gold had wanted her to do.

Lost in thought, Emma hadn’t noticed the man coming closer to her, his heavy steps crunching on the road as the distance between them became threateningly narrow.

“This is for last time, you bitch,” he spat at her, an odd accent coloring his words and a fist following promptly.

Emma ducked, more out of instinct than strategy, but both would do the trick here.

The seriousness of the situation hit her as if the man’s fist hadn’t missed its target. He wasn’t aiming to miss. She needed to leave and try and outrun him. In the blink of an eye, she went from immobile to moving but the man was fast too, his hand snatching her arm and harshly pulling her back. She flinched as the pain radiated through her body.

Before the sensation could leave, another wave of pain smashed into her cheek.

“Aren’t you sick of playing his little minion?”

She spit before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her chest heaved vehemently as she tried to catch her breath and regain her stamina.

“That’s who you think I am?” he replied in an irritating sneer.

She frowned at the amusement in his voice. She pushed him off, losing her balance and falling on the ground, her face ending up in the grey gravel. The small stones painfully dug into her skin. Emma scrambled back up as he towered over her.

“My name is Malcolm Gold.” And the way he said it wasn't completely unlike the way Draco Malfoy had introduced himself to Harry Potter, a self-righteous importance that hung in the air.

He seemed too old to be a son, too young to be his father, so that only left the possibility of a brother.

“And my brother sends his regards.”

He kicked her down again and for a second everything went blurry, unfocused. Her attacker turned his head to something she couldn’t see from her uncomfortable spot on the ground but it seemed to spook him enough that he cast one last glance at her, an unsatisfied look on his face, and ran away again.

What a little imp. It was clearly a family trait.

Emma coughed, clutching her ribs as breathing hurt, clutching her ribs as trying to get up hurt.

There was a crunching sound coming from somewhere close and it took Emma a while to realize it had to be some kind of car.

Was it Killian? Did he find her?

But the crunching sound left as fast as it had emerged and she was still hurting, struggling to get up from the ground.

It wasn’t him, he couldn’t find her.

She was all alone.

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You're used to it by now so I won't even comment on the cliffhanger. Please like, reblog, leave a kudos if you're enjoying this story and if you want me to love you even more, you can always leave a comment. Only seven more days until the next chapter!

[greybat]

Tomorrow

Summary: It's execution day for the deadly roach, Dr. Julian Devorak. He stands at the gallows, drenched in dismal self-pity, realizing not even Xixa is there to support him. Nadia feels a quiet sense of triumph, finally seeing the murderer with a noose 'round his neck.

However, she gets a surprise when the citizens of Vesuvia - the very ones she's striving to protect from the bloodthirsty Devorak - march to the square, chanting: Free Doctor Jules!

Ao3 Link

This is ~4.5k long. So, be warned!

A thick cord of rope, pulled taut against his throat, scraped against Julian’s pale skin. Tight bindings criss-crossed his wrists behind his back, lacerating his flesh. Already, he could feel red welts rising, fading thanks to his curse, and rising again with every shift of the damned ropes. The thick knot pressed against the base of his skull, at the edge of his occipital bone. He breathed unevenly, shallowly, staring out at the audience. Courtiers and their families shifted impatiently, quietly giddy for the macabre spectacle. His stomach lurched, realizing there were children in the crowd.

Farther, on a lavishly decorated dais, seated on above the upper-crust and the elite, the Countess stared at him. Her cold red eyes stabbed against Julian’s heart. A tent of fabric shielded her from the sun. However, the day turned out to be overcast and grey, the scent of oncoming rain on the air. Dreary and dank, like his future.

Briefly, with a smarmy thought, Julian thought Nadia shielded herself behind rich tapestries from her own guilt, her own retribution from the heavens. Though, he was the one that sat beneath the bare sky, noose around his neck and life line slowly dwindling to an end. There’d be no tomorrow, no next week, no next year. Just today and then… nothing.

Beneath the curtained dais with her, a silver-haired magician sat at her right-hand side, a white snake coiled up their arm. Asra.

Julian’s eye quickly moved away, seeking another. Looking for dark teal hair and opalescent eyes. He didn’t expect to find Portia in the crowd – to think his little sister watching him do the Dead Man’s Jig was too much – but he thought Xixa would be there. Silently offering him support in his last moments. However, it seemed the apprentice didn’t find him worth the effort.

