#withers is here because i thought having a set of 5 looked strange. Thank you withers

[skyberia]

our... other friends!! (previous set)

[wittyrosebush]

Dream SMP Reacting to a Witch!Hybrid

Pronouns: they/them

Includes: Dream, Quackity, Wilbur, qnd Tommy (PLATONIC)

Warnings: Meantion of drugs, swearing

A/N: This is based off of the canon characters and is set in the time of the Pogtopia/Manburg war!!! I might write a second part if this goes well. Also, this is the first thing I have written for this fandom, so I hope I get the character personalities correct. This is not beta read, so please don't attack me on my poor grammar skills. 😅

I hope you all enjoy!!! 💙

Dream

He was mining when he first met you

Dream heard a malicious cackle on the dark side of the cave and slowly drew his sword

He decided to charge towards the strange noise and was quickly met with an invisible body under him

He furrowed his brows and felt the body shuffle out from under him

"BEGONE STRANGE MAN"

"... excuse me?"

After a moment, Y/N's potion has worn off

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"

Dream chuckled and put away his sword, deciding the person in front of him wasn't a threat

After Y/n calmed down, the two had a talk, explaining the situation

Turns out, you had thought of a joke while mining for redstone (hence the laughter)

"So where is your hat and huge nose? You are really attractive for a witch."

"Luckily, I got my attributes from my father. What was that last part?."

"Wait, what about your hat?"

"I haven't done laundry in a few days.... hold up did you just say I was attractive?"

Ever since then Dream has had you by his side partly because he is a little clingy creating potions for him and the rest of the dream team

"How do you feel about cursing children?"

"I'm not that kind of witch, Dream."

"But what if he was being a little blonde bitch?"

"DREAMWASTAKEN I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Loves bringing you stuff to use for your projects

Need blaze rods for a new brewing stand? Done.

Need lapis lazuli so you have a chance for better communication? Done.

Anything you want? Done.

He will literally go to the nether for a few hours and come back with his arms full of whatever you need

And if you don't need anything or just need to take a break, he'll spend the day taking you anywhere that he think you would be happiest

He has you make him a lot of potions, bragging to everyone on the server how much better at creating potions you are

"Y/n's potions last longer, are more effective, prettier-"

"Are you sure? I think-"

"Tell me what you think, I fuckin dare you >:( ."

Overall, he is your #1 supporter

Quackity

The day had been long, dealing with Schlatt definitely tires a guy out after 5 minutes

On his walk on the outskirts of the Manburg wall, he spotted a suspicious row of blaze powder leading to the woods

Dawning his armor and a sword, he followed the trail to a small hut

He could see the outline of someone in the hut nervously pacing around

Deciding what he thought was the best possible option, he knocked on the door of the hut

There was immediately the sound of glass bottles falling on the floor and muffled words

Soon, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled being with a nervous grin

And Quackity went from tough to awkward

"C-Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, do you waNT SOME DRUGS?"

"ExCuSe Me?!"

Everything was going to shit

After a moment of awkward staring, a glass bottle tumbled off the brewing stand

Upon focusing on what was going on behind the two people trying and failing to act normal, they both saw that every brewing stand was on fire

"ARE YOU ACTUALLY MAKING DRUGS?!"

"NO I'M JUST REALLY BAD AT THIS POTION."

Finally putting the fire out together, the two looked at their now soot stained clothes

The witch hybrid ran a hand through their hair and sighed

"Well this is completely ruined."

Quackity frowned a little hesitant to offer his help

"If you need to you could borrow some brewing stands-"

"Really? *-* "

On the walk back to Manburg, you explained who you were

Quackity was still a little confused

"Wait but what potion were you even brewing?"

"Fire resistance."

He immediately burst out laughing, which ended up with you slapping his arm repeatedly

Eventually, you two became the definition of the "friends to lovers" trope

You often helped him de-stress after stressful days in office with Schlatt

He'd try whatever you recommended

"I'd suggest putting quartz on your nightstand."

"Cool!"

Later that night, you forgot something at his house

Once you walked into his house, you could see stacks of quartz next to his bed.

He really trusted any advice you could give him

And on days where people would criticize you for being part witch?

Big Q will attack anyone

Even if he knows he will lose

And at random parts of the day he'll just tell you oddly inspirational thoughts

"You are a bad bitch, dare I say a bad witch. Own that shit."

"That is oddly motivational, thank you. :) "

Wilbur

The former president was strolling along the side of a river, trying to form a coherent plan of action

Upon noticing a person trudging out of the water fumbling with glass bottles, Wilbur jogged over to them and put a careful hand on their shoulder

"Are you okay?"

The person moved the soggy hat out of their face and smiled

"Yeah, I just fell in the water while trying to fill up some of the bottles, but thanks for checking on me!"

He hummed in response, wondering why he was already so interested in the being before him

"Well I should probably get going, but thank you!"

"Wait! What's you name?"

"It's Y/n, and you are..?"

"Wilbur Soot, it was an honor meeting you, Y/n."

This man spent the rest of the night thinking about you and who the hell you were

He didn't know much about the mysterious person, but he did know that they were one of the most alluring people he had met in a long time

It was weeks since he saw you, Wilbur nearly gave up searching

That was until you walked into him on a rainy day

The brunette immediately went in defensive position and pulled the stranger to his chest, despite the dampened clothes

"Um, Mr. Soot?"

He looked down to see you and his face lit up

"Y/n! It's a pleasure to see you again."

He took a small step back and kissed your hand

No one can convince me that Wilbur "Gentleman" Soot does not flirt by giving hand kisses

The two went into Pogtopia and Wilbur almost immediately wrapped his coat around you

"What were you doing out there? The rain is coming down so hard you must not have been able to see well."

"I was going to ask if I could borrow a few golden carrots for a potion I'm making."

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the stared and whisper shouted down

"TOMMY BRING ME SOME GOLDEN CARROTS!"

"BUT WILBUR, I-"

"PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LOOK BAD IN FRONT OF THE STUNNING WITCH!"

The boy at the bottom of the stairs grumbled and the tall man sat next to you once more

After a few minutes of Wilbur fawning over everything you did, a blonde male walked up the steps and glared at Wilbur as he handed you the carrots

"Simp..."

Wilbur dramatically gasped as you chuckled next to him

You eventually started coming over to Pogtopia practically every day

Most of the time it was to see Wilbur, but the rest of your time was spent creating potions for the war

As the nation grew, you were brought out of your shell more with Wilbur introducing you to everyone

He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable in a new place

You often walked along the same riverbank where you met

You have definitely pushed each other off a few times

He keeps small things that you enjoy on him at all times

He keeps a tiny bottle of sand from the river you met at, a piece of your old robe, and so much more in his pockets

Whenever he feels like he's in a dark place or justneeds to ground himself he takes out one of the items and just holds it close.

Mans is so in love

Tommy

He met you in the nether while you were farming netherwart

The blonde was thrilled to find a new fortress and decided to raid it before reinforcements came

Seeing a sleeping figure next to a bed of sould sand, he took a few congident steps forward

Once close enough, he poked you with the stick

"You good?"

"I was good when I was asleep."

"AYE I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD SO-"

After arguing for what felt like hours, you both stormed off to find both exits being blocked by wither skeletons

Tommy had gotten beaten up pretty bad after the fight so you took him back to your hut to get all patched up

"I didn't even need your help. I'm tougher than I look."

"You legitimately passed out twice on the way here."

"HOW DARE YOU, I WAS RESTING MY EYES!"

After a few hours of healing and a ton of laighter, you two became the most chaotic duo in the smp

This british raccoon child would often steal small potions to pull pranks

But unless they were really important and you needed them back, you'd always join in on the pranks

He tried to get you to make a potion using the 'Tubbo Bath Water' one time

It did not end well

At the point in your friendship where you revealed you were a hybrid, Tommy was so confused

"That makes no sense, witches are still humans, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"So how does that make you a hybrid?"

👁👄👁

"Listen here you little shit-"

He likes to show you off to anyone that can listen

"You think you're special? HA! I have a best friend that is part witch and they will kick your ass. >:)"

He is really interested in everything you do but will never ask

But if you tell him about what you're doing unprovoked?

Tommy would get so happy

He is so excited to learn what you have to teach and would be one of the best friends ever

[internalsealpanic]

Work In Progress

summary: Your best friend calls you in the middle of the night telling you to meet him at his new pent house. Not finding anything strange about this you comply and meet him there where a 5(?) year old proceeds to threaten you with a kitchen knife. 

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

a/n: This is a mini scenario for the Dick Grayson x Merc! Reader. This is set during that time when Dick was batman. 

“Grayson, who is this woman?”

 You blatantly ignore  Damian “Wow, Dickenson, when you said he was rude you weren't kidding.” Dick grimaces  as he can already sense these two won't get along. You and Damian size each other up. You enjoy towering over the little gremlin. 

“Hey baby vamp, the name's (y/n),”

 “My name is Damian, you will address me as such, and that doesn't answer my question.”He snarls. There's an easy to miss glint of amusement in your eyes and a pinching in your brow. You can tell Dick and Damian are both pretty apprehensive about this from the tightness in their shoulders, the frown on Damian's face, and the slump in Dick's usually open posture. You’ve  been here before. You can do this. Not first or the last brat that will test your patience. 

“I'm Dick's-uh- friend and I'll be helping him out a little, considering-”flourishing your hand ever so vaguely ”And since you were rude, you'll have to earn the right to be called by your name,”

“Or I could just rip your throat out,”

You level him an unimpressed look, eyes half lidded almost sleepy. “Baby vamp, you're gonna have to do better than that if you wanna scare any of Flippy's friends least of all me,”

Even with the knife's point pressed to the thin flesh of your throat, all you could focus on was just how amusingly angry he was. The image of a dirty red hoodie briefly flashed in your mind  and some part of you withered at the memory. Unbeknownst to you the slip of memory was betrayed in the slightest tightening of your lips. There was a heavy coil of tension settling on the room as you two stared at each other. Neither of you is willing to back down. The slow, casual drumming of your fingers against the granite top carrying their collective nerves higher and higher. 

"Master Damian, I do hope that isn't how you intend to greet all of our guests." The tension in the room is suffused with Alfred's entrance. Damian lowered the blade making an odd 'tt' sound. 

"Ms. (y/n), I hope you don't intend to antagonize him" Alfre said, directing a look of stiff disappointment. 

"Tim and Jason were both ok with their nicknames" she dismissed in a half hearted defense. 

"Speaking of which where is Timbers?" You lied.  Dick let a little air out of his nostrils in place of the laugh caught in his chest. He could only imagine how frustrated Tim would be when he discovers he still hasn't shed his nickname. 

"I assume Master Richard hasn't properly briefed you on the situation,"

"Does he ever?” Dick gave you the ‘how dare you’ look while you simply shrugged taking a bite out of the sandwich you had made. “Nope, got home after a nice night out, opened my phone to a couple of voicemails telling me he needed help, and here I am making both of us a sandwich in the middle of the night with a crotch gremlin pointing a butter knife at my throat. What am I missing here, Mr. Pennyworth?"

Alfred sent Dick, what you considered,  a satisfyingly withering look which made him age, at least, 30 years. The poor man was going to age 100 years by dawn. "Well, to start off Bruce is- well, he's not here-" this got your brows to shoot up. "-Tim's gone off somewhere and well, I've taken over as Batman" 

"Well that's certainly a turn of events. And the crotch gremlin?"

"Bruce's"

"Bruce's" you repeat obviously bewildered as if the repetition could make it make sense. 

You look at Damian again. He glares at you with as much visceral contempt as he could. You turn to Alfred. 

"He's too lively,"

"Ok,  he scowls like him, but so did Dick when he was microbial," 

"Hey!"

"You're right. You still scowl like a 5 year old when you lose at air hockey" He makes an affronted noise. “At least, I didn’t punch the crane machine,” You glare at him and Alfred, again, ages. 

 “Anyway, what d'ya  need me to do Fly Boy?”

“She just never calls anyone by their name does she?”

 “Nah, she's just cranky?”

 “Well?” You prompted putting a hand on your hip and mentally noted to shove his sandwich down his throat before you go home. Dick could see the murder in your eyes. He knew he had to pick his next few words carefully. Sure, you retired from being a merc but you were still deadly as hell, hot but still deadly.  

“I am going to ask you a huge favor. It's temporary til I've worked something out-” 

“You want me to check up on Haven, don't you?”

Dick nods sheepishly looking at you with earnest blue eyes which he knew would work on you even if you saw it coming. 

 “Manipulative bastard” you hiss under your breath as you pinch your nose. Your shoulders rose then sunk then slumped. “Fine but you do understand I can't do that full time?”

“I know,” He said, trying not to look smug. “Thank, boo, you’re the best,” Dick said, giving you one of his patented Grayson hugs and a sloppy peck on the cheek as thanks(?). Dick was a usual still overly affectionate with you. Not that you really minded. You roll your eyes and look at the brat who was still glaring at you and you could already feel yourself getting sucked into co-parenting the kid. It was inevitable. 

Getting sucked back into the life of capes and cowls wasn’t your idea of a Friday night but because your best friend's family is a clusterfuck and a half you weren’t exactly gonna turn him down. Not when he had eye bags running down his dumbass face. 

Thanks for reading!

tag list: 

@idkmanicantenglish

@birdy-bat-writes

@batarella

@anothertimdrakestan (I thought you might like tiny Dami)

[phoenix-downer]

The Princess of Light Chapter 3: Falling In

1800 words. Angst, Romance, Fluff, Fairy Tales. For SoKai Week 2021, Day 3.

Summary: Princess Kairi is cursed to be without love when she is a baby. She grows up cold and without a heart to help her understand other people’s feelings, no matter how hard her parents try to help her. One day, however, she meets a mysterious prince from a faraway world, and he just might hold the key to breaking her curse.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Now at last we come to the prince. He was from another world, one that was as hot as Princess Kairi was cold, with warm beaches and yellow sands and salty seas. Naturally he’d heard of Kairi’s condition, as that sort of thing is not something people can keep quiet about, but he had no plans to actually meet her. 

He was on his way to another world, in fact, when his Gummi Ship ran into an asteroid and he had to make an emergency landing on Radiant Garden. As fate would have it, his ship crashed on land the royal family owned, though of course he didn’t know this at the time.

“Ouch,” he muttered, rubbing his head as the engine sputtered and moaned and various things that shouldn’t be creaking creaked. “That could’ve gone better.”

But at least he was alive and in one piece. He’d need help to repair his ship though. Stumbling out of the beaten-down vessel, he paused to take in his surroundings. The most delicious scent hit his nose, fragrant flowers and pines, and water bubbled in the distance. A full moon shone overhead, and scattered moonlight danced through the trees.

“This must be Radiant Garden,” he said as he trudged through the knee-high grass. “If I say I’m a lost traveler, someone around here oughta be able to help me.”

The prince followed the sound of the water till he reached a small stream, then took a drink to refresh himself. 

“The water of this world really does seem magical,” he said as he scooped up another mouthful. It tasted delicious and soothed his parched throat. Cold and clean and refreshing. Just as he was about to scoop up some more to pour over his head, a noise in the distance stopped him. It sounded like a young lady crying out, and he ran towards her at once, as princes are wont to do.

When he made it out of the thicket, he spotted a pool of something shimmering and shining in the clearing. And in that pool was a young lady, and that young lady was Princess Kairi. She was laughing and giggling as she frolicked in the light, but of course the prince had no idea of this. Her laughter had no warmth to it, so he thought it sounded like cries for help instead.

“Oh my gosh, she must be burning up!” was the only thought in his mind, and he shouted, “Hang on, I’ll save you!” 

He dove in and scooped her into his arms, and this time she really did shriek, though not for the reasons he thought. He staggered out of the light pool as she kicked and struggled, yelling, “Put me down, put me down!” 