His heart floundered in his chest. So, this is how it would end. His gaze shifted to the boards beneath his feet, tracing the outline of the trap door. Once that door gave way, once the world flew out from under his feet, cheers would erupt from the crowd. A cold chill writhed its way through his stomach. No friendly face, no sobbing for his fate. Just smiles and laughter as he jostled at the end of the rope. How long would the curse allow him to struggle, gasping for breath? Or would the rope be kind, snapping his neck quickly and efficiently?

A chill sunk into his bones, resisting the urge to glance around for Xixa again. Oh, how utterly alone he was.

Unaware – not as if she’d care – of Julian’s inner swamp of loneliness, Nadia rose from her makeshift throne. The courtiers and elites hushed as she moved, watching her with eyes wide. Mentally, she could see some of the more vicious salivating at the thought of the upcoming spectacle. Despite her sense of victory, Countess Nadia found a tiny sliver of disgust with the proceeding. However, that roach had killed the Count – her husband – on the night of his birthday with merciless fire. He should be glad she didn’t choose to flay and quarter him, as punishment.

Even as she considered that thought, Countess Nadia knew she never would issue such a ruling. The very idea churned her stomach. No, hanging was much more civilized… At least, that’s what she tried to convince herself.

“Today, we finally put an end to Dr. Devorak’s reign of terror.” Nadia’s crisp voice rang out over the assemblage, echoing down the quiet streets. Her hand sliced through the air, as if illustrating the definite end. “He shall no longer stalk the streets of Vesuvia, threatening the good people with his miasma of death, his aura of-”

“Are you seriously talking about that man?” A grizzled cackle from Nadia’s left elbow broke her speech.

The Countess started, spinning on her heel to stare at the spot the voice came. It seemed to sound from the very fabric. As attention turned to the spot on the curtain, though, a shrouded figure stepped forward. A second ago, everyone would have sworn that the shawl blended in perfectly with the curlicue pattern of the rich fabrics. But, upon closer inspection, the figure’s shawl wasn’t of a luxurious orange and pink, but a dusty blue.

At the interruption, Julian managed to bring his head up. Staring toward the Countess’s dais, the man could hardly believe his eye. Was that figure truly… “Mazelinka?”

Nadia glared down her nose at the woman, bewildered at the sudden interference of her longtime triumph. The woman didn’t appear to be a threat, though guards were scrambling toward the stairs of her dais. Nadia raised a hand to her protectors. There was no need to hassle an old woman. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. Listen,” Mazelinka, unperturbed by the bristling guards, pointed to the sky. A hum buzzed on the wind, faint and far, yet coming from all around Vesuvia. Nadia’s eyes widened, deciphering the words a moment before they became clearer.

“Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!” The words echoed on the breeze, becoming louder with each passing moment. In the distance, a raven cawed in time to the beat.

For once, Nadia and Julian shared a look – across the gallows’ audience – of utter bewilderment. She looked to him, imagining a smug smirk on his roachy lips. He thought he’d find a calm complacency on the woman’s features. Instead, their wide eyes met over the people, and their hearts jolted with shock. What in the world was going on?

“The reason your guards had problems hunting down this lad isn’t due to his criminal ingenuity,” Mazelinka sucked at her teeth, a wry smirk curling at her lips at the thought. Her grin only broadened as Nadia returned her gaze toward the old woman. “The boy trips over his own feet trying to make an impression, dear.

“We hid him.” Mazelinka pointed to herself then motioned out toward the city. The demands for freedom echoed off the buildings, ricocheting around the gallows and audience. Nadia’s eyes widened, slow comprehension dawning in her mind as Mazelinka continued, “We bungled your guards’ investigations. We cared for him when he’d deny himself that luxury.”

Julian, caught up in the surreal unfoldings, started at the touch of cold fingertips fluttered across his neck. The weight of the abrasive noose lifted. He turned, finding opalescent eyes and a smile.

“I’m here,” Xixa whispered as the tears flooded his eyes. Her fingers felt like a salve on his flesh and her presence a sheer blessing. His heart sang, unable to believe the sight. Perhaps he had already hanged and this was merely a dead man’s dream.

Whatever this was, he couldn’t stop himself. Julian threw himself at her, sobs bubbling up from deep in his chest as he buried his face against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her warmth kissed his cold body. Relief burst through his confusion. No matter what happened, Xixa was here. The woman cooed softly, rubbing his back with one hand as her other went to fumble with the ropes at his wrists. Her stomach reeled slightly, finding blood-slick ropes, but she had a job.