This he did, and she let out a loud “Hmph!” and smoothed her skirts. The grass beneath her feet was already turning icy away from the light, and she knew her skin would soon be “cold.” Of course it never felt cold to her, just normal, but this strange young man would no doubt have complained about its “coldness” if he’d touched her bare arms much longer. Especially if his hand turned to ice.

Now that she’d recovered from her surprise a little, she gave him a closer look. He was about her age, if she had to guess, and wearing clothes from some far-off world. They certainly weren’t the types of clothes people wore here on Radiant Garden. Too light and breezy for that. His spiky brown hair looked like he’d never taken a comb to it in his life, and his eyes were as blue as the sky. 

“What on earth came over you, yanking me out of the light like that?” Princess Kairi scolded. “Don’t you know it’s the only place where I don’t turn everything my skin touches freezing cold?”

His eyes widened as he put two and two together. “So you’re the cursed princess.” 

“Yes, yes,” she said, rather irritably. “I’m guessing you’ve heard of me wherever you’re from.” He wasn’t the first person she’d met who’d gawked at her, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“I have,” he said, “I just… had no idea you’d be this beautiful.”

The prince was already quite taken with the young lady before him. Her red hair reached her shoulders, and her violet eyes were lovely despite their iciness. Without the curse, the princess was naturally spirited and fiery, and perhaps the prince sensed that and saw what she could be if she still had her heart.  

The princess hesitated despite herself. The prince did not seem put off by her manner; if anything, he seemed intrigued. 

“My name’s Sora,” he said, then bowed politely. There was something about the warmth of his manner that intrigued her as well. 

“Well, Prince Sora,” she replied, for she could tell by the way he carried himself he was a prince, “would you mind putting me back where I came from?”

“Oh, back in the light pool?” 

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid that I turn anything that I touch cold, and there are some very nice flowers and grass around us that I don’t want to kill by stepping back in myself.” 

Sora glanced at the ground, and the grass Princess Kairi was standing on had already withered and turned icy. Her feet were bare, and as such there was no clothing guarding her surroundings. 

“Oh, sure,” he said. “I’d be happy to.” 

“Just make sure you don’t touch my bare skin, or you’ll feel cold and get frostbite.” 

Sora held up his hand. “No worries, I have gloves.” 

He scooped her into his arms and noted that she was very cold indeed. But it didn’t matter all that much, for he climbed the little hill over the light pool and jumped in, plunging himself into its warmth along with Kairi. She was intrigued by this, for no one had ever jumped into the pool with her before. Sora had a big, caring heart, especially for someone his age. It provided the weight that she lacked in her heartless state, and that weight made for a much more exhilarating plunge than what she could ever achieve on her own. Soon they were swimming and laughing in the light pool together like old friends.

“Woah, this feels incredible,” Sora said, and he could see why the princess enjoyed it so much. He felt like he was bathing in liquid warmth, and that liquid warmth made him feel like he was floating. He’d heard about this pool before, but the stories didn’t do the reality justice. 

“It does feel nice, doesn’t it?” Kairi agreed as she paddled around.

“Wanna fall in with me again?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. For the moment they’d fallen in together, he’d experience another kind of falling as well, and pairing the two sensations, the adrenaline rush from jumping off the hill combined with the rush from holding this lovely young lady in his arms, was the most enticing prospect he could imagine. 

“Sure,” Kairi agreed, and he grinned and scooped her up into his arms, carried her out of the pool, strolled back up the hill like she weighed nothing (for indeed without her heart she weighed less than most people her age), and jumped in the pool again as she shrieked with delight. This they repeated over and over again till Prince Sora was quite worn out. Then they just floated in the light pool, enjoying its restorative effects and how it was replenishing their energy bit by bit. They talked, too, about all sorts of things; their favorite books and stories, their favorite foods and the ones they couldn’t stand, how it felt to grow up as royalty. 

Sora was much loved by the people of Destiny Islands, but the people of Radiant Garden rarely got to see or interact with Kairi because of her curse. He felt sorry for her, because how was she supposed to learn how to rule properly without getting to know her people? And setting aside all the ruling stuff, did she really have any friends her age? Or even a sweetheart? She hadn’t mentioned anyone, and Sora was quite eager to know if she’d be open to his advances.

“Well, it’s getting late,” she said, before he could ask. “I should be going home before my nurse or my parents start searching for me.” 

“Please, may I escort you to the castle?” Sora asked. 

“You’d better not. My father is very strict with me. I don’t care two cents about what other people say, but I’ve been scolded for not ‘acting like a princess’ before, and coming home with a strange young man at night isn’t very princess-like.” 

She waded out of the light pool, leaving Sora feeling slightly deflated. He understood why her parents would balk at the thought of her coming home with a young man they’d never met, but he meant no ill. 

“Can I see you tomorrow then?” he pleaded. He didn’t want to leave without the promise he’d get to see her again. Any chance to spend more time with her, to get to know her better, was one he wanted to take. 

She paused, the light gently lapping at her bare feet. “If you’d like to come here again, sure. Falling in was fun. I’d like to do it again.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”

The princess felt a strange fluttering in her stomach that she chalked up to being hungry. That was her only frame of reference for such a feeling. None of her former suitors had lasted long enough to make it past her many barriers, and Sora had a smile that lit up his whole face and made his eyes look even more beautiful than they already were. 

He reminded her of the special pool in a way. Yes, that must be it. He was sunny and warm and cheerful like the pool, so of course her stomach fluttered the way it did.

“Oh, Princess?” he asked as she put her shoes and socks on. Not the proper use of her title, but somehow, she didn’t mind. 

“Yes?” she replied. 

“Where’s a good place to stay for the night?”

Kairi gave her recommendation based on what her parents had told her before, and Sora thanked her politely. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said as he waded out of the pool. With that they bid each other goodnight, and Sora felt that he was very lucky indeed to have crashed on Radiant Garden this evening. He watched to make sure she made it back to the castle okay, then returned to his Gummi Ship for a few more supplies before heading into the castle town.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. 

[synnefo-nefeli]

5 and 15 for the ask meme?

5. Favorite Head Canon I like to use:

Klavier and Franziska are distantly related and there is a Gavin / von Karma blood fued going on because the Gavins became defense attorneys to rival the von Karmas. Klavier is the first prosecutor in generations, further alienating him from his family while simultaneously earning him *some* respect with Franziska. Miles stays out of it.

Bonus: Apollo the Disney Adult and all my indulgent SoCal references

15. WIP snippet

Was debating between Fumbling, Strange Days and Heard Your Heart Beating but then I realized I don’t want to spoil the penultimate chapter of Fumbling, and The only thing I’ve written for SD are spicy scenes so I’ll keep those for another time. The scene from HYHB next chapter is actually pretty sad ( Apollo’s birthday + grieving over Clay) so I’m going to post a snippet from another chapter after that. Sorry that it’s rough- it’s an early draft.

————

“Are you free right now, Mr. Justice?” No matter how much time he’d spent with Miles outside of work at game nights and other informal functions with Miles Edgeworth, a part of Apollo still withered under the Chief Prosecutor’s gaze.

“Uh yes, I was just going to process these documents” he indicated the folder that was neatly organized in the brief case Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth had gifted him for his birthday, “and then I was going to see if Mr, Wright was ready to go back the office-“

:read more:

“Good, come with me,” the other man practically commanded, turning towards the courtroom exit, “Wright will be meeting us upstairs.”

“Oh that’s good, that’s where I was going-“ Apollo said lamely as he shoved the rest of his court documents into the briefcase (hoping Edgeworth didn’t notice), and hurried to keep up with the other man.

Several flights of stairs later, Apollo thought his legs were going to give out- how could ride his bike through traffic but stairs could wind him? Mr. Edgeworth looked unphased, the man’s usual placid expression in place, as they climbed at the fast clip Mr. Edgeworth set for the.

Come to think of it, Mr. Edgeworth seemed to be in a hurry and the back of his shoulders were tense.

“So, where are we going?” Apollo attempted to ask as the door on the landing above them,as if on cue, slammed open to reveal his boss who was looking especially harried despite him winning his case.

“Oh good you got him, we got to hurry they office is going to close in fifteen, and there’s a lot more paperwork- I’ve been trying to get it all filled out for us.”

Apollo pushed himself up the final steps, “uh- where are we going? Is everything okay? you both look nervous”

Mr. Wright gave him a wide grin, “Nothing’s wrong”, and rubbed the back of his neck. Apollo knew that tick well enough- something was up.

“Nothing is wrong, Apollo; the officiant requires us to have a witness,” Edgeworth said primly pausing a moment to adjust his fiancé’s tie, before taking Mr. Wright by the hand and pulling him into the hallway at a brisk pace.

Apollo blinked, “Officiant?” As he scrambled after the pair,and then he realized where they actually were- the 7th floor.

The Office of the County Clerk Recorder. To be more specific.

“YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED??? NOW?!” Apollo yelled, “ On a Tuesday?!”

This wasn’t good. They had been doing so much prep; Apollo had finally planned the bachelors party (well, Klavier had done that. Apollo just had to convince Chief Gumshoe and Larry that they had contributed).

He did not just spend his Sunday evening convincing Wright and Edgeworth’s best friend from childhood, that booking VIP rooms at various strip clubs in North Hollywood, was not going to go over well with either groom, for the pair to just go and essentially elope before the end of the work day.

“Wedding planning is a terrible headache and we’re sick of it,” Mr. Edgeworth said hurriedly.

Phoenix gave Apollo a nervous smile, “His sister has completely taken over the planning- what was the final straw this time, babe?”

“ Apparently Franziska doesn’t approve that the cumberbunds don’t match some other inane item-“ the Chief Prosecutor snapped, “Apollo whenever you get married, tell your partner you want to elope. And do it immediately after you announce your engagement.”

Mr. Wright now looked more amused than sheepish, “Last month when we were on the Judge’s spring boat soirée , Miles almost had the captain marry us when Fran texted us about runner material. Apparently the one we picked makes distracting noises and looks ‘cheap’. Thank god Gumshoe was there to guikt him out of it; apparently he’s never been in a wedding aside his own and he really wants to be Miles’ best man”

Apollo felt his cheeks heat unexpectedly. This was all too much, “Wait. wait...but still..you can’t get married today- I mean the wedding’s only two months away-“ he was finding it difficult to not lag behind the taller men as their pace picked up.

“Why on earth did I allow us to get talked into June? Only five months to plan-foolish“ Edgeworth muttered.

The Clerk-Recorder’s office loomed in the distance. Apollo was frantically trying to come up with something to make them reconsider. Prosecutor von Karma and Maya would have his head if Wright and Edgeworth went through with this.

Guilt. Chief Gumshoe had done it...maybe Apollo could too:

“Are you seriously going to get married without Trucy being here?” Apollo blurted a little too loudly.

It had the intended effect though; Mr. Wright nearly slammed into his fiancé as Mr. Edgeworth suddenly stopped short.

[hoodoo12]

Model Behavior (5/5)

SFW. Barbara catches her husband and Beetlejuice in their quiet moment.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I want to take another moment to thank the always fantastic @turtlepated for rping this little indulgence with me. You are simply the best. I can’t state that enough.  The person who played Barbara is no longer on tumblr that I am aware. 

@janitor-boy @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @angelicspaceprince

Enjoy! `

After the serious conversation she had with Adam regarding their only other ghostly housemate, Barbara was admittedly worried. Not for anything changing between their marriage, no, no--but it was a growing concern for Beetlejuice. They all witnessed the exchange between the demon and his monstrous mother, Juno, and it was quite obvious that Beetlejuice was more than just  . . . well, some needy pervert. She had forgiven his past transgressions with the new understanding that he had his own traumas to go through. Centuries of them, from what she could tell. So she was curious to see how Adam had handled the situation, opening the door to the attic and calling out to her husband, 

"Adam? Are you still up here? I wanted to talk to you about--" but Barbara cut herself short, surprised by the current scene before her. 

An embarrassed pink flooded her cheeks as she searched for Adam's eyes, silently wondering if this was a bad time. Oh, she really hoped she hadn't ruined this moment…

He was right, this was some sort of trap! Somehow the Maitlands had set it up so he'd be stupid and vulnerable in front of Adam, and then Barbara would see it, and she scared him, she had this extra little strength when she was angry-- 

He tried to untangle himself from the embrace, tried to get up, tried to stammer an apology as well as a snarky, "Were you raised in a barn, learn to knock!" kind of comment and ended up panicking and freezing in place instead. Caught! A deer in headlights! 

No matter what kind of happy, solid marriage they had in life or death, finding her husband locked in an embrace with him was not going to go over well.

Rather uselessly, Adam gasped when he heard the door swing open and his wife's voice as she came into the room. Even though he was now dead, he could swear his heart gave a meaty thump of surprise in his chest when Barbara's words trailed off into stunned silence. Beetlejuice jumped against him, rigid as stone and just as still. His thoughts whizzing through his mind at a dizzying speed, Adam met Barbara's eyes over the specter's shoulder, raising his eyebrows and pulling his lips into a thin line. He cut his eyes toward the demon and back to her bewildered face, willing her to understand what she was seeing. 

He didn't drop his arms from around Beetlejuice, either, even as he felt the other ghost's arms trembling minutely against him as he glanced frantically back and forth between the two of them as though waiting for the explosion.

Beetlejuice couldn't see it, but he just knew any pink that might have sprouted in the roots of his hair when he was just getting relaxed with Adam wither and retreat. They were replaced with deep purples and blues, the colors of a bruise. That always felt heavy on his head. He wished he could disappear.

With wide eyes, Barbara nodded her understanding to Adam before she turned her gaze to the now changing colors of Beetlejuice's hair. Normally a vibrant green, she observed the what she thought was pink recede while it was replaced with deep purples and blues. She also didn't miss his shaking and the tense way he braced himself as if he were about to be struck. This broke Barbara's heart, a spark igniting her anger at Juno. But this wasn't the time. Her gaze softened and very slowly she made her way over to the two men, making sure to stand enough in Beej's peripheral that he could look over to see her. She leaned over slightly, giving Adam a sweet smile before addressing Beetlejuice. 

"You guys look pretty cozy . . . got room for one more?" The question was timid and open; no matter the answer, she wouldn't be mad. Still, maybe she should reinforce that. 

"It's okay if you don't want me too, but I certainly wouldn't mind a hug either," she finished with a motherly smile, hoping to comfort him instead of scare him more.

Adam flashed his wife an encouraging smile, turning his attention to the specter who had fallen deathly, uncharacteristically quiet. Beetlejuice looked positively petrified, eyes darting between the couple like a trapped animal eyeing its captors, expecting pain, and the stricken expression on his pallid face caused a twinge of deep sadness to squeeze Adam's chest. 

Schooling his voice carefully, keeping his tone light and casual and unconcerned, he attempted to soothe the demon's obvious unease. "Sounds great to me! The more the merrier, I always say! What about you, Beetlejuice?"

If he couldn't run, he could be small. The self proclaimed ghost with the most shrunk back as best he could into the cushions of the couch. 

With the sounds of his own inner dialogue making a racket in his ears, it took him a moment to not only hear but understand what the couple was saying. Barbara had come closer, but she wasn't screaming accusations or calling him names. Adam hadn't pushed him away. 

They were . . . good? With this? Barbara asked for a hug? Adam agreed? 

It was a lot to process and he finally unhooked an arm around Adam. His hand went to his mouth and he habitually he chewed his thumbnail, trying to make the pieces of this puzzle fit together. The couple had a slight air of expectation, awaiting his answer.Timidly, unsure of his own voice and who exactly decided to speak, he looked up at Barbara and croaked out, 

"W-would you like to s-s-sit, sit here," he indicated the open space beside him, "or next to Adam?"

Barbara's smile warmed graciously at his offer and she moved over to the to open space beside him, though not sitting yet. 

"Is it okay if I sit next to you, Beetlejuice . . .?" she queried. 