“We, the citizens of Vesuvia, do not fear Doctor Ilya Devorak.” By this time, a great many bodies were flooding the city streets. Mazelinka had managed to get close enough to Nadia for the Countess to see the hard gleam of ferocity in the old woman’s eye: “And that begs the question: Why do you fear him, Countess?”

“Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!” The mantra echoed around the square, punctuated by the raven. The courtiers and upper-class held their breath, eyes wide, drinking in the sheer drama of it all. Some glanced at each other nervously, recognizing their vulnerable position as more and more people surrounded the square. Revolutions didn’t end well for the upper-crust.

A wave of dizzying shock and uncertainty crashed over Nadia. What in the world was happening? Had these people truly protected her husband’s murderer? She raised a hand to her temple as her red gaze flickered over the growing sea of people. They ranged from young to old; skinny to portly; sickly to healthy. Lowly peasants, with more grime on them than clothes, to middle-class merchants.

The gleam of palace gilt caught Nadia’s attention; even some guards and servants?! Nadia’s heart thrummed, painfully, as her gaze snagged on a redheaded handmaiden. Shaking the sickly recognition away, the Countess turned her gaze elsewhere.

Her eyes skimmed across the square, onto Devorak, and her blood went cold.

The apprentice held the accused in her arms! The man hunched over, shaking – was he crying? - as Xixa managed to slide the restraints from his wrists. He didn’t pull away, didn’t make a break for freedom. Instead, his arms looped around the woman, crushing her close, breathing in her scent. Xixa buried her head against him, one hand sifting through his hair and the other on his shoulder.

As if feeling Nadia’s gaze, Xixa pulled away far enough to turn her eyes toward the Countess. A fearless look in her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. The woman didn’t look as if she had slept all night, though it didn’t seem she had been sobbing into her pillow, either. Nadia grasped tightly at her shawl, the silky fabric kissing her fingertips. Was Xixa part of this? Was she responsible for this? A flush of anger mingled with confusion, Nadia’s brain trying to solve this sudden puzzle.

“Nadia.” From her right, someone’s soft voice soothed. She turned flashing red eyes toward Asra. Was he, too, going to betray her? He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, worry gleaming in his violet eyes. “The people have spoken.”

The Countess remained tight-lipped and wide-eyed. She stared down at the magician, brain scrabbling to make sense of this. Did everyone simply pretend to assist her? Were they all laughing at her, behind her back? Oh, the foolish Countess! Nadia clenched her fists, the flash of rage arching across her cheeks and landing in her chest.

“Lucio was not a kind man. He overtaxed the lower-classes, terrified the servants, and mutilated anyone who stood up to him.” Asra swallowed, giving Nadia’s shoulder a squeeze. Faintly, her rage subsided as the magician recounted memories she had lost. He glanced across the audience, toward Julian. The doctor seemed to be an intense conversation with Xixa, both making harsh and abrupt motions with their hands. Nadia followed his gaze toward the doctor, her attention briefly caught by his eye patch. Mutilation echoed in her brain. Asra murmured, pain laced in his words, “Where did that leave these people?”

Nadia fell silent, her mind mulling over the refreshed details. Around her, the chant ‘Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!’ continued, though it had become a background hum with raised fists, clapping hands, and stomping feet.

“The whole city of Vesuvia is chanting for your release,” Xixa’s screech cut through the turmoil, “And you’re not going to escape!?”

The apprentice had pushed Julian to arm’s length, her opalescent eyes fiery with annoyance and frustration. Only this man – this man – would not take the opportunity the very community gave him. She wanted to scream. Again.

When the sudden silence filtered into Xixa’s ears, she looked around, face going red. So many eyes turned toward her. From poor beggars to the richest of courtiers, everyone turned their attention to the apprentice.

“I told you to be careful with screaming.” Julian softly chuckled, somehow finding humor in such a setting. Though, the amusement didn’t quite reach his sad gaze. “Now everyone’s heard you.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking start, Julian.” Tears pricked at Xixa’s eyes, threatening to down her cheeks. It was too late to convince the doctor to run. The protest had been silenced – even if it wasn’t intentional – and now all eyes were on them. Julian couldn’t sneak away, now.

The man pressed a gentle kiss to Xixa’s lips, before pulling completely away. Her sniffles sliced through his heart, but his feet guided him down the stairs of the gallows. The crowd parted before him, fright emanating from the courtiers and nobles. Oh, the touch of a plague doctor, a murderer! He could imagine the things they thought…

Then, beyond the rich, were the regular people. The poor and downtrodden, those who struggled to get by, then the merchants – who hovered between poor and rich. So many had filled the streets, so many chanting his name, demanding his freedom. A warmth swelled in Julian’s chest.

“I don’t know if I killed your husband, Countess.” His grey eye locked on the Countess. She watched him coming. A small contingent of loyal guards lined her viewing stage from the crowd, swords unsheathed as the doctor came closer. He stopped three feet from the guards, ignoring the gleam of swords as he continued to speak, “If my life for his will soothe your pain, I’ll accept that. What I won’t accept are these people giving their lives for mine.”

Julian motioned out toward the crowd. Toward the peasants, the beggars, the cityfolk, the shoppe owners. If he ran, Nadia could punish these people. Devorak sympathizers could be tortured or put to death, in his place. Though, the Countess didn’t seem like the sort, being denied a long-time victory could warp many a mind. He couldn’t swallow the thought of so many people giving up so much for him. He wasn’t worth it. Didn’t they see that?

“Damn foolish, boy!” Mazelinka hissed, fists at her sides as her fiery gaze turned to him.

The Countess stared down at him, eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy? Or genuine? But what fool would stand before a line of guards if he intended to flee?

“I’m inclined to agree with this woman.” Nadia finally announced, eyebrows lowering. Her hand arched out toward the crowd, motioning to the writhing, silent mass. “These people didn’t come together by predetermined destiny, Devorak. Someone had to rouse them, someone had to convince them, someone had to make them aware. That… endeavor took time. Someone lost sleep over this shenanigan.”

The realization struck Julian. Someone had lost sleep over him to organize this protest. It should have been obvious, of course, but he could miss the obvious. His gaze flickered toward Mazelinka, who crossed her arms and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Julian’s gaze flickered back toward Xixa, shocked to find her at his elbow.

Shrouded in silence, arms crossed, she didn’t turn to meet his gaze. It didn’t matter. The bags under her teary eyes were evidence of more than one sleepless night, recently. Guilt clawed at his guts. How could he have overlooked that? How long had she stayed up, concocting this plan? Getting people to agree? Finding people to fight for him?

“And you aren’t even going to give them the honor of seeing you run off, to live another day?” Nadia’s voice bordered on revulsion. What kind of self-serving murderer was this roach, Devorak?

Julian turned away from Xixa, hanging his head. His eye concentrated on the ground, the dirt, where he belonged. He felt weak. His knees gave out under him, lowering himself to the dust. He closed his eye, croaking out, “You’re right, Countess. I don’t deserve their good graces.”

“Ilya,” Asra quietly snarled, voice a mixture of annoyance and disgust. How much could one man shrug off this much providence?

Nadia raised her hand to the magician, cutting off any other harsh words he had for the doctor. Asra tossed the woman a curious look. The Countess’s red eyes didn’t break from Julian’s bow-headed form, though. Calculations and judgment ticked away behind her gaze. Her line of guards silently waited, grasping their weapons, for their lady’s final decree.

“My husband was not kind. Compassion was not a mercy he gave.” Nadia’s voice sounded across the square, strong and vibrant. Her lips pressed together, faint memories – translucent and watered down – and feelings rising to the surface. “He thought he was fair, at least. An eye for an eye.” She paused, briefly, as Julian twitched. Apparently, the saying struck a cord with him. “If I take your life to avenge my husband’s, what does that make me?”

The doctor remained silent, hands weakly folded in his laps. He barely heard the Countess. He simply waited for his fate. He didn’t deserve mercy and he doubted he’d receive it.

Nadia continued to stare at the redheaded doctor. Lips pressed together as she considered the man. He looked pathetic, kneeling in the dust, bent double. Waiting for death. What ever did the apprentice – did Vesuvia – see in this man? However, could she send him to the gallows for being pathetic? That was something Lucio would do… and that thought made a sickness clench at her chest.