Sure, he offered the seat, but with his clear nervousness, she wanted to make sure he knew he was in control of this situation. His choices were the one that mattered. They were there to offer him comfort and if he chose to accept, they would gladly oblige.

Although his nail was still between his teeth, he nodded quickly.

"Thank you," she replied steadily, hoping to ease his worries by staying. She smoothed out her dress as she sat next to him, angling towards him more. Her eyes flitted over to Adam, before back to Beetlejuice. 

"Is it okay if I touch you? Can I give you a hug, too? Like Adam did . . . ?"

Mrs. Maitland sitting down made the cushion dip a little. She sat a little closer than he'd expected, angled so her knees were against his. It was burned into his memory that she'd almost ripped his arm out of socket, so he fretted a little, but she'd been calm and quiet so far, and that reassured him. 

And she'd asked about touching him too, just like her husband had! He filed that away for future use, because it seemed like something that people did. 

Adam still seemed comfortable, and not at all concerned he was going to grope his wife, so with that kind of encouragement, Beetlejuice took his hand out of his mouth, turned it palm side up, and held it out to Barbara.

Barbara's smile grew at his offer, laying the back of her hand against his palm. She made no move to grab at him, instead letting him get used to her touch. He really was acting like a cornered animal and despite the strong urge to wrap him in a blanket and mother him, she knew that would only frighten him.

This was promising! It still felt so strange to see the flamboyant, borderline-manic demon looking so cowed and jittery. Adam stretched out his arm across the back of the sofa, draping it across Beetlejuice's shoulders but curling his hand into Barbara's hair, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. He shifted closer, sitting flush against the demon's side. 

"You doing okay?" he gently asked the other ghost.

Her hand was smaller than her husband's. It fit well into his hand as he closed his fingers lightly around hers. Of course, he'd have said that Adam's hand fit well in his too. That was interesting . . . did everyone's feel like that? 

Beetlejuice jumped slightly and his back stiffened as he felt the pressure of an arm settling across his shoulders. From the corner of his eye he saw the familiar gesture between the two of them: hands in hair. It must feel nice, because they both did it. Gradually he relaxed again. That was much better, and the small beginnings of a smile touched his lips.

When Adam gently played with a few strands of her hair, a lighthearted giggle bubbled up from Barbara's throat before she met her husband's eyes. There was immeasurable adoration held in her gaze, but she broke it to check on the demon her. 

"How are you doing, Beetlejuice?" she wondered softly, giving his hand a light squeeze before leaving her hand lax again.

"I'm . . . g-good," he replied, with a soft stutter, still trying to take in having people voluntarily pressed to each side, an arm over his shoulder, and holding her hand. He wanted to catalogue it all and sear it into his memory to revisit. 

It occurred to him that maybe his answer didn't sound sincere, so he tried again. In a stronger voice, he repeated, "I'm good. How're you?" 

Internally he winced at his return question.

"Well, I am doing wonderful! Thank you for asking," came her cheery response, leaning over to playfully bump her shoulder with his. 

"What about you, honey? How are you feeling?" she addressed Adam next, offering a bright smile. Beetlejuice seemed to be relaxing. That was good. Maybe this would be the start of something better for him. Something better for them all.

His wife's sunny disposition never failed to make him smile, even in such an awkward situation as this. The sheepish demon sandwiched between them did appear to be loosening up, though the tiny stammer would indicate he was still a little unsure. 

"I'm right as rain!" Adam replied with a broad smile to the pair seated next to him, hoping to set Beetlejuice more at ease. "This is nice, isn't it? Just sitting together, vibin’, as Delia would say." 

He punctuated the remark with a swee-ing hand gesture that was supposed to look cool but would probably have made Lydia groan and roll her eyes.

"Oh, Adam!" Barbara chastised innocently, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head at him. Despite the light admonishment, she laughed and the bright smile returned to her lips.

He'd always seen the adoration the Maitlands had for each other from a distance, but now he was caught between them and it was glorious. Just being here made him warm and he could sit here forever, he thought. He sighed and more of the tension left his shoulders.

fin

[iezzern-ao3]

Breath of a New Spring

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas

Relationships: Briar/Tamlin (ACoTaR), Tamlin (ACoTaR)/Tarquin (ACoTaR)

Characters: Tamlin (ACoTaR), Original Male Character(s), Briar (ACoTaR), Tarquin (ACoTaR)

Additional Tags: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Character Growth, Coming of Age, Survivor Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness

Language: English

After the war, Tamlin is left to scramble in his guilt and unstable morals. It'll take a lot to take him back to the male he previously was, a lot more to make him believe in that male.

Read Chapter 1 of 5 under the cut

Tamlin walks awkwardly next to Neri Vanserra, trying to keep the tears from escaping his eyes. The battle is over. They’ve won. Sent Hybern back to its sad home. Soldiers are already celebrating, drunk and lustful. The hurt are being taken care of—Tamlin hasn’t seen Thesan rest for hours. And yet, Tamlin can’t bear to feel happy.

Victory has never tasted so much like defeat.

Tamlin has lost his court. Lost respect among his comrades. Lost any sense of self-respect. He can’t bear to rebuild it. Doesn’t deserve any kind of saving. So he walks next to Neri Vanserra and tries to not break.

“I appreciate what you did to Father, by the way,” Neri suddenly says, grinning, “I’ve never seen him so…weak”

Tamlin grins back, unsure of how to respond. Forcing Beron to join the fight was just a result of his own shame. A by-thought of scrambling his broken court and racing to the war. He’d burst into the Court, all anger and command, but he’d never been more tired in his life. Living had seemed more like a chore at that point. He would do what he needed to do. Then… Well, Tamlin had never been known for taking falls easily. People, if they didn’t understand, would not be surprised if he…

Neri’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says and there is no doubt that he means it. His grip is tight, digging into Tamlin’s flesh. It feels sure. Real. Something to stay for. And Tamlin finds that he maybe can stay as the Spring Court’s Lord for a bit longer.

Neri grabs hold of some Autumn Court fae, orders him to do something Tamlin can’t hear. Because his own soldiers have set up camp close by. Are helping survivors and comforting the grieving. None of them have caught sight of him yet and he wants to hide. Gathering them to fight had been hard enough, watching them fight worse. He can’t look at them. Can’t let them look at him. He’s too ashamed. Of what he let Ianthe do to his men and his Court.

He sees all the other men he led into suffering and pain by letting Hybern into his Court. All the ones whose families were held hostage. All the ones who stayed in spite, to honour their oaths to him. All the ones who had known him since boyhood and watched him grow into a shameful male. He sees Mariam, that brave man who he had whipped because of Ianthe’s words. Feyre had stayed with him. Tamlin wished he had.

Mariam’s eyes suddenly snap to him, as if he’d sensed Tamlin stare on him. His eyes are unreadable. Tamlin wants to avert his gaze but can’t. Figures he has enough dignity left to meet the eyes of a male he hurt without cause. Mariam keeps staring; arms limp down his sides. He has his shirt off, probably has given it to someone who needs it more. Tamlin can glimpse welts over his shoulders—closed wounds that are still tainted slightly red. The sight of them does something to him. Brings a cold to his heart that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Excuse me,” he has half the mind to say to Neri. The male doesn’t seem to mind—doesn’t protest when Tamlin leaves him by himself. Tamlin starts making his way over to Mariam, aware of the unwanted attention it’ll bring him. His soldiers stop doing their tasks, hands pausing and feet hesitating. All seem to hold their breath. Mariam is still just staring.

Tamlin stops a small distance away from him, steeling himself to not look away. It is harder now that he’s caught his soldiers’ attention. “My Lord,” Mariam says with a tight tone, bows his head slightly. Mariam was from the continents—had never really settled into the Lording superiority system. Tamlin is shaking his own without even noticing, reaching out. “No,” he’s said far too quickly, “Don’t”

Mariam’s eyes widen, unsure, and Tamlin is reminded of a russet curl down over wide, brown eyes and a red blush high on sharp cheekbones. He itches to turn around and look at the male in the memory. They’d been so young. Innocent. Naïve, Tamlin’s father would say. In love, Tamlin’s mother would say. The memory aches in his chest.

“I think an apology is in order,” Tamlin says, surprised at how sure his voice sounds. Mariam’s eyes narrow and his arms crossed over his chest. There’s some murmuring around them. Tamlin swallows and thinks of how his father would roll in his grave if he knew what Tamlin was about to do.

He glances down for a second, and then kneels on the uneven ground. Someone drops something behind him. Tamlin feels his braided hair fall down over his shoulder as he lowers his head. “My Lord?” Mariam asks, his voice a hundred times more unsure than before.

“As I said, an apology”

Tamlin doesn’t recognize his own voice. His fingers are trembling where they’re resting on his own thigh, but, strangely, he doesn’t feel scared. He remembers the speeches he used to hold for his father, how mother’s eyes would sparkle with pride. How his father had looked partially worried and scared before he’d berated him. How he used to think for himself. Speak for himself. He opens his mouth and hopes that ability has just been dormant and not withered away completely.

“I will not say more,” he quietly explains; knows the wrong words will bring the wrong thoughts, “I fear there is nothing I can say to either excuse or justify my actions. I caused you pain when I should’ve protected you—as your High Lord there is no greater shame. I do not expect you to forgive me, and therefore will not request it of you. But the least you deserve is an apology”

Tamlin’s breathing heavily by the end of it, his mind reeling with the knowledge that his own voice has returned to him. Far too long those words that had come out of his mouth had been his father’s. What he’d learned from the only male he’d trusted for a long time.

There’s a touch to the crown of his head.

Tamlin swallows with it.

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t quite expected this, my Lord,” Mariam’s voice says, low, “But it is greatly appreciated”

Tamlin’s eyes rise again. Meet Mariam’s. The male has a slight smile on his lips, but it’s tainted with sadness and partway resentment. There’s angry muttering around them—courtiers and ladies insulted by Tamlin’s display. Tamlin finds he doesn’t care outside the looks of his men. His soldiers. They are the ones whom he would trust with his life. They are the ones who watched him grow. Who loved him. Before he turned into whatever he was now.

There’s approval in Mariam’s eyes. Some sort of trust and disbelief that Tamlin would even consider kneeling for a mere sentry-turned-soldier. It’s mirrored in the males around them; the ones with scars littering their bodies and blood haunting their eyes. Tamlin was always out of his element in a Court.

“My Lord,” Mariam says, and it sounds like so much more than a simple title, “Arise, now”

Read Chapter 2 of 5 HERE

[btswishes]

Are you for real?

Kihyun  (Vampire Au)

Previous / Next

A/N:  Here we go ladies and gentlemen. Part3, sorry for any mistakes made and I hope you like it.

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: “ Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Kihyun vampire au? It can honestly be about anything! I love your work btw!  “

Word count:   2,431

Warnings: Swear words, blood, organs mention of death.

                      —————————————————————

  During the ride home Hae didn’t say a word. He looked deep in thought and you didn’t know what to say to him. That night he asked you to sleep in his room just in case that thing comes back. You did feel more calm and comfortable in a room with a locking window and a brother to keep you safe. You were so relaxed that the next day you woke up later than usual.

  Breakfast was the same, nothing to serious. You went to study in your room, but the door was constantly open and your brother would check on you a few time in an hour. After the sun started setting around 5, you got up and started thinking what to wear. It was almost time for the unexpected and sudden date you had. 

  There was this cute winter dress that you loved so much. You paired it up with thick leggings and high-heel boots.It felt warm and comfortable. Fixing your hair a bit and putting the tiniest amount of makeup, you took a look in the mirror. 

  You were happy, your face was shining bright.In a way it felt like there was some kind of meaning now to your life.It wasn’t just living and studying. You were excited for once. You were going out with someone interesting and kind, you wanted to enjoy this time and remember it for the next 100 or more years. As long as the memory lasted.

  There was a small knock on the door frame, when you saw your mother leaning on it. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and she was looking at you with loving eyes.

“You look amazing sweetie.Going out I presume ?” 

“Yes. I think it’s a date...” you mumbled the last part as you looked down at the floor.Your mother pushed herself off the wood and reached out to fix the lose strand of hair trying to run from the elastic. 

“You think?”

“Well, he said it’s a date, but I didn’t mean it like that.” you moved side to side a bit uneasy as this was new to you

“If he said it’s a date than it is.Don’t worry about it, just enjoy it.” you turned towards your mother and asked her how you looked “I told you already. No matter what you do ,or what you wear ,you will be beautiful in my eyes. Even if you weren’t who you are, you will still be the prettiest person.” 

  You ran downstairs to get your boots on. Tightening the coat belt, you took a deep breath.

“Have fun honey.” your mom smiled at you “Oh and...” you looked at her waiting for the end of the sentence “Make sure you have as much fun as you want. Moments like this one don’t last long for us, but the memories we build are always going to be a part of who we are. Enjoy yourself.”

 “I will mom.” you waved to her and ran our of the door. The plan was to catch the bus and go to the cafe. But you were surprised when a car stopped next to you.The window rolled down slowly and a boy stepped out. The moon popped out from behind a lonely cloud and illuminated his face. In a way he was reflecting the light around himself, making it look like he was glowing.

“Kihyun?” you were a bit shocked “Why are you here?”

“Well it’s pretty dark outside and I thought I should come pic you up. “ he walked over to you and opened the door, making sure you were sitting comfortably in the car, before jumping in the driver’s seat “ Truth be told I didn’t want you to walk alone at night.Especially when you look this good. That color suits you very well.” you blushed unintentionally and flashed him back a smile 

“Thank you.I was going for a warm look.It’s absolutely cold outside and usually I am warm only home.” you placed the seat belt on and Kihyun drove off.

  In the meantime your mom had already locked the door. Your dad walked passed her and stopped in his tracks, his head moved side to side before he spoke.

“Why do I smell the faint sent of a corpse?” he looked at your mother with a raised eyebrow 

“Don’t look at me like that, there is meat in the fridge.” she slapped his shoulder, when your brother walked down the stairs, hearing the conversation 

“Corpse?” he grabbed some milk from the fridge and sat on the table, pouring out some in a glass “Speaking of potential corpses, where is Y/N?” Hae looked around but you were nowhere to be seen

“She went out.”your mom giggled to herself.Your brother’s eyes squinted and he crooked his head to the side, focusing on your mother.

“With who?” 

“On a walk.”

“Mom” Hae was focused on her “We have been over this so many times.Why try to lie in the first place?”

“Ok,ok. Your sister is on a date with someone, but I don’t know who he is.” she shrugged, lifting her arms in front of herself in a defensive position.

“Date!?”Both your brother and dad almost jumped out of the house, through the roof

“Fuck!” Hae cussed out as he ran to get his stuff “That rotting son of a bitch came all the way here! So he was the one who busted in her room!”

“Hae what are you talking about?” your mom started panicking a bit after her son’s reaction “You know the boy?”

“Yeah, I know that ass and he is in deep shit when I find him.I will send him 5 feet under ground where he came from!” 

“Will you tell us what is going on?” your dad jumped in the conversation as the air was getting tense around the room

“Hae sit down and calm yourself. What is going on!”the table shook after your mother hit it with all her force. Hae stopped running around and decided that it was best to tell the truth from what you told him.

 The car ride with Kihyun was very pleasant. You were making small talk when a sudden silence hit the atmosphere. Looking outside the window you saw the same poster as the one on your way home from the supermarket.

“They still have them up?”you asked out-loud and that peeked Kihyun’s interest 

“Them?” he asked

“Oh, I was talking to myself, sorry about that.”

“No no. I am actually curious now.”

“Well lately there have been these sightings of some creature ,that apparently hurts people and all that jazz. I was just surprised that the posters the media put up of the this story are still hanging on the trees and buildings. “ you said looking at the night sky

“Do you believe in them?” Kihyun was staring at the road, but this question was pretty serious to him

“Do I believe in the media about this story?Yeah I do, all kinds of creatures exist in the world and most just want to live away from the public’s eye. Do I believe it hurts people? I do believe it could be harming them, but then again I haven’t seen it myself and i don’t know the full story.”

  Kihyun was staying quiet, listening closely to your words and thoughts. 

“Humans haven’t exactly proven themselves as the calm and peaceful type of creatures.They bully their own kind and even in literature try to kill or exile them as far away as possible-.”

“You know that most eat people right?” he cut you off 

“Yes, we are talking about mythology and stories, but have any of the people saying these things actually talked with a creature of the particular kind?No.Plus that there are supermarkets these day.If they wanted meat or blood you can find it online too. We don’t live in the old days anymore, where you had to go to the forest and hunt during the night so you wouldn’t be seen.”

“You are saying that if the creature wanted a particular organ, it can go to a butcher shop?” his voice was higher than usual since he was particularly shocked by your words and way of thinking.

“Well I mean yeah.It’s easy and it’s clean work.Livers, hearts, brains all those things are super easy to buy, since they are a delicacy to a lot of humans.” you were talking and talking when the car suddenly stopped. Your eye’s landed on the parking lot you were at today with your brother.

  Kihyun leaned onto the steering wheel and began laughing his heart out. You didn’t know how to react ,so you just waited for him to calm down. It took some time but he ended up relaxing. 

“You are an interesting one indeed.I haven’t met anyone like you before in both my lives.” he leaned slowly towards you and for a moment you were expecting a kiss, when he unclasped your seat-belt. 

  You panicked because of your thought and rushed out of the car, making him smile since he knew what you were expecting. In his own way he was actually enjoying teasing you.

  The cafe was still open but there weren’t many people inside. You walked in and the orange haired boy greeted you two.

“Wonho, bring out the cake I made an hour ago.It should be chilled enough.” the boy swiftly stepped inside the kitchen and disappeared from your view. You found a nice cozy place next to the window and sat there.Looking outside you got lost into the moon the same way Kihyun didn’t notice his eyes focusing onto you. It felt strange to him. He would usually have many dates in a week, but this was the first time he couldn’t look away. 

  Your hair reminded him of the many days he had seen during his life, your face reminded him of the bright sun he used to hide from in the past ,in fear of burning. For a split second he didn’t mind turning into ashes if he had to. During the years he has spent on this earth he had seen many beautiful flowers ,that withered in his arms in one night, leaving their life force with him. Yet this was the first time he didn’t want to harm such a beautiful creature. Kihyun was worried that if he even so as touched you, you would crumble in his hands.Maybe, he thought, if you sat in the moon light you would grow more and stay longer with him. 

  “Kihyun. Kihyun!” Wonho patted his friend’s shoulder

“Uh?” he looked up at the strong boy with eyes lost in a far away place

“I...I brought the cake you asked for.” Wonho couldn’t speak clearly, confused as to what was happening in front of his eyes. 

“Thanks, put the rest back in the fridge or it will melt.”

“Sure.”he was about to leave, when he turned towards his friend again “Weren’t you going to take her to that place?” he was hinting at something you weren’t understanding, but obviously Kihyun did ,as the look in his eyes changed.”You have to, it’s been too long.” Wonho emphasized on the time aspect. 

  There was a moment of silence before Kihyun looked at your shining eyes.His hand rubbed his chest, grabbing onto the talisman necklace. 

“Kihyun?” his name echoed in the empty cafe

“We can go there next time. It’s too cold, she might catch a cold.”

“A cold? When is next time then?” the orange haired boy became a bit aggressive, there was anger in his voice mixed in with worry 

“Is something wrong?” you finally broke your silence. Wonho was about to say something, but Kihyun’s words cut him off fast and pretty rude.

“Everything is fine. We were just arguing about something.” he looked at his friend noticing the concern “You can go now.”

“Fine,” turning his back on you two, he placed the empty tray under his arm “Just keep in mind that the cafe is empty, no one is here.” and he left

“Don’t mind him, he has always been like that. Bites hard like a dog.” he passed over the fork and encouraged you to try the cake “I know that it sounds a bit strange, but it kind of reminded me of you.Sweet and smooth like the cream.” he leaned onto his hand waiting for you to say your judgment.

  The cake was really good. Not too sweet, nor to bitter it was the perfect balance between textures and flavor. Pulling the fork away from your face, the corners of your lips curved up into a smile. Your pearly teeth peeked from under your lipstick and you turned to face Kihyun.

“It’s super good!” it was so tasty that you couldn’t describe it

“Is that so?” he smiled back at you “ Have more, I made if for you actually.”

  You didn’t hesitate to take another bite and another one, you just couldn’t stop yourself. While you were enjoying yourself, in the distance you were being watched by Wonho. 

“I just don’t know what is happening!” the boy sighed ”This is out of character for him.”

“Calm down Wonho.” a tall and well build man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder “It’s strange to me too, but do you have it in you to stop this?”

“Shownu is right.”Jooheon was standing in the darkness observing with everyone “ He looks...happy.”

“He does, but for how long?It’s been days since he last ate anything.” Wonho hit his hand onto the table almost spilling the glass of water

“We all have a choice here.” another boy spoke out “ We can A/ let him enjoy this and watch as he slowly dies, or B/ we can intervene saving him and watch him live his life is sorrow and pain. Which one do you chose?”

“We have been through a lot of things together as a family, we can deal with this too.” Wonho said 

“ It’s because we are a family that we can’t do this. What proof do you have he won’t tear that talisman and jump in the sunlight, or starve himself after we quote on quote save him?” Shownu was the oldest in this group and the wisest. 

“Wonho.”Jooheon tapped him on the back “Deep down you know Shownu is right.I know how you feel, it pains me too.But let’s just let it happen.” 

“Fuck!” the boy yelled out turning his back on the whole lovely scene. What a mess happened just by one fateful meeting.

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 11/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Gold and Belle have a little moment.

Notes: Because I am me and I will write every possible version of this scene in every possible fic forever. Sorry this is so short. Christmas program at school and other activities limited my writing time so I had to bump some things to the next chapter. :( For the 31 Days prompt #12: tea

[AO3]

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“I told you so.”

Jefferson let out a withering sigh, and rolled his head back until he was looking up at the ceiling. “Who could have foreseen this turn of events.”

His flat voice made Gold frown. “You could be a little less disappointed that I’m not in pain.”

It had been two days since Jefferson had nagged Gold into agreeing to see Dr. Whale. While he was truly glad that his friend wasn’t in pain, and for the time being seemed not only well, but in a suspiciously good mood, he nevertheless felt that it was still prudent to see a physician. He said as much and received another scowl.

“Why would I bother with that?” Gold asked. Then he set his empty tea cup on its saucer and leaned back in his chair. “We agreed we’d give it a week, and in much less than that, I’m right as rain.”

He slapped his right leg as if to emphasize just how healed he was, and then stood up without the use of his cane. “See?”

Jefferson shook his head and moved the used tea cups onto the tray. The second cup he picked up had a tiny chip in the rim and he frowned at it. “What happened to this one?”

Gold’s face shifted strangely, and he looked away, towards the doors out to the garden. “Something must have fallen on it or something. Probably one of the kitchen staff being careless.”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed, but he decided not to press the issue. “Right...”

“So,” he said a moment later. “I guess I’ll need to send word to Dr. Whale that we won’t be needing him until next month when this happens all over again.”

Gold turned around and huffed. “Jefferson, let’s -”

“All we are accomplishing, Cameron,” he interrupted, “is bidding our time. Your condition isn’t going to change, you know this, it’s the whole reason Lady Belle is even here!”

“Why is Belle here?”

Baeden’s voice made both men still for a long moment. Jefferson’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say, before he looked desperately at Gold, who looked like he was about to faint.

“You’re still sick, aren’t you,” the boy said. “You said you got better after you took the medicine in your tea.”

“Bae,” Gold started, “it’s alright, son. I’m not -”

“You lied!”

Bae’s face tensed and his eyes welled up, the tears spilling over as soon as he blinked. Gold went to him immediately, reaching out to hold him, but the young boy turned away and hurried back through the door. By the time Gold got there, his rapid footfalls could be heard at the far end of the corridor.

The library was Baeden’s favorite place to hide.

It was a dark, warm room that smelled of leather and paper, and had the perfect amount of nooks and crannies that a small child could tuck themselves into when they didn’t want to be noticed. The window seat was always cozy, even in the winter, and the leather sofa by the fireplace was big enough that his legs barely hung over the edge.

He pushed the door open slowly, and then closed it carefully, not wanting to slam it and alert his father or Jefferson to where he’d gone, though he doubted either of them were following. They knew he didn’t like to cry in front of anyone, and they usually let him sort himself out and calm down before they talked about whatever had happened. But this time he wasn’t sure that calming down or talking would help.

Papa had lied to him.

The one thing his father had always said if he had nothing else, he had his word, and so he must always be honest. If he was honest, and owned up to his mistakes, he didn’t get in trouble. Well, not too much trouble.

He knew Papa had been sick when he was little, but then he had gone to a doctor way far away on the other side of the kingdom, and when he came back he was all better. He had to take some medicine for a while, but he promised that everything would be alright. Except he hadn’t stopped taking the medicine, and Jefferson thought he should see a doctor again.

Bae sniffled and wandered over to flop down on the sofa, curling onto his side to stare at the fire.

“Are you alright?”

Belle’s soft voice made him sit up. He hadn’t noticed anyone else was in here, but he hadn’t actually looked around either.

“No,” he replied, rubbing his hand against his cheek.

Belle closed her book over her finger to mark her place, and climbed out of the window seat. She crossed the room to the sofa and sat down at the opposite end, giving the boy some space. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffled again and shook his head.

“You don’t want to tell me?” she asked carefully. He shook his head again, and she set her book aside. “That’s alright, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Bae turned around until he was facing her. His face hurt and his eyes stung, but he had calmed down significantly.

Belle raised one arm and gave him a small smile. “Hug?”

Bae immediately slid across the leather cushions to her side, sighing deeply as she wrapped her arm around him. He rested against her for a minute or so, and then sat up.

“Was it a thing or a person who upset you?”

He took a breath and said, “It was Papa and Jefferson.”

She frowned and took his hand. “Well, I’m sure they didn’t mean it. They both love you very much.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at his eye, “but they lie and don’t tell me things.”

Belle bit her lip. “I’m sorry that happened. What didn’t they tell you?”

Bae wiggled a bit next to her and then leaned against her side again. “Papa isn’t feeling well, and he doesn’t want me to worry, but I’m not a baby!”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed.

The conviction in Bae’s voice made her take him at his word, but apart from whatever injury had given Gold his limp and the occasional pain in his leg, he appeared fine. He admitted to her that long trips and not being able to stretch his muscles made it worse, which she had seen with her own father as he aged, though Gold wasn’t nearly that old. But it made her wonder if there was more too it, and if that was part of why he didn’t seem to actually want a wife as a wife despite marrying her.

“How about...we go to the kitchen, and see if Ms. Potts has any of those little cakes left?”

Bae brightened a little at that, and she felt a wave of relief. For now, plying the boy with sweets was sufficient to distract him from his troubles, but she knew that eventually she’d have to figure out a better strategy than that, lest Gold start wondering why his son had outgrown all his clothes a season early.

“Can we have cocoa with them?’

Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Hot cocoa?” Bae nodded, and she laughed softly. “I think that is a fantastic idea!”

Dinner was an awkward but civil affair.

Neither Gold or Jefferson seemed to know to that Bae had talked to her, or that he had let slip something about Gold’s health, but she didn’t feel right bringing it up. She was afraid it would introduce more strife or cause a setback in the friendship she was building with Gold. It was, quite selfishly, the latter that held her back more than the former, for she couldn’t imagine father and son being at odds for very long. But Gold finding out that she had interfered could damage the tentative comfort they had between them, and she was loathe to return to the days of unsettling distance and discontent.

She retired to her room early, after a late even messenger arrived from Avonlea bearing her father’s seal. She had written him two letters in the weeks she had been at Thornhill, without a reply, and had begun to worry that there was a problem with the post. Sitting on the lounge by the fireplace, she read through her father’s words twice, frowning more and more as each line passed her eyes.

It wasn’t so much what he said as what he appeared not to say, and she had the unsettling sense that all was not well. She wasn’t sure if it was everything that had happened with Bae, and the possible mystery of Gold’s illness putting the thoughts in her head, but as she folded the letter closed the most powerful urge to welled up in her, urging her to return home. Gold had indicated he was more than agreeable to visiting Avonlea, but it had been barely a month since she had left.

A knock at her door startled Belle from her thoughts, and she quickly stored the letter in the table by her bed before opening it.

“Cameron.”

The name still felt odd on her tongue, but she was once again determined to get used to it.

“Belle,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I - I wanted to thank you.”

Her head tilted. “You’re very welcome, but I’m afraid I know not what for.”

He smiled, and she stepped back, beckoning him into the room. It was the first time he’d been here since the night she arrived, and something about that made her take a steadying breath.

“I wanted to thank you for speaking with my son earlier.”

She frowned slightly. “Um...”

He waved a hand and gestured for her to sit, and they took up positions at opposite ends of the sofa. “We talked before he went to bed. I wanted to apologize to him, and he told me everything.”

Her hands curled over her skirt as she bit her lip. “Everything?”

Gold nodded. “That he was upset, that he went to the library, where he doesn’t think we know he hides, and that you calmed him down.”

“Oh,” she breathed, both relieved and confused that Bae had left out the part where he shared the news about Gold. “Please, don’t worry about it. It was nothing, really.”

“It was not nothing,” he insisted, reaching over to rest his hand on hers. “He likes and trusts you, and that is most certainly not nothing.”

She gave him a small smile, feeling the telltale sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, and stood up abruptly, turning away and she feigned a yawn. “I’m so sorry.”

Gold seemed to shake himself before rising as well. “Are you alright? Was your father well?”

Belle sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“How do you mean?”

She turned around and rubbed at her temple. The day and all her thoughts were weighing on her and if she didn’t get to bed soon she would likely end up with a mighty headache.

“Belle?” His soft voice coaxed her into replying.

“He didn’t say he was well,” she explained, though it sounded more ridiculous once she said it out loud. “He said everything except that, and it was just - oh, I’m being silly.”

His hand moved and found hers. “You’re not. If you feel unsettled about the matter, then you should find out for yourself whether all is well.” She frowned, and his mouth curved slightly. “You should visit.”

“I should?”

Gold smiled fully. “Maybe we all should.”

“We?”

He laughed and let go of her hand. “If you’d rather go along, that’s fine, I was only thinking that it would be good for Bae to get out for a bit before the heavy snows fall. His birthday is next week, but we could go the day after and still be back by the solstice.”

Belle’s mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut and shook her head. “No, that’s - that sounds perfect. I shall write to him first thing in the morning and let him know.”

“Good,” he said, looking rather pleased. “Good.”

She watched him cross to the door, walking without any hint of a limp or aid of a cane, and wondered if Bae had fully understood what was being said.

Gold turned to face her and bowed at the waist. “Goodnight, Belle.”

She smiled and inclined her head in return. “Goodnight.”

[royalcordelia]

If the Sea Should Part (2/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert’s life and estate, she realizes there’s nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

• Rated G • 4.5k words •  Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

The telegram arrived at the estate two days after the storm. Sebastian LaCroix, whose whole expression had been weighed down by a grief no one spoke to him about, had been sitting at the dinner table with his wife at opposite heads of the table. Neither of them had touched their food, appetites washed away with the storm. Around them, the boys bustled and chatted, unaware that anything was wrong.

So when the servant came in to say that an urgent telegram had been delivered, addressed to Mr. Lacroix, Bash shot up from the table and hoped for the impossible.

INJURED STOP STAYING GREEN GABLES AVONLEA STOP NEED TRANSPORT HOME STOP

Perhaps there was value in being an optimist, after all.