“It… It makes me wrong. It makes me no better than the late Count.” Nadia’s volume increased, her voice ringing out over the accumulated bodies. Her gaze tore away from the doctor, piercing the poor with her livid red gaze. With a grand, sweeping gesture, she indicated the people surrounding the gallows and the audience, her scarf flying out like a wing. “I see the lifeblood of Vesuvia in this square. Pumping and beating and willing to spill for your safety, doctor.”

The Countess fell silent, hazarding a glance toward Asra. The magician watched her, attention rapt. Her gaze flicked to Xixa, the woman’s opalescent eyes dull, yet hopeful. Then, finally, Nadia returned to Julian’s bowed head. She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing around her words. “I will give the people what they want.”

Xixa’s eyes widened, hand pressed over her lips, her gaze flickering to Julian. He didn’t move. Confusion rippled through the crowd, uncertain of Nadia’s meaning. They were too used to double-talking politicians to take her words at face value.

“We want blood!” A courtier shot out of their seat, shrieking.

“It will not be the doctor’s blood that is spilled,” threatened the Countess, whipping her red gaze to the courtier. She was tired and exhausted from the strain of the day. Her eyes widened with anger, pinning the courtier with rage. “I’m sure the citizens of Vesuvia have suggestions. Wish to try them?”

The courtier visibly gulped, shaking their head and returning to their seat, a bit more stiffly than before.

Annoyed, Nadia added with a bite, “You’re free, Julian Devorak.”

That seemed to jostle the man from his continual melancholia. The man turned a wide, grey-eyed stare toward the Countess, mouth agape. The blunt words sunk into the crowd at the edges, cheering and singing began from the corners of the citizenry. Malak screamed triumphantly. Julian swung his gaze toward Xixa as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

He barely had a chance to brace himself as the woman fell into him, head lolling against his chest. Julian yelped, grasping the woman by her shoulders as he peered down at her. Worry teetered into his voice, “Xixa?”

“Child’s dead tired. She was running all over the city with your sister, last night. Stirring people up, putting boots up drunkards’ asses.” Mazelinka seemed to appear out of nowhere. The last of the loyal guard regiment were dispersing, following their beloved Countess and her magician back to the palace. The old woman peered over Julian’s shoulder, watching Xixa. “This wasn’t her only sleepless night, you know.”

“She hadn’t come to visit me the last couple nights.” Julian sighed, his fingers rubbing absently into her shoulders. Tears welled up in his eyes. Residual despair, guilt, newfound happiness, inability to accept Nadia’s ruling. There were so many reasons – both sad and happy – to cry.

“Mmm, people do crazy things when sleep-deprived,” Mazelinka sighed and gave a nod. “And in love. Well, congratulations, Ilya.”

Julian nodded absently, eye drawn to Xixa as he caressed her cheek.

“Wait, what?” Mazelinka’s words finally sunk into his brain. His gaze flashed toward her retreating back, his brain a hurricane of thoughts and emotions. His breath came out in a haggard gasp, excitement licking up his throat. “What has Xixa told you? Mazelinka!”

He moved to go after the woman, before Xixa’s weight on him gave him pause. Julian forced himself to ease, settling back on his heels again.

“Juli…lya... shhhh,” slurred Xixa, shifting against Julian, bringing his gaze gack to her. His heart stopped, heat racing up his spine as the woman inadvertently combined his names. His ears burned, embarrassed by how much her voice weaving around those syllables affected him. Heart thundering, spine-tingling, skin prickling reactions at merely mashed up syllables. Xixa’s hand shifted against his sides, grabbing at the dirty fabric of his shirt. She sighed, nuzzling her face against his chest, her breathing returning to its deep, even, sleepy pace.

She wasn’t able to keep her eyes closed long, though. The sounds of song and cheering increased, the crowd of citizens pressing closer as courtiers and guards made their exit. Xixa cracked an eye open as people clapped Julian on his shoulder, delivering equal parts congratulations for his freedom and derision for his prior surrender. She sighed, pushing back from Julian’s chest as the words fell onto his ears. “Congratulations! Not many can walk away from the gallows!”

“We marched all th’ way here, ‘nd you were still gunna give yerself up, y’turd!” Someone clipped Julian’s ear, playfully, before ruffling his hair and moving on.

“That’s Ilya for you, idn’t it,” cackled a woman.

A thick-armed man, smelling of ale and alcohol, gave a hearty laugh as he clapped both hands on Julian’s shoulders. “I’m going to charge you twice as much for the trouble, boy!”