* # * # *

Gilbert had grown to have a new appreciation for bedrest in the time he spent in Matthew Cuthbert’s old room. There wasn’t much to do when Anne wasn’t around, which filled a large portion of his day with silence as she often had to complete housework for Marilla. When she was gone, he’d stare at the pictures on the wall and count the days until he could make it home. Anne also lent Gilbert some of her book collection to read, and he’d made it through her prized copy of Jane Eyre in a single day. His heart ached for the outcasted orphan, who’d known only loneliness from birth. For some reason, reading the novel here in Green Gables made him feel it even stronger, but he couldn’t know why.

He was lost in his thoughts when a knock came from the door.

“Hello, Gil? I brought you some stew and some of Marilla’s currant wine for the pain.” Anne swept into the room like a breeze and placed the tray on his lap.

“Thank you, Anne. I’d wither away without you,” he replied with a kind smile. There was something else there as he gazed upon her that made her flush and turn to pour him a small glass of wine.

“Has your leg been hurting very terribly?” she questioned, examining with satisfaction his other wounds.  

“No, not with the doctor’s daily prescriptions. And of course, your cooking does wonders to soothe the soul.”

She sat at the edge of his bed, wondering for a split second what it would be like to lean against his chest - a traitorous thought indeed! She thought about the small envelope she had sneakily placed on the table as she entered the room, and the title of its return sender. No doubt, the letter’s purpose was inform Gilbert that his family would be arriving for him presently and he could return back to his physician’s life and leave this poor country village behind him.

Anne couldn’t imagine what life would look like once he was gone. In the week he’d been condemned to bedrest, everyone at Green Gables had gotten used to his presence. Even Mrs. Rachel Lynde had entered his room and listened to some tales of his youth, laughing so hard that Anne could hear her from the barn.

“The Lord only chooses fine men as his physicians, I say! And Dr. Blythe is a fine physician, indeed!” Mrs. Lynde said, storming out of the room in a pleased tizzy. Anne looked up from her baking and offered a small smile.

It was the first time, she’d heard Gilbert’s last name. He hadn’t offered it to her before, but she couldn’t think as to why he’d keep a secret from her all this time. It did sound awful familiar, though.

“Dr. Blythe,” Anne said carefully, feeling that she might address him properly now that she had all the missing parts of the name equation. Gilbert’s eyes snapped up to meet hers as he ate his stew. “You received a letter today from a Mr. Lacroix. That’s the man we sent the telegram to, is it not?”

When Gilbert’s jaw dropped, she handed him the letter. Setting down his spoon, he held the letter up to his face to examine the handwriting. He turned himself away from Anne’s nervous eyes and hid his emotion behind a hand.

“My brother,” he said, voice heavy. “He’s my brother. He must’ve survived that storm, thank Providence.”

Anne waited in silence as he read over the full three pages of letter at least twice, pretending not to notice when a tear had formed in the corner of his lashes. He brushed them away carefully, beginning to eat his stew on the second readthrough. Finally, when he was finished, he folded the letter back up along its crease lines and placed it in the envelope. He looked at the beautiful redhead beside him, eyes bittersweet.

“He’ll be here to collect me tomorrow,” he said gently. Anne processed this for a second.

“And then you’ll go back home to the Glen?”

Gilbert nodded. Some strange, untouched part of Anne cracked just then, like a glass that can’t handle boiling water. She rose to her feet with an abruptness that jolted the doctor, and ran her hands down the front of her skirt to flatten the fabric.

“I suppose there are preparations to be made if we’re to have more company. I look forward to meeting this brother of yours,” she said, unable to meet his eye. “Rest well, Dr. Blythe.”

“Anne-”

“You’ll need to get some sleep if you’re to be traveling. I’ll check on you in the morning.” She headed as fast a steam engine toward the door, but paused before she could touch the handle. “Do you suppose Mr. Lacroix might like to stay for a meal before you head off?”

She snuck a glance over her shoulder at Gilbert, who stared at her with what could only be seen as unadulterated admiration.

“If there’s anything I know about Bash, it’s that he loves to eat.”

“Alright then, that sounds just fine.”

Anne slipped through the door, letting it give a little slam as it clicked shut behind her. She found herself frozen for a brief second, the entire wooden door keeping her standing. A hand came to rest over the ache in her chest, and she closed her eyes before her own trail of tears could escape. After taking a silent, fortifying breath, she opened her eyes and found Marilla sitting at the dining room table watching her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Anne said quietly, placing the dirty dishes in the sink and picked up the scrubbing brush. Marilla stood her ground as evenly as ever Anne knew she could.

“Anne, he doesn’t belong here in Avonlea.”

“I don’t suppose that’s for any of us to decide.”

“That’s because it already has been decided. Don’t you know who he is?” Anne paused, fully cognizant of Marilla’s eyes on her back as tangible as humid air. She forced herself to release some of the pent up tension in her shoulders.

“Of course I know who he is,” Anne replied adamantly, but she’d hadn’t been able to convince herself. Did she really know him? It felt like she did, like his soul and hers had been acquainted since their specks in the universe were first formed. He certainly wasn’t a stranger anymore, not with how much they spoke.

“The Glen needs their doctor. I am only glad that I could play a part in helping him,” Anne stated in admission. “Mr. Sebastian LaCroix will be here tomorrow to collect him. I’ll be inviting him for an early supper. After that, things will return to their normalcy.”

Marilla said nothing more. Anne dried her hands on her apron and left the older woman sitting under the shadows of the candlelight, remembering her own days of first love and regret.

* # * # *

She wanted it to feel like home when he left, so she left daisies around the house in thin vases and opened the windows to let in the fresh, warm air. Jerry had come by the day earlier to drop off the crutch he had fashioned saying, “It’ll be good enough until he gets home and finds a real one.” Anne accomplished much in the time that they waited for Mr. Lacroix, busying her hands by any means necessary to distract her mind. But when she looked out over the Green Gables dining room, with its dustless surfaces, freshly baked bread, and perfectly set table, she wondered if maybe she should have spent that time with Gilbert.

“Anne?” a voice called from the inside Matthews room. Clutching her hands at her sides, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Yes, Gil?”

Her heart caught in her throat as she looked at him, a cleaner version of the man she had fished up from the hurricane. To her astonishment, he was even standing without her help. He was dressed back in his sailor’s clothes, freshly cleaned and pressed. Mrs. Lynde had mended the gash on the leg of his trousers with such expertise that they looked practically new. He’d managed to comb his hair and wash his face, even with the bindings of his injured leg making it inconvenient, and Anne couldn’t help but feel as if he was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“You...you’re looking rather well,” she said formally.

“I could say the same of you. You’re radiant,” he replied, matching her tone. He latched onto the rosy pink that ascended her cheeks, wishing he could make her blush all day long.

“You called?” she said after a moment of rather intimate silence.

“Oh! Well, I wondered if I might wait for Bash out in the dining room for a change of scenery. It’d be wise for me to stretch my legs a little bit before traveling home.”

“Far be it from me to tell you where you can and cannot roam when you’re my guest. Did you need some assistance?”

“No, thank you, but I would care for some company.”

He moved in slow jilted steps, hobbling on the mahogany colored crutch with as much precision as he might were he performing surgery. An ocean breeze swept through the home, carrying with it the faint scent of daisies and freshly baked bread. Gilbert swayed as it grazed across his face, grinning in the victory of standing upright.

“May I be forthright with you for a moment,” he said quietly to Anne, who stood only a few breaths behind him.

“Of course,” her voice came quietly. He turned to her and interlocked their hands at the fingertips.

“If I could have all of my wishes fulfilled, I’d stay here in this beautiful country house forever with you.”

Anne felt a shock of electricity run through her that made her practically melt into the floor. Gilbert’s hand slid up so that their palms laid flat against each other’s - soft skin against a doctor’s touch, reverence meeting bravery. Taking a step out of his own world and entering hers, he closed their fingers together so that he was holding her hand. Each small risk he took, he wanted to take more. He gave a small tug forward and pulled her closer so that her oxygen was his. The natural gravitation between them took its place and Anne wondered if he might kiss her.

A knock came at the door, causing them both to look up. Anne tore her hand away from Gilbert’s, shuffling toward the door. She took a deep breath, acutely aware of Gilbert’s eyes on her back, then pulled open the door.

You would not have thought at first sight that Sebastian LaCroix was Gilbert’s brother. He was everything Gilbert was not - strong frame, facial hair, dark dusky skin. But then as Anne looked closer, she could see parts of Bash’s soul that were made of the same stuff as Gilbert’s, the things that made them the same.

“Hello sir, I presume you are Mr. LaCroix?”

The man did not know what to think about the thin red headed woman before him, with the eyes that were wild and mourning, gray and human. He removed his hat and pulled it to his chest, smiling in a practiced way that reminded Anne of Diana’s wealthy family. All practiced propriety fell aside when he caught eyes with the injured man behind her, and his cheeks widened into a grin.

“Gilbert Blythe, I ought to strangle you,” he said with an accent that Anne had never heard before. He breezed right past her and caught Gilbert in a fond embrace.

“If it’s just the same to you, I think I’ve had enough near death experiences for a lifetime,” Gilbert replied with a laugh.

“You’re telling me. I don’t think I ever want to go on a boat anywhere again.”

Gilbert started, remembering something.

“How’s the boat? The crew?” he asked, grabbing Bash’s shoulder with a frantic grasp.

“Relax, Blythe, everyone is fine. They were worried sick about you until we got your message.” Bash looked like he might say more, but turned his face down to the floor and swallowed hard. “We thought we lost you, Gilbert.”

“I know,” the good doctor replied. A tender expression came over his face. “But Anne saved me. She’s been taking care of me all this time.”

Bash swung around and caught eyes with the wild-wallflower standing across the room. Her hands were clenched at her sides, face forcefully neutral.  

“I apologize, Miss Anne, it seems manners flew right out of my head. I am Sebastian LaCroix and I am indebted to you for saving my brother.”

“Not at all,” Anne said in a quiet, polite tone. “His presence in this house has been very welcomed. It makes me wish that the Avonlea doctor was such good company.”

Bash laughed at this, but took a few steps forward so that he might hold Anne’s hands in his.

“Truly ma’am, on behalf of our family and forty-three boys, thank you. I hope you will think of a way that we can compensate-”

“Wait, forty-three boys?” Anne asked, forgetting her manners to send a confused look to Gilbert. How could there possibly be forty-three boys in a single house, plus all of Gilbert’s family?

“Uh oh,” Bash murmured. “You didn’t tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Anne hissed sharply. Gilbert gaped for a second, searching for words. “Tell me what, Dr. Blythe?”

“It’s not bad, Anne!” Gilbert defended. “It’s just that everyone knows it at the Glen and for once it was nice to be just Gilbert for a while. Not…” He sighed.

Anne watched the turmoil raging inside him, so she softened her accusatory glare and bit the inside of her cheek.

“Why don’t we sit down for supper and you can tell me? Mr. LaCroix, are you hungry?”

“Always, Miss Anne,” Bash replied with a chuckle.

Neither Anne nor Gilbert seemed hungry enough to eat the chicken and vegetables that sat on their plates. Bash, however, was completely unaffected by the awkward atmosphere. The nervous glances cast across the table were no more than dinner entertainment to him, of which he was very much amused.

Finally, Anne said, “A man is allowed his secrets, especially from a stranger. If you lied to me, I can hardly fault you.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Gilbert insisted, choking back some of his growing affection to keep from overwhelming her. “And I didn’t lie to you. I merely omitted what you’ll likely consider important truths.”

“Is that all?” she murmured to herself, taking a bite of salted potatoes. Gilbert sighed and set down his fork.

“What do you know of the North Blythe Harbor?” he asked steadily.

“It’s the main port of the island,” Anne answered easily. “Even Avonlea uses the North Harbor for exports.”

“I own that harbor,” Gilbert stated.

Anne’s face went ashen. The connection hadn’t even occurred to her, but even if it had, how was she to suspect that this sailor of a doctor owned an entire harbor. Suddenly, she scrambled through her brain for any information about the Blythes she could think of, but she’d never cared before now.

“It was my father’s, passed down to him by a gentleman he once saved while they were on a voyage to England,” he continued. “He passed away a few years ago, leaving me with his business even after I became the Glen’s doctor. I didn’t want to quit my position, but suddenly found myself with more money and responsibility than I knew what to do with.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I had no idea,” said Anne, feeling like a fool. “You’ve likely thought me rather asinine.”

“Not at all! I’m not…” His jaw tightened. “I’m not your average wealthy man. I have fully appreciated being simple, country Dr. Blythe these past weeks. Your companionship has been invaluable to me. And no more of this sir and Dr. Blythe nonsense, please.”

At this, Bash cocked an eyebrow, noticing the matching blushes on their faces.

“And the forty boys?” Anne asked.

“Forty-three,” Gilbert corrected cautiously. “After my father passed away, I really did find myself with more wealth than I thought was possible and I didn’t need most of it. At first, I began making regular donations to the Boy’s Orphan Asylum in Charlottetown, but it didn’t seem like enough. I made some renovations to my...estate and took in forty of the boys who have been there the longest. They live on my property and are well taken care of. My family is rather close with them now.”

Anne hadn’t noticed her eyes beginning to water, but when one of her tears fell onto her plate, Bash leaned over.

“Anne, you’re crying on the potatoes.”

With a sniveling gasp, she quickly wiped her eyes and gave a shy chuckle.

“I think you’re quite forgiven, Gilbert. I wish you would’ve just told me, though. Perhaps I would’ve been nicer to you.”

“Nicer than saving my life and nursing me back to health?” Gilbert grinned. “I didn’t take on the boys for the praise, though. People I do business with tend to hold strong judgments, so I don’t often play the orphan card.”

Anne gave him a small, watery smile.

“Neither do I.”

It was then that Gilbert understood the meaning behind Anne’s tears. He reached across the table, grabbed her hand, and gave it a small squeeze. Anne herself began to wonder if maybe that was why she’d been made to save his life on that stormy day - so that he might save more orphan lives, love them and care for them the way that the Cuthberts had done for her.

“Funny how Providence works, huh?” he murmured. Anne shook their hands a little bit, then pulled back to grab her fork.

“Well, with that out of the way, I want to hear all about how this lily of a woman managed to pull your sorry behind out of a storm like that,” Bash laughed.

Anne looked at Gilbert expectantly, but he shook his head.

“You’re a far better storyteller than I, Anne. I’d hate to butcher a heroic tale.”

They sat there together, three kindred souls opening up and retelling miraculous tales until the mid afternoon sun had seeped in through the window to warm Bash’s neck. He placed his napkin on the table and gave Gilbert a look that spoke volumes. Anne caught it and felt her heart twinge with a queer, little ache.

“If you’re to make it back to the Glen at a reasonable hour, you should probably head off,” she sighed. “It’s been a rare pleasure to have you in my company. I know Marilla will be sad that she missed you.”

“Please extend my sincere and deepest gratitude that she opened her home to this injured doctor,” Gilbert said, rising from his seat. Anne handed him his crutch before he could ask for it, their fingers grazing in the exchange.

“I’ll go bring around the wagon,” Bash said, eyes shifting from Gilbert to Anne with a sly smile. Then he turned to the blushing Anne and offered her a warm smile. “Truly, thank you for everything, Queen Anne. Come to the estate sometime, we’d love to have you as our guest. Wouldn’t we, Blythe?”

“Absolutely!” Gilbert replied with no hesitation. “In fact, I’d be honored if you did come sometime. Bring Miss Cuthbert and Mrs. Lynde.”

“I’ll extend the invitation,” Anne said with a nod. “Safe travels, Bash.”

Once the man had left the kitchen, Anne was suddenly aware that she was breathing in all of Gilbert - his air, his aura, his soul. It had somehow drawn her nearer to him and she found herself close enough to see the two midnight freckles on his cheek and the small healing scratches on his forehead from the storm.

Neither knew what to say, so they just stood there in the afternoon light wishing that they didn’t come from such different worlds. Maybe in another life, Gilbert was an island boy here in Avonlea, tormenting her life out until eventually he could woo her into noticing how truly, adamantly he-

“ Hurry along Blythe!” Bash called from outside. “Haven’t got all day.”

Anne started, hurriedly handing Gilbert one of Matthew’s old hats and jackets. She had just opened her mouth to say goodbye when he took a daring step forward, fixed his eyes on hers, and said, “You are amazing, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I hope you know.”

Her reply was caught in her throat and instead she just offered him a tight, teary smile.

He leaned down, pressed a kiss on her cheek, and was gone, leaving Anne standing in the kitchen wondering just why she couldn’t stop crying.

* # * # *

If Anne knew Gilbert to be the very best of men, then William Andrews - or Billy, as he was known in his school days - was positively the worst. Ever since she had arrived in Avonlea at the tender age of eleven, Billy Andrews had done everything in his power to make her miserable. He’d treated her like a dog under his shoe, torn down her childhood playhouse board by board, and spread rumors that she had been a filthy strumpet on a verge of being married out of wedlock. Every bone in her body despised him, and when they would eventually lay in the ground after she was gone, that hatred would still be there, grown up in poison ivy.

But Billy had sealed his fate that humid day in Avonlea as she walked behind Billy and Charlie Sloane on their way to the store.

“How do you even know the Blythes?” Charlie had asked. Anne’s ears perked up and she quicked her pace so that she might listen a little better.

“Gil’s father and mine were friends when the Blythes lived in Avonlea. Wasn’t long, but long enough that John put me next in line for the harbor.”

“It’s a shame that Dr. Blythe decided to work the harbor and keep up his practice, otherwise that could’ve been you in that big house.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Billy spat bitterly. “Look, I’m not worried about it. Blythe can try all he wants to keep up the harbor with those ugly orphan kids and that colored family, but by the end of the year, it’ll be mine. My plan is all set.”

Plan? A sickening feeling settled in her gut, but she kept her face neutral in case one of the boys turned back.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Let’s just say rifles and new doctors are easy to come by,” Billy sneered.

Anne’s feet came to a halt. She stared at them as they walked away, consumed with their laughter and malicious plans. Was Billy really planning to..? She couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just all bark and no bite this time, but he’d been so unpredictable in the past. It was hard to know which of his many threats he’d make good on.

She couldn’t take the chance. She had to find Gilbert and tell him. Even if he didn’t believe her, she had to warn him and try her best.

  That night at Green Gables, Anne found herself in another face off with Mrs. Lynde, this time with Marilla on the opposing side.

“Now listen, Anne, you’ve been reading a lot of books on heroic people and I admire your tendency toward saving people but this is something you ought not meddle in,” Marilla warned.

“Billy is planning on killing Gilbert! Someone has to tell him!” Anne retaliated.

“You likely just misinterpreted what you heard! Billy Andrews was a troubled child but that doesn’t mean he’s grown to be a murderer,” Rachel chimed in.

“I’m not sitting by and letting him get away with this. If something happens to Gilbert, it’ll be on my hands. I’m packing my things and leaving for the Glen tonight.”

“You will not, ” Marilla warned, but the days of Miss Cuthbert rearing Anne Shirley were long over.

“I am a grown woman!” Anne exploded. “I will not be treated like a child in my own home.”

“You’re living under my roof, you will abide by my rules, and no mistake!” Marilla said, raising her voice to meet Anne’s.

“Then I won’t live here anymore! Not until I know Gilbert will be okay.”

Marilla’s face turned as gray as the wall behind her, the betrayal evident in the hardening lines of her jaw. Rachel Lynde had gone silent, staring at the Green Gables women as if they were pipes bombs seconds away from detonating.

“You’d leave Green Gables for a man you knew two weeks? Anne, I’ve never known you to be imprudent. If you think you love him, then you’re only-”

"Stop, ” Anne cried out on a sob. “I’m leaving because it’s the right thing to do. I’m packing my carpet bag, and I’m leaving.”

Marilla straightened her back and looked at Anne with tired, aged eyes.

“I suppose there is nothing I can do to stop you. But when you’ve gotten your heart broken, your room will be waiting for you collecting dust.”

Anne covered her mouth to shield against a sob, then spun off to her gable room. She swore when she began living at this house that she’d never hurt Marilla knowingly, but she didn’t expect for this to happen. How could she?

Angrily shoving clothes and toiletries into her old carpet bag, she remembered Matthew. He would’ve let her go. He would’ve known she had to do this.  

Sparing a glance at her pocket watch, Anne heaved a sigh of relief. If she left now, she’d make the last train of the night to Glen St. Mary. It’d be a long trip to make with no feasible plan. She didn’t even know where the Blythe Estate was. Surely there would be people who could help her.

It was settled. Anne marched down the stairs, determined resolve and carpet bag steady in her grasp. She looked at the two Avonlea women, matron and spinster as dark as if they were in mourning, and placed one of the marigolds from her room on the dining room table.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you both dearly and I’m sorry.”

Neither said anything, so Anne turned and crossed into the starry, humid night.

[angstymarshmallow]

“The Battle for Willesden” (Part 11 Of Fantasy AU, a TRR fanfic)

[A little note: I told myself I wouldn’t go to bed this time without finishing chapter eleven after agonizing over it for a week. It’s still rough, but I am honestly just excited...and tired at 3:00 am to edit over pls forgive me.  I would love to know your thoughts and without further ado, here it is! Thanks for reading :D]

[Summary: Sparrow’s betrayal has left the commnfolk of Willesden terrified. With enemies now within their walls, can Robyn (MC), Drake, Maxwell and the villagers find a way to protect this town from Neville’s cruelty?]

[Word Count: 6062]

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer” Part 3: “The Knight” Part 4: “The Jester” Part 5: “The Untimely Meeting” Part 6: “The Unlikely Alliance” Part 7: “The Mismatched Trio” Part 8: “The Ambush” Part 9: “The Plan B” Part 10: “The Rebels of Willesden”

The tendrils of flames licked and burned mahogany wood away; brighter than any star in the midnight sky and far brighter than any fire Robyn had ever seen. It spread quickly until there was hardly anything left, except for mountains of ash and the resonating sound of stunned silence from the onlookers that had intended to storm the mayor’s home.

Owen had led the charge, his jaw set tight with determination and his will hell-bent on forcing the man to see reason. However, at the sight of Sparrow and the mercenaries trailing behind the spy, he had ordered everyone into a heart-stopping halt. And like the rest of the villagers – he found himself unable to look away; transfixed and horrified by the fearsome image they made – the of them with Sparrow’s small and lithe figure standing in the middle. Fear kept him rooted.  Anger compelled him to stay.

From where they stood, Robyn’s own lips gaped at the intimidating display they created, but her shock was just as quickly replaced by anger. Anger and resentment for allowing herself to be deluded into thinking Sparrow cared.

The air around Robyn seemed to sizzle with the flare of her temper – a burning, nearly all-too consuming resentment that built the longer she stared. She could feel her hackles rise, could feel magic coursing and pumping through her veins – its familiar lull enticing her to speak. Forcibly, she bit into her lower lip hard enough to draw blood as her fear of spiraling out of control replaced her bitter temper at Sparrow’s betrayal.

She couldn’t allow herself to lose control. Not here. Not now.

Although, she knew Sparrow’s past was complicated and checkered, she thought their…comradery would have been enough to quell the small warnings that had rang inside her head when they first reunited at the tavern. Even worse, the gold pieces to ensure their silence did nothing to deter them.

Staring pensively ahead, Robyn realized trusting them had been a mistake. Since the very beginning, she imagined they were playing with a full deck and Robyn was simply dealt a bad hand.

She fought her way to the front of the crowd, not bothering to mutter excuses to the shoulders she bumped along the way. She was far too agitated and anxious to pay mind to anyone apart from who she was looking for. “Drake, Maxwell.” She hissed every now and then, until she had finally managed to find Owen – who looked tenser than she thought possible.

“Owen.” She called his name hesitantly and watched those eyes snapped to attention before flickering over at her in horror.

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

He didn’t have a plan.

“Owen,” She tried again, fighting the abrupt panic she felt rising to her throat. “Owen, you need to stay calm.” She took a deep breath; trying to keep calm herself although her brain had already begun scurrying for an alternative way out of this mess.

She did not want to die today. “Are you with me?” She did not want to die at all.

The fear in his eyes held. Her fingers dug into his arm. “Are you with me?” She repeated, emphasizing every word. Slowly, she watched as his eyes changed into resolute steel.

“Aye.” He nodded.

She released a sigh, dropping her hands to her side. “Okay, good.” She couldn’t hide her relief.

She was afraid for a brief second that there had been no way to reach him. She had seen that look before, and fear as strong as that could destroy anyone. But he couldn’t stay there, there would end up with everyone dead and too many people relying on him to end up dead. “Have you seen –?”

“We’re here.” A voice interrupted.

Robyn broke eye contact with Owen to glimpse back at their familiar faces.

Drake and Maxwell met her relieved stare with one of their own. The knight’s eyes lingered a few seconds longer before his lips turned into a withering sneer and every ooze of worry had gone dry. “You told us to trust them.” His voice was accusatory and Robyn flinched.

“I know,” she mumbled weakly. There was nothing she could say in her defense, no admission of how terribly wrong she had been to trust Sparrow. Still, her lips fumbled with finding an apology adequate enough to make the creases in his brow disappear.

Drake ignored her. He had no time for such things. He shifted his gaze to Owen. “We need to get out of here.”  He stated flatly.

Owen blinked at him, as though in a daze before shaking his head vehemently. “No.”

What?

Drake stared at him in disbelief. He had to fight every nerve that was suddenly yelling at him to shove beefier man and twist his arm. Heavens, was he insane?

Drake’s jaw clenched.

“You can’t be serious,” Maxwell’s mouth flew open. He gestured behind them. “Everyone here will die.”

His voice had been loud enough to cause the crowd to stir. A single few of them stepped back while others murmured among themselves. Strangled gasps came from the rest, until Owen’s second in command – the woman with the scars had shushed them into begrudging silence. She waited patiently even with the shroud of doubt hanging in her eyes for Owen to speak on their behalf.

“There are more of us.” Owen said insistently.

“Numbers are not everything.” Drake pointed out. “Nor do they always work as an advantage.”

On that, Robyn could agree. Even with half of them gripping their makeshift weapons; she could tell by the way their hands shook that they were not well-equipped to deal with the mercenaries – people that have already killed and would kill again in cold blood without hesitating. 

“Has any of them ever fought before?” Drake responded hotly, his own temper rising with every word. He couldn’t believe their leader would so easily dismiss the two dozen mercenaries that halted to watch them from the top of the hill. “Has anyone of them even held a sword –” he jerked his chin to one villager in particular; who had been trembling violently as they spoke. “  - or struck at another man with the intent to kill?!”

“Drake –” Out of the corner of her eyes, Robyn realized most of the crowd was staring at them. All conversations of unease had fallen into a standstill to listen and she could feel the change in the air; growing tenser by the second – tense enough to cut even the thickest glass.

Drake ignored the quiet warning inside her voice. He would not dally in that likelihood, he did not want to mince his words. He had to force them to grasp what was on the line – how much danger they were in if they weren’t prepared. They had to fight to kill. They had to accept and live with those consequences, especially if the consequences meant they would not all survive. And it definitely did.

Stepping closer, Drake’s hands started trembling until he tightened them into fists and brought them to point at the larger man’s chest. “Has anyone of them watched someone else die? Someone they loved? Have you?”

“My mother died in Pinevale, the town over.” Owen’s eyes were unreadable. “She was travelling on business – for me. I was low on supplies and I needed someone to quickly slip out of town to procure some for me.” He shook his head as if struck by grief. “She left and never came back. A week passed before I heard the news….the mercenaries they…they paraded her carcass.” He lifted his chin higher. There was no longer a hint of fear inside his eyes - only fierce determination.  “I don’t want what happened to my mother to happen to my son, or my wife. Or anyone else in Willesden because the mayor doesn’t have the galls to do what needs to be done.”

From behind him, the crowd begun whispering amongst themselves; murmurs of agreement with every word their leader spoke. And Robyn felt something strange happen in that moment. In that moment, they were not a simple crowd of disgruntled villagers – they were a single entity, guided by the divine purpose of setting things right again.

And she wanted to help them.

“We may not all have experience like you sir.” Owen continued, unmasking his brunt greatsword. “But we are all prepared to risk our lives– because that is how much this means to us, how much freedom means to us and we won’t allow anyone to take away our freedom.”

The murmurs increased into cheers rose as people begun clapping each other on their backs.

Drake nodded, amazed and shocked by the sheer amount of people that willingly followed Owen. Even he was beginning to feel something inside himself stir at his words, as though this was indeed salvageable – that they could somehow come out of this alive. Truthfully, he admired him – admired every one of these villagers for not turning tail to run.

“So, what is the plan, Sir Drake?” Robyn asked, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re the one with the most experience.”

Drake surveyed the distance between them and the mercenaries – neither of which were moving. He couldn’t see Sparrow’s expression from there; but they appeared to be waiting for them to make the first move – which gave them time. “We do have the numbers,” he muttered with a sigh, “but unfortunately that’s all we have.” He turned back to scrutinize the crowd, “we should divide into two. Hit them on two fronts – with the most experienced people watching flanks.” He pointed to Owen, “you lead the first group, and I’ll lead the second. A smaller group to give yours a better chance.” He unsheathed his sword.

“I’ll come with you.” Robyn said without thinking. She hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud until both Maxwell and Drake stared at her in surprise. She folded her arms, “someone has to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Maxwell laughed, “have I ever mentioned how much I like you Lady Robyn?”

Drake ignored the strange flutter from her words and frowned at Maxwell’s teasing. These were things he could dwell upon later, however now was not the time to examine his feelings. He returned his attention to Owen and begun planning.

They split them into two; with Drake’s group acting as the decoy while the bulk of them lobbied behind their leaders.

None of the villagers questioned their new orders, instead they were huddled behind Owen, raising their pitched forks, brunt knives and other weapons that they grabbed in their hurry towards the mayor’s house. Maxwell had strongly implored to join Drake’s smaller and unmatched team, however the knight reassured him he would be fine. Ignoring the nobleman’s pout, he ordered him to remain with Owen in order to keep an eye on him.

Drake didn’t want to admit it but Maxwell was an excellent swordsman. He remembered brief moments of admiring his form and technique when they were younger and told the man with a gruff pat on the back to come back alive.

At least, he thought his don’t get killed transitioned well into that. He also ordered the nobleman to keep an eye on Owen. Then he joined the rest of his companions to watch in silence as Owen delivered to the crowd a final parting speech.

“I am grateful for all your help,” Owen begun with an amiable smile.  “To stand by me when you could have easily abandoned me – to stand for our cause against people that would take everything from us…no words can express how much this means, how thick and deep my gratitude runs. I do not know where the mayor is, but I know that in his place – I will always make it my vow to protect you.” His smile widened as people cheered his name, adding Mayor Owen to their chant before he moved to clap Drake’s back and then Maxwell’s. “Thank you for staying to fight with us.”

Drake unaccustomed to having people thank him, turned a slight shade of pink as he gave him a curt nod. “It’s an honour.”

Maxwell had hugged the larger man on a whim, and when Owen turned his gaze to Robyn; she gave him her own parting smile of goodbye. She hadn’t exactly shared his sentiments, or their success for surviving.

Marching to their group, Drake pretended not to notice Robyn’s uneasy stare. After a few seconds, he sighed and whirled around to face her. Her glance was fleeting as he arched an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

She shrugged.