Julian flushed under all the attention, allowing himself to be rocked to and fro by the jostling touches. He mumbled gratitudes and flashed charismatic smiles at the people. Shock settled over his shocks, numbing the sheer impossibility of it all. These were the faces of past patients, shopowners, bartenders, barflies, market goers, beggars… he didn’t know how he touched all their lives, but apparently he had, in some way. At least, enough for them to be bothered to request his freedom.

There was a sudden silence, a parting in the crowd, a wave of whispers as someone shoved their way through the throngs. Xixa’s eyes drew to the cleave in the crowd, an understanding passing her features as she got to her feet. Julian’s brow creased, following her lead. Before he could ask Xixa what was wrong, his little sister barreled through the people.

“Ilya!” As she broke through, her gaze fell on him. Large tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as she rushed to him. Using her inertia, the young woman shoved at her brother, anger and relief mixing in her voice as she cried. “You damnidiot. We got all these people together and you still wanted to get yourself killed!”

“Pasha…” Julian’s voice came out strained, tears blotting at the corners of his eyes. Portia’s arms came around his middle, hugging him tightly as she cried and berated him against his chest. He couldn’t stop himself as tears streamed out his eyes. His arms came around his sister, holding her close. Julian didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to hug his little sister, ever again. The realization broke through his thoughts that this was just one of many more hugs, many more laughs, many more memories he could have. If he did things right.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a sister like you,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he looked up, over the surrounding crowd. Something warm – a previously forgotten sense of community? – swelled in his chest as he met so many eyes, so many smiles and grins. “Or all this support. I’m not going to throw it away.”

“You better not!” Someone hooted, further away. A chorus a laughter and claps echoed around the square.

“You better take care of yourself, boy!” Mazelinka’s familiar voice popped out of the crowd, loud and obstinate. More laughter and agreeing jeers met with her demand.

Portia swiped her tears away with the palm of her hand as she pushed herself away from her brother. She fixed him with a hard look, lips twisted into a serious frown. “You forgot Xixa. What in the world did you do to deserve Xixa?”

“I don’t know if I deserve her, to be honest.” He glanced over to the aforementioned woman, who had taken a few steps back from the siblings, giving them space.

Xixa’s tired eyes drew up to his face, slowly. Julian shifted under her stare, his ears inexplicably going hot. The woman finally moved toward the doctor, reaching a hand up to stroke his jawline gently. The heat from his ears crossed across his face, leaving a red blush in its wake. Eyes hooded and voice ragged from exhaustion, Xixa smiled softly, “I’m not going to tell what you deserve, Julian, in polite company.”

His heart thrummed. Oh, yes, what did he deserve? Delight and excitement licked over his bones, realizing their time was unlimited and without the threat of guards ruining their fun. His breath hitched, just slightly, at the thought. A sudden burst of energy flared through him.

From the throng of people, someone crowed, “Who’s the wanker that told ya’ we’re polite?”

“Still too polite for that conversation,” Xixa retorted, loud enough for nearer people to hear. Her eyes never left Julian’s face as laughter rippled through the crowd. He bit his bottom lip, finding a heat in her gaze – beneath her exhaustion – that promised something sensual and painfully pleasurable. Perhaps, after a well-deserved nap.

The doctor couldn’t help himself. He arched down, catching the woman in a kiss. Her arms curled around his neck, a soft breathy whimper against his lips. Electricity danced over Julian’s body, the scent of her surrounding him. Heat and joy blossomed in his chest as his hands traced her sides, wracking a small shiver from her body. Xixa sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, almost – almost – provoking a groan of delight from him, in front of such a large crowd.

“If you all will excuse us,” Julian announced once he surfaced, forcing to make himself heard over the whoops and jeers. He swept the woman into arms, cradling her bridal-style to his chest. Xixa squeaked, but settled against his chest, her hands pressing to chest. Feeling her in his arms, a subtle satisfaction coiled into Julian’s core. A broad smirk curled at his lips as he waggled his eyebrows at the hooting crowd. “Xixa and I have much to… ah… discuss.”

As he maneuvered through the crowd – congratulations and compliments lapping against him – Julian could feel excitement bubbling up in him. Excitement for tonight, for tomorrow, for next month, next year. When was the last time he held such anticipation for the future? He glanced down at Xixa, cuddled against his chest, eyelids fluttering against sleep. The doctor gave her a slight squeeze. When she tilted her head back, deigning him with a look and a sleepy smile. “Mmn?”