Realizing how soft his voice sounded, he forced a hard edge into is voice. “I hope you are planning on staying this time.” He said brusquely, “considering we were damned into this the moment you agreed with Maxwell to help that trading post.”

“I don’t think I should feel angry about having the chance to save people,” she threw over her shoulder; her eyes nearly flashing gold as she glared at him. “Knowing that we could make a difference.”

He clenched his jaw, remaining quiet.

She broke the stare first, shifting on one foot and averting her eyes towards the hill. It was nearly covered in smoke. “But I didn’t think this would happen, I don’t think anyone of us could – not even Maxwell.” Her shoulders dropped a fraction, “I certainly didn’t think I would be convincing myself to stay and fight….against a bunch of killers.” She wanted to laugh. “But I suppose I am still learning things about myself.”

“We will make it.”

He could hear the sudden despair in her voice, hear her resignation as though she didn’t share his faith. While his was wavering, he knew he couldn’t fight a way through this without placing more weight into their future. When she turned to him, her eyes were wide with fear that made his stomach clench. She – the bold adventurer, the woman with magic at her fingertips was terrified at the mere thought of their future. He would have laughed at the irony, if he hadn’t felt any sympathy.

Robyn paused, listening to his voice.

He sounded so damned sure – so damned certain that they could make it– when nearly everything inside of her was screaming otherwise. Her brain was telling her to run and her legs were telling the rest of her to flee and escape before things grew ugly.

And yet, meeting his eyes and seeing the uncanny intensity to his gaze – she knew she had all the reasons to stay. There were people counting on them, counting on her too – and she had never known what that was like.

The fear, the stress – the trepidation of ruining everything. It was overwhelming.

She felt the ghost of his fingers drift towards her hand. It happened quickly, so quickly she thought she had imagined it. But staring at him, hearing the quiet strength in his voice, made her want to believe in them too. “I’m a fool,” she said suddenly, “I’m a fool and yet I want to be anyway.”

His eyes never wavered from hers. “We’re all fools right now Robyn.” He said wryly.

The way he said her name made her warm for an entirely different reason. “I guess we’ll have to be fools together then.” Her hands were shaking, I’m too young to die – she thought to herself. I’m too young to see so much death. She felt alone – trapped in her own thoughts that begun spiralling out of control.

And suddenly, she wasn’t alone. She could feel his hand – finding her shoulder, burning through the fine texture of her blouse as the only barrier separating their skin. As she stared back at up him again, he squeezed her shoulder.

“You’re not alone.” He said quietly, “I’m here. We’re all here and we will make it.”

Drake had never been a man of many words but seeing her panic – something inside of him wanted to comfort her, to placate the fear he knew all too well. Fear that had kept him shackled when he was young, fear that even now – threatened to overwhelm him. Touching her had been a reflex – something he shouldn’t have done, but knew it was the right call once she nodded back at him. “We’ll make it.”

Robyn released a breath she hadn’t comprehended she was holding. She nodded mutely, still gathering her bearings as he stepped away and created distance between them. She slipped her silver dagger out of her pocket and ran her fingers across it, testing its sharpness. “We’ll make it.” She said finally.

He nodded back and they looked ahead.

The decision had been made.

-

Drake took his smaller team first into the fray. He raised his sword high above his head, armed with his battle cry as he led the charge towards the hill. Fifteen men and women followed behind him, screaming along with him as their feet scampered across the ash-covered grass.

They did not have to wait long.

The mercenaries begun moving as soon as Sparrow gave the order, raising their own arm in retaliation before the bandits flocked with them. They moved fluidly, as though they were one unit – and quite faster than the disorganized group still trailing behind Drake.

And yet, Drake did not allow that to deter him.

He was fighting for something again, something he believed in – and it felt good. It felt damned good for him to fight for something worth fighting for. And every swipe of his sword seemed to echo how much this would mean to people that needed it.

His battle cry had taken a few mercenaries off guard and he didn’t hesitate to rush into the first one. He slammed into him, nearly knocking the man off his feet. He wasn’t wearing armor and had to be careful, yet the way he was taught to hold his sword required a more closer and hand’s on approach.

The mercenary’s arms flayed to try and stop himself from falling and Drake took it as an opportunity to shove the shorter man back, spotting and quickly stabbing right through the weakness in his armor – a small plating that was half-broken by his leg. The man cried out as blood funneled in spurts and yet, Drake did not stop his relentless pursuit until he could sever the leg and swept through the air for his neck.

Near-by, Robyn nimbly dodged the tip of a bandit’s sword. She grinned cheekily at him and he scowled at her. He launched himself towards her petite figure, however she was prepared. Sidestepping, her silver dagger caught a flicker of light from the moon – blinding them long enough for her to stab them into their eyes.

The man grunted, falling to his knees before she kneed him hard.

The dagger in her hand shook slightly as she plunged it into his neck. She mentally prepped herself as another mercenary ran towards her.

Robyn knew she had to keep her emotions in check and yet sensing then seeing Sparrow only a few feet away; slicing clean through a villager nearly made that impossible. She was still furious at them for selling them out – especially after their payment agendas had been arranged.

Accustomed to being quick on her feet, Robyn deftly ducked a sword’s oncoming blow seconds before it could find her head. She feinted right and dug her dagger into the side of the mercenary’s face the moment an opportunity had made itself.

He cried out and she yanked her dagger noisily back before placing the weight on her front leg to shove him back. He fell without much resistance and she tore through his flesh, watching as his body fell lifelessly on top another.

Magic sizzled in her skin – seeking, aching for release as she buried her dagger through their skulls. She concentrated on ignoring its lull. It was difficult – focusing on that and on the present. But she gritted her teeth through it, and before long her mind was no longer trying to remember the familiar lingering spells she often used.

Maxwell’s rapier sailed through the air, like an instrument of death it played its deadly song before driving itself through the hearts and appendages of its enemies. It was almost like a dance in itself, a dance that needed no partner apart from the person wielding its sword, effortlessly hacking through a crowd of enemies.

The rapier fell back from the sky into Maxwell’s waiting hand as he slid and caught it between two heavily wounded mercenaries. He ended their lives quickly, jerking his wrist upright enough for the sword to break through their skin.

He a felt brief sense of guilt when he heard their cries of anguish but this was not the first, nor would it be the last of their troubles. And he had to remind himself that every flicker of guilt as he met their horrified expressions – was nothing compared to the people they killed for someone else. They had a lot of deaths on their hands, and it was time for them to answer for their crimes.

Maxwell kept one hand behind his back as another man launched himself at him and sorely missed. “HA!” He cried out in triumph.

He could not celebrate for long as he ducked in the nick of time, Owen’s sword as the larger man lumbered in his surrounding area; knocking down several mercenaries from reaching the villagers. “Yaaaaaargggg!” The larger man yelled; blood sailing through the air from the sides of his weapon.

Heavens. Maxwell thought, shaking his head before returning his attention at felling another mercenary. It was out of his knowledge why Drake had been so concerned with the blacksmith, from where he was standing – he needed to worry about keeping himself safe. With that blasted man swinging his sword around, he wasn’t sure anyone should be worried for him.

Sparrow weaved through people effortlessly and Robyn watched in quiet horror as the numbers on their side dwindled significantly. There were only five of them left – no – four as she watched another figure sag to their knees once Sparrow was done with them.

A pair of desperate screams made Robyn freeze in recognition. Maxwell and Owen were having difficulty too. Although she could not see them directly from the huddled bodies and splatter of blood and limbs; the number of villagers still holding onto their weapons and jerking them at the invaders kept dwindling by the second.

Heavens, Robyn swore.

If they were going to have any chances of winning – Sparrow had to be dealt with. There was no way around getting her removed from their list. Knowing they were the better fighter, though Robyn sidestepped at the mercenary to launch herself at Sparrow’s back.

At the last second, Sparrow’s body froze and they turned to meet Robyn’s attack head on. They lifted their arms and sidestepped her oncoming assailment and Robyn couldn’t stop herself in time. Her feet tittered and her arms flayed out in front of her as she felt a sharp pain in her side.

She dug her heels into the ground in order to stop herself from falling completely on her face, and instead whirled around fast enough to meet Sparrow’s blade with her own.

“Not fast enough little robin.” Sparrow cooed. Their eyes were wide, and their smirk almost a sneer.

“How could you?” Her own voice was lost all its calm, almost on the brink of frigidness. “How could you be apart of this?”

They ignored her.

“I know you are not above backstabbing – but this. Helping Neville to destroy all of this – I did not think you were be capable of such things.”

Sparrow snorted, switching her stance and deftly passing through Robyn’s guard. Their dagger sliced into her forearm and Robyn winced but bit her lip hard to prevent the scream that burned her throat. “Every one looks out for themselves, that is human nature.”  

“What about helping people?” Robyn winced again. She could feel something wet to her side but she didn’t care. Shoving her back, she glared. “That is human nature too.”

Sparrow scoffed. “Oh, the lies you tell yourself little robin.” They tasked. “You’re nothing like that. You’re like me.”

“I am nothing like you!”

“Always vanishing without a trace?” They prompted, edging closer. “Never letting anyone in long enough? Face it, we’re on the same side of any coin. You just won’t admit it to yourself.”

“I –” Robyn fumbled to answer. “That isn’t –”

“You may have these people fooled, but I know the real Robyn – hidden under it all. You’re just as selfish and terrible as I am.”

Maybe Sparrow was right. Maybe she was hanging too long around people that didn’t understand her. Maybe she was deluding herself into thinking this was her – someone who cared for other people. Maybe she –

No.

Suddenly standing in the middle of this field, clutching the dagger close to her chest, Robyn could remember Cynthia’s word striking true to her heart. She wouldn’t be that type of person anymore, she wouldn’t become Sparrow.

Robyn’s expression softened while Sparrow’s had grown harder. “It isn’t too late.”

Sparrow’s face fell and for a few split seconds she could see the person before they became Sparrow. A vulnerability that used to be them before the world taught them there was no black and white – only grey. And then it was gone. The mask was back in place as Sparrow took another threatening step forward. “Then die with the rest of them.”

They moved very quickly, as though they were soaring through the air instead of jumping towards her. They had almost become a blur, and Robyn managed to barely spot them in time for their dagger to sail through the air.

She met their blade with her own again until Sparrow swiped her feet from under her. “Ugh,” she cried out in pain once her back hit the harsh ground. Sparks of pain had traveled to her spine and she almost had lost her head rolling in the opposite direction of them.

“I am almost going to miss you.” Sparrow cocked their head to the side. Ignoring the chaos around them, they stalked towards her. “Almost.”

“You don’t have to do this Sparrow, you could cut ties from Neville.” Robyn implored her, scrambling to get to her feet. “You could start over.”

Their cruel smile grew. “An assassin is only as good as their word.”

Robyn’s stomach dropped. Fear gnawed at her stomach; made it hard for her to breathe past the pain stinging from her ribcage. She clutched her side for a moment as her fear rose with every breath until it had finally overwhelmed her.

She could hear it. Bells inside her ears, buzzing loudly and with such intent to replace her fear. She didn’t think – she simply listened to the whispers, she reacted. Her arms braced themselves in front of her and she tasted magic in the air.

Her fingers sparked to life.

Her knees threatened to buckle as magic coursed through her veins, flooding and pumping through her very being with the resolute power to stop Sparrow. Words that weren’t English had been clear as day inside her mind and she spoke them without hesitance – but they weren’t her. The words that had strung itself together were something otherworldly powerful. It was almost too much to hold onto, and the urge to consume it all had been well within her reach.

Before Sparrow could reach her, they fell to their feet screaming. Their hood was whipped back as though a gust of wind had struck them. But it was Robyn’s magic pouring through that staggered the assassin, and their eyes casted upwards while they collapsed to the ground. Their pale skin appeared feverish, and veins that were usually green had grown into a dark colour – pulsating with every passing second as a horrifying sickening noise escaped their throat.

But Robyn did not care.

Magic kept coming, kept pouring. It was fueled by her desire to make Sparrow pay – and she tapped into her reserves to until she had sunk to her knees. She kept feeding the spell with energy and watched as blood begun trailing out of Sparrow’s nose. She watched as their cries became horrifying screams and their ankles bent out of shape when they tried to stand.

“You do not deserve to live.”

The words came from her – but were they her?

The power she felt was electrifying – better than anything she had done before – better than anything she had felt before. Her own knees finally gave out, and she sunk inside the grass when her vision finally blurred and dimmed. She tasted her own blood, pouring towards her lip before she finally ended he spell; sinking heavily into the grass as Sparrow fell unconscious.

Robyn couldn’t tell if they were still alive, but she had done her part. Sparrow was out of the fight and by the looks of it – they were finally turning the tide in their favor.

-

As Drake cut the last mercenary that came at him by his feet, his eyes had automatically sought her. It was not something he had been aware of at first, and yet over the course of fighting; his mind had not been entirely able to focus. The stubborn mage had been plaguing his mind with worry.

He hated that he was worried. He hated that he hated it. It was confusing for him, but it was not the first time he looked for her – only to shake his head free of such thoughts. It was annoying him more than anything. It was distracting him, had caused two men to slice his shirt at the sides and now there were holes in them.

However, this was the first time he had completely lost sight of her.

And for a moment, panic had flared through his chest. Panic he couldn’t understand for someone he barely knew – but he couldn’t deny its existence. He needed to find her.

The sudden urge had nearly become a need in order to ensure her safety.

He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter as he shoved through the bodies of fallen men and women – hoping that she would not be among them.

Drake knew the smarter decision was to find Maxwell and Owen – they would need his assistance to cut off the rest of the mercenaries from taking Willesden, yet his mind kept foolishly searching for her – for any sign of her dark unruly hair beneath her red cloak.

His feet halted. He spotted her– center field with Sparrow fighting. He hadn’t known a fear like the one he currently had was capable of freezing him at this spot.

Yet it did and he wondered as they danced circles around each other if he should interfere. He had convinced himself to within seconds until apprehension at the sudden expression in Robyn’s eyes made his stomach shudder. She was going to use magic.

He saw the flare of magic – saw how much raw power Robyn possessed and it was nearly too bright to watch. Her hair had picked up, and Sparrow begun screaming – pain and fear mingling altogether. It was a true taste of fear that had almost staggered him to the ground.

He had never seen such raw power before – even the mages that had attacked Cordonia had taken sometime to affect him before kidnapping the Prince. But this…this was unprecedented. This was terrifying.

Her eyes had shone in that blazing amber gold so fiercely, that he swore they were almost too painful to look at. And Sparrow had almost withered away into nothing until Robyn had suddenly collapsed, falling immediately to her knees.

For a moment all Drake could do was stare, stare in shock, in fear – in awe. It was like watching a blazing star reaching supernova – and now that it was all over, he did not know how to feel. He did not know how to react either.

He was going to turn away, when he realized she wasn’t moving from her spot. Trying to compel himself to move, he ensured the area around her was safe enough for him to cross.

-

Robyn hadn’t heard him. Her ears were still ringing dully until she felt a hand helping her to her feet. Her first instinct was to shove the stranger away, but she had felt too weak to even manage that. Instead, she stared helplessly up at familiar face. “..Drake?” She called out weakly.

She had anticipated the flash of fear in his eyes – of hate even, if he had witnessed what she had done she expected him to run his sword right through her. She was – on all accounts, a dangerous mage.

And yet, he did not. Much to her surprise, he kept his good arm around her in order to keep her upright. “I’ve got you,” he mumbled quietly, not quite meeting her gaze. But she had already seen it – the unfamiliar look of softness before he hardened his expression. Was he concerned for me?

She couldn’t wrap her head around that. She was much too exhausted to even examine anything any further. “The fighting….” She mumbled.

“Most of it is done,” Drake’s jaw was tense. “I caught sight of Maxwell and Owen snuffing out the few that were left.”

“I guess our number advantage really worked in our favour, huh?” She had meant that as a joke but the knight hadn’t as much as cracked a smile.