“Rest, my dear,” Julian murmured, feeling Xixa’s body relax a little further against him. Involuntary, elated tears pooled in the corners of his eye, voice cracking a little, as he added, “We have plenty of time.”

[msbigredmachine]

Come What May - Part 5

Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. So why did she feel like she was making the biggest mistake of her life? Roman Reigns/OC/Tama Tonga

The Sun Will Set For You

Rubbing his face, Roman squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the growing darkness. Lifting his head slowly, he checked his watch and wondered how long he'd been asleep for. Damn, four hours! He looked around at the untidy suite and groaned. He thanked the Lord that the twins hadn’t returned yet to find him in this mess. They would have ribbed him senseless. Speaking of them, why weren't they back anyway? Certainly the wedding was over by now.

Dread and misery crawled into his stomach as the thought sank in like dead weight. His love, Ashley was now a married woman. He could have nothing further to do with her. He wasn't allowed to think about her anymore or see her in that light anymore, or entertain dreams of having successfully repaired what he had damaged anymore. It was over and done, and he could no longer do anything about it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his iPhone on the bed, the screen showing he had a number of missed calls and text messages. Sighing heavily, he unlocked his phone and saw he had a voicemail. He wanted to ignore it, but his gut feeling prompted him to give it a listen instead. He tapped it with his thumb and reached for another beer with his free hand, cracking it open and raising it to his lips.

"Roman, hey. It's Ash."

The instant he heard her voice, he froze, not moving for several moments. Then his heart hardened and he resumed drinking his beverage, trying to block out the dull pain stabbing at him. He contemplated turning off the phone again. Hearing her voice just served to drive home the fact that they were through and he really couldn't handle it.

"I just called to say…I just wanted you to know…the wedding is off, Roman. I didn't go through with it."

The unexpected statement caused him to unceremoniously spit out his drink. Spluttering and wiping at himself, Roman gaped at the talking phone. That couldn't be right. Did she just say that she didn't go through with the wedding? He grabbed the device and replayed the message. Holy shit! He wasn't hearing things. She just said that she called off the wedding. It only meant one thing. She didn't marry Tama! And it only meant one thing. He still had a chance with her.

He stopped thinking and started moving. He flew out of the hotel room and down to the lobby. Finding himself a rental car – which annoyingly took a longer time than normal – he drove off with the speed of a seasoned NASCAR driver.

Roman remembered the directions to the church, which were clearly printed in the wedding invite, but he could find the place with his eyes closed. That showed just how often he used to visit Ashley's hometown. As he drove, he put his phone on speaker and played the message over and over again, as if trying to ensure that his mind was not playing tricks on him. He could hear Ashley's beautiful, mellifluous voice as if she was sitting next to him in the passenger's seat.

"I need you, Ro …It's you I want to spend the rest of my life with." Roman could not help himself. He burst into mirthful laughter, the car reverberating with the relief and the joy that was currently spewing out of him like an overflowing fountain. This was no illusion, not anymore. This was, without doubt, destiny. God was telling him something, something he himself believed the very moment he first locked eyes with her; that he truly belonged with Ashley.

"I can't do it if it's not with you, I just can't. I lost you twice already. I'm not gonna do it again. I mean it."

The traffic light up ahead at the junction, Roman's identified landmark whenever he showed up in these parts, told him he was nearly at his destination. It was showing green. His heart thumped wildly as he fumbled with the little velvet box he kept in his pocket. He brought out the ring and held it up, grinning like an idiot. He had been carrying this thing around for so long, hoping, praying that this day would come. Now it had and he was going to grab onto it with both hands.

"I want to see you, Roman. Please. I want us to talk. Come down to the church. I'll be waiting outside, and I'm not leaving until you get here…"

He envisioned seeing her standing there, looking heartbreakingly angelic in her white wedding dress. He would wrap her up in his arms and kiss her silly before going down on one knee, asking her to put him out of his self-imposed misery and become his wife while they stared lovingly into each other's eyes. All of that was about to become reality. He was so happy he could barely think straight. He could not lose her again. It would tear him apart if he made yet another mistake with her.

I'm coming, Ash, he thought, I'm coming, baby. Hold on for me.

The car suddenly jerked as it ran through a pothole, and the box slipped from his fingers, rolling onto the passenger seat beside him. Briefly taking his eyes off the road, Roman picked up the box, and flicked it open to examine the ring. Everything looked fine, the purple jewels still in their place.

However, he didn't notice that the traffic light had now turned red. As he crossed the intersection a bright gleam of light from his left side suddenly cut into his eyes, snapping his attention back on the road. He winced, shielding his eyes. Then he heard the blaring horn before he could even register where it was coming from. The light grew rapidly brighter and as he looked to his left, his mouth instantly went dry, watching helplessly as the massive Mack truck came at him at full speed.

"Hope to see you. Bye."

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

"He ain’t coming, Tama," Ashley said sadly.

Dusk was rapidly blanketing the sky stretched above the duo. After making that nerve-wracking phone call to Roman she had kept to her word and gone back to the church to wait for him. Tama, ever the gentleman, volunteered to wait with her. But time lingered on, and Roman was still a no-show. He hadn't returned the call. There was nothing whatsoever indicating that he had even received it, and soon enough, Ashley's hope began to dwindle, and then after the third hour of waiting it faded completely.

"He'll be here," Tama assured her, but Ashley shook her head rapidly, refusing to listen. "That phone call was a mistake," she murmured, tears of sadness and regret filling her eyes. Once again, she had let her hopes up only for them to be brought crashing back down. She'd had enough. She wanted to just go back home and hide in her room and never show up at work ever again. All she wanted to do was cry her eyes out. So Roman really wanted her to stay away from him then. Was this really how he wanted things to end with them?

"That's it. Come on." Tama got to his feet, reaching out to help her up. "Let's go find him."

"What? No!" Ashley shook her head again, pushing her hair out of her eyes as the humiliation gradually settled into her psyche. "Isn't it obvious? He wants nothing to do with me anymore. If this is what he wants then why should I still bother him again?" She dug her fingers into her hair, pacing back and forth. "God, I'm so stupid-"

"Ash-" Tama said soothingly.

"What makes you think he's coming?" she asked irritably, forcing back the tears that were doggedly climbing up her throat. "Huh? What makes you think he's going to come down here?"

"Because I know my boy," insisted the Bad Boy. "He still loves you, no matter what else he's said before. Besides, when I told you I wanted you to be with the man you want, I wasn't kidding. Come, let's head to the hotel. Maybe he's still there."

She hesitated for a moment, wanting to protest further, to tell him that there was no point, but she caught the familiar glint of determination swimming in his strong dark eyes, and she eventually complied. "Okay."

She got up and was following Tama down the hill when she spotted a car coming – no, scratch that – speeding down the long stretch of road. It didn't slow down until it stopped right at the foot of the hill. Ashley's eyes lit up, her heart pounding with excitement. Oh my god, she thought, going giddy with joy, Tama was right. He's here! Roman’s here!

With lightning speed, she left the third-generation superstar's side as she dashed down the hill towards the road. But as the driver of the car emerged, Ashley skidded to an abrupt halt, feeling the disappointment wash over her, her heart sinking all the way down to her toes.

It was only Kenny Omega, Tama’s friend.

He was running towards them, calling both of their names. Ashley walked towards him, but her curiosity converted into alarm when she took a good look at her young friend. He was bent over slightly, trying to catch his breath, his face reddened from his exertions spent climbing the hill, but he wore this devastated look on his face. His appearance was disheveled, his hair unrulier than usual, and his eyes were red and swollen, like he'd been crying. Something was very, very wrong, Ashley realized with agitation.

"Guys," Kenny choked out, "We…gotta go…right now! We gotta get to the hospital!"

Hospital?! Alarm bells began to ring in Ashley's head, and her insides clenched painfully with fear and terror as the signs became suddenly, sickeningly unmistakable.

Tama had picked up the distress as well. "Hospital? What for? What is it, man?" he asked, his deep voice laden with worry and inquisitiveness.

The young man could barely speak. His pale features were filled with shock and panic, and other combinations of things that Ashley could only decipher as hysteria. But when he managed to regain a part of his composure to address them, she wished he never opened his mouth. She wished he never even came here, because the words that came out his mouth and filtered through her ears would go a long way to destroying her forever.

"It…It's Roman. He's been in an accident…"

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

Title from the song "Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park. Yes, I know. It's not looking like a happy ending. There's only one chapter left to see if there is any hope left for Roman and Ashley. Coming soon, I promise. Looking forward to the reviews!

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