He frowned. “We still lost a good amount of people,” he drifted his eyes towards Sparrow. “Are they –”

“Unconscious.” Robyn murmured, feeling his shoulders grow stiff as soon as he asked. “I think we should probably tie them up though – just in case.”

“Ah.”

She didn’t know if she should be insulted by the sound of relief inside his voice. “I’m not a killer Drake, I never have been.” She snapped defensively.

Something passed through his eyes, something she couldn’t describe before he clenched his jaw again. She winced when she felt his warm hand by her side.

A crease formed at his brow. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve seen…worse.” She could barely manage a semblance of a sentence. Why was it suddenly so difficult for her to speak? Her words were turning into mush, her knees growing weak again until she was having trouble standing altogether. “What-what’s…”

“You’re all out of adrenaline.” Drake said the words softly, as he scooped her into his arms. He had done so without thinking, but he scarcely convinced himself it would be easier than dragging her back.  “Just fumes now.”

“I-I’m fine, I just need –” But she couldn’t finish her thought; her world was already closing – drowning towards the edge of the abyss. She blinked rapidly. “I just need a good nap.”

“I think you’ve lost too much blood.” And yet, there was a hint of a smile in his voice that had her glancing sleepily to meet his expression.

His eyes were soft again and this time she was able to place what she saw. Tenderness. Concern. With a jolt, she understood that he cared about her – or at least, he cared enough to find her.

Drake’s throat had gone dry. A sudden lump had been where it had not been before. Look away, Walker. Look away. Yet, he could not.

He knew better than to linger too long on Robyn’s face, because despite the cuts and bruises, the dried blood – she was….she was a welcoming sight. And the longer he stared, the less sense his world made. She was shifting it. And he was terrified what would happen when he could no longer recognize it.

Yet he did not look away, did not stop himself from cupping her cheek to prove to himself she was truly here – and not under the bodies of the dead. And when she turned her face automatically to nuzzle into his hand, his throat ached.

The abrupt cheers ringing through out the hilltop had caused him to nearly drop her entirely.

Robyn placed a steady hand on his arm, and together they turned to stare at the remainder of villagers still alive a little down below; clutching one another for support – crying in triumph and laughter despite the loss of their fallen comrades.

“We won.” Drake couldn’t believe the words as he said them himself. “We won.” He repeated, grinning in disbelief. He glanced down excitedly– only to find the woman inside his arms to be fast asleep. Hugging her a little closer to his body, he slowly made his way down the hill.

While battle for Willesden was over, the knight knew this was just the beginning. Their true battle would never be over so long as Neville was alive and his hands of cruelty kept overshadowing them.

-

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Blood Curse: Final Chapter

Find this on wattpad and on ao3

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

A/N: Thanks to all who made it to this point. You’re awesome for bearing with me, my silly ideas and my writing for a year. Love you^^

Trigger warning: self harm

Maven POV

I’m drowning in dullness. I’d like to say fighting it is the hardest part but the more it overwhelms me, the more I fight myself instead. It’s the easiest occupation since I’ve been doing that for too long, likely my whole life. Scratching my skin? Done. Ripping my cubicles? Done. Chewing off my fingernails? Done. My newest focus is on the measly beard under my chin, certainly no fashionably full beard, but present enough to be a major nuisance if left untended. Which it is, so I tug at the hairs all the time, sometimes successfully tearing out a few. It can’t look pretty, of course, but I have no mirror no see myself. That’s the problem. Cal’s allowed me an electrical shaver, finally convinced it would’ve no razors to cut myself with, but a mirror is still off-limits. So he took the offer of the shaver back. Oh, great. Instead he shaves me himself on the days he visits me, by my request. It doesn’t make him come more regularly.

To be honest, I hate the way he’s taken it away from me, the possibility to maintain my appearance. It’d mean nothing for anyone to see me here but it’d mean something to me. Yet I receive only the most basic things, as long as they can’t hurt me. In Cal’s perception. What does he know of the ways I hurt myself? It’s ridiculous and delusional, but that’s how he is. He doesn’t want me to harm myself but the way locking me into a cell damages me is a just punishment?

Well, that’s one way of reasoning. I can understand it, in a certain regard. And don’t I deserve it? I don’t even have to live under silent stone as I had Mare do. I know how the stone pained and withered her away yet I either didn’t care or took rejoice in it. It makes her weak, then she needs me, I thought when in truth, I couldn’t bear to look at her half the time.

Now I hide from the world behind a broken frame. The frame is myself, as it is only reasonable to cage me in more than one layer. Yet I hold on to all I have in my little world as it’s my only buoy. It’s why Cal isn’t afraid of my fire. The cell is fireproof, and I won’t destroy my bed, books, clothes or table. Mother had never let me transfer my anger on things, never allowed me to show. It happened still, on occasion, and I still remember her chastisements afterwards, for that and for every other failing.

I cannot not notice the irregularity of Cal’s visits. He likes to bring me breakfast, sometimes he stays for dinner – if I can call it such – in the evenings. Sometimes he doesn’t come for days and I fight the urge to talk to the attendants instead, aware it’d be no joy for them, certainly believing only lies and conspiracies leave my mouth or expecting my frustration to lash out against them. But deep down, I know pride keeps me from interacting with them, the humiliation of having no one to talk to but mere employees who revile me and have no other choice.

Then again, when they leave after bringing whatever I’ve needed and am granted to receive, while I’ve avoided looking at them, I feel ashamed for behaving that way. What was Thomas if not a “mere employee” and yet so much more?

I have too much time at hand, too much time to consider every little choice of mine. First Mother “spared” me such contemplations, then the duties of a king shoved them far away. Now, I suppose, it’s my punishment to spend time with myself. Until Cal arrives in my cell, forcing a smile and talking of all and nothing while setting up the board to play our game.

He remains all I have and that makes me afraid. I can’t deal with that. I never could, and I’ll only drag him into an abyss with me.

Our conversations, including his reports from the outer world, are so casual, you wouldn’t realize we were involved in them, as if lessening our current influence would also affect our former one. It’s so like him, and cute actually. Maybe he thinks it’s easier for me this way since I, in my prison, can’t change anything. Maybe he doesn’t grasp the concept of punishment by captivity after all, though. But it’s new to all of us. He hasn’t spoken a meaningful word to me since he saw me again, just waking from unconsciousness after Iris knocked him out. He was shocked I didn’t killed him, when I was broken down myself, clasped to tightly in my defeat to act. He was thankful for my mercy, believing he found his little brother again. Now it’s only a matter of time until he rues his mercy bitterly.

Today, he shifts in his chair and hesitates to moves his knight until he finally decides on a bad tactic. He’s obvious to read as he frets over how to approach the news he intends to relay to me this time.

I remember a day in spring, when he appeared with his face frozen and hurt and guilt inscribed in his whole demeanour. No, resignation. Based on the feeble joy he’d displayed the days before, I made an educated guess. “Has Mare left you for good now?” I asked and immediately, I knew I was right. Yet I felt no satisfaction, nor residues of envy. Only a hole in my chest, a surge of the same void threatening to swallow me in every moment I can’t avoid to think of it.

“You should’ve treated her better, Cal,” I said.

He scoffed, still wallowing in his own pain. “Strange to hear that from you.”

“Strange it takes me to say that,” I replied.

He lowered his head and turned away yet didn’t leave as I thought he would. I regretted my former words, expecting him to finally show his anger, his hate, towards me. I knew he had to restrain and hide it to do all this for me. To just interact with me. Instead, he laughed out of a sudden. “Believe me Maven, I’ve heard enough of that. Still, I should’ve listened. Much earlier.”

And the following weeks, I could watch him work through this final breakup while he never mentioned Mare again. The frequency of his visits decreased, likely because he preferred a different kind of occupation in Harbor Bay than me, who’s just another reminder of pain.

“Just say what bothers you,” I urge him in the playful manner I’ve perfected. I can’t stop myself from guessing although with my scarce supply of news, it’s a hopeless endeavour. But it’s the thing Mother was most insistent I learned, how to anticipate both people and politics.

He stares at me and I don’t miss the extra dose of pity in his eyes. Then he clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. “The Lakelander Queen has allied with the Scarlet Guard,” he says. “Thanks to Mare and your lovely wife.”

I’m glad I didn’t take a sip from my tea as I would’ve certainly choked on it. Instead I tighten my hold on the cup while my other hand claws into the flesh on my leg. But my fingernails are too short to cause distracting, relieving pain. “So,” I say. “You’ve heard of her?”

He nods. Apparently he notices my irritation. But he doesn’t try to read me as intently as I observe him, searching for any clues. He seems confused, uncomfortable and compassionate, yet not nearly as overwhelmed as he’d be if he knew. I take a breath of relief, only to wonder why he should even show a strong reaction if he knew all this time.

“See, Iris Cygnet contacted me and asked about you and I confirmed your … location,” he says. “And then she sent me this.” He produces a stack of papers and hands it to me.

“Those are forms for a divorce,” he explains. But I’ve figured already. “Well, I’ll leave it here for you to read,” he adds. “I think you’re versed in such legal matters.” He smiles weakly, glad I don’t freak out over the loss of my wife, glad not to be involved in the relationship of Iris and me. He quickly evades my gaze and focuses back on the board as if the forms had no meaning at all.

“No.”

He jerks up, surprised by my firm tone. I pass the papers back to him. “I won’t sign this. If Iris wants something from me, she shall come in person.”

“Maven … “

“I admit this won’t be pleasant for either of us but I insist.”

He clears his throat once more. “I don’t know. There’s this travel planned for us in two weeks – “

“You’re telling me this now?!” I exlaim. “What does this travel mean, Cal?” A travel, planned for me, can only mean my location is known and has to be changed. A change of location means danger. Death. And Iris? Likely wanting a divorce to cleave herself free of me for good, before she’s remembered as the widow of a murderous usurper and not as the Queen of Peace –

“Hey.” Cal bends forward and grabs my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the travel earlier but we have to go. Don’t worry too much, please.” He seems so concerned, so full of … affection. And I deserve nothing of that.

I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. “Please arrange her visit,” I say quietly, “I need that, Cal. If she bothers to come, I’ll know that …” I swallow and he’s about to speak again. But I continue. “So I know I won’t die the next day.” I smile cynically, as I’ve trained.

He doesn’t return the smile, stays earnest as always. “You’re the only one who still calls me ‘Cal’,” he says.

I want to meet Iris again. Iris betrayed me. Iris understands me. Iris doesn’t care one bit about me. Iris is just like Cal.

I was envious of her from the moment we exchanged our first words and I didn’t even know why. That conclusion came later, but it’s obvious nonetheless. She’s perfect, how a princess should be. Strong, loved by her family and her country, friendly, devoted, capable, beautiful. I liked spending time with her, even though she reminded me of Cal. Rather I imagined what could’ve been if Mother never ... but no. There was never a pure moment in my life and the Maven that interacted with Iris was just as fake. She was, too. The closer we came, the more I mistrusted her, and wasn’t I right? The day of the attack on Archeon arrived, and she was ready to watch the sentinel she loves kill me.

It could never have worked. The only one who loved me for myself was Thomas and I can’t say I ever really confided in him, as I was busy mending the broken piece of my life before I could present them to him. Cal only cares about his duty to and his image of a brother I’ll never be. Mare I used until I couldn’t decide between dragging her with me like a doll and throwing her away like a rag. I’m not made for love, but to be its antithesis. Mother should be proud of that success.

Cal said it’s two weeks until we have to move and I count every hour of them that brings me closer to my death. Distractions stop to help and it doesn’t take long until my bad habits consume all my time, starting with bleeding fingers and grey scratches on my skin. Cal sees the need to remove more of my things when he thinks I’m not looking but I notice anyway, as patrolling my room is my one other hobby.

It lasts for nine days and 15 hours but at least I made them feel endlessly. What a success, I congratulate myself, I truly make the best of my last days by agonizing. But then it comes, the sound of the unlocking door at an unusual time. I get up, spin around and straighten my posture, once more cursing inwardly at my undignified appearance. How can you seem majestic in fatigues? I wish my executioner will grant me an appropriate outfit to die in, knowing it’s too much to hope for. I smirk, not too extreme in case Cal is with them, but only one person enters. Of course, she of all people doesn’t need back up to face me.

“Dear Iris,” I greet her.

“Good morning, Maven,” she replies. “You’ve asked for me?”

“I’m so glad – honoured – that you’re heeding my request. May I congratulate?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“On your victory, Iris,” I clarify. But she remains a little tenser than before. She moves to the table and looks at me, so I can invite her to sit.

“Can we stop this roleplaying now?” she asks after we’ve taken out seats. “Do you agree to the divorce or not?”

“Do you have an idea how relieved I am you actually came?” I say, again, much more serious.

“Are you?”

“Yes. So you can tell me the truth.” She looks flustered but not surprised. “Iris, that you make efforts to get this done shows me that I can hope my life will last longer than a week.”

“I suppose so.”

“You don’t know more?” I inquire.

She shakes her head. “That depends – “

“Ah.” I stretch my arms. “However, if you want me to sign, I wish for something in return.”

“What is it?”

“The truth, as I said.”

She bites her lip. “Why do you need to know?”

“Don’t I need to know because it won’t matter since I die in a month, a week?” I counter. “How about your friend Sentinel Griffey, does she still serve you?”

She cackles. “Oh, she does, in a way. What a good sense for transitions you have, Maven.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did what I had to. That was the only option open to me, one according to my honour.”

I incline my head, waiting.

“He will never wear a crown and get a mark on his back in return, like we do. Do you understand me?”

I nod, the pen in my hand resting over the paper. He. She stares at me, expectantly, but I hesitate.

“His name is Arthur,” she concedes.

I swallow. It’s clear she won’t give more away, no matter how long I wait. I sign. “So we are divorced people now?” I smile.

She shakes her head ever so slightly. “As if. But our royal days are over, and our words no longer become law. No, this needs an official’s stamp to become legal.”

“How complicated.”

“How reasonable.” She takes the forms and we rise. “Farewell, Maven,” she says, “make the best of it.”

I’ve sunk onto my bed, my face buried in my hands, shutting my eyes from the light. I don’t know what to make if this. I need to think. I knew, didn’t I? But I accepted the uncertainty eagerly as I’ve never been able to grasp the meaning of a child. Iris does, of course, but still I’m clueless and likely, no one will ever care if I stay that way, besides myself –

Steps, loudly. I lift my head, wipe my face, search for the right mask to wear –

And freeze.

“Are you afraid to look at me?” Mare says, her voice full of impatience, disgust, and stress. She looks like a queen, as much as Iris.

I swallow, clear my throat, stretch my fingers, just to let her wait while I gather myself. Has she heard Iris and me? Is she the reason Iris was so hesitant with information? I don’t want her to know, too. Arthur’s not hers to worry about, even if he might not be for me either.

I meet her eyes and smirk. “I don’t have time for you.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, her arms crossed over her chest in self-confidence. “So? Then I won’t waste my time with you again.” Yet she doesn’t just leave. She came here on her own accords, although she might even not know what she wants with me.

“Is this a congregation of my former betrotheds?” I wonder aloud. “Is Evangeline here too?” I look around with affectation.

“No. She’s gained the uncanny ability to appear and disappear at will, like her girlfriend.” She grins weakly. “Last thing I heard, she melted down her collection of crowns and abdicated as Queen of the Rift. So did Iris. And Tiberias.”

I raise an eyebrow at the name. She doesn’t react. “Oh Mare” I say, “you’re such a welcome source of small talk already. You always make good company.”

She takes a step forward in anger. “Yes,” she hisses. “It was unfortunate you were the best entertainment I had while I was in your cage, too.”

I stop smiling. My eyes stay on her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”

She scoffs. “You expect that means anything to me?”

“No. But I thought I should say that.”

It makes her cackle. “You ‘thought’, like you don’t know? Oh Maven. Still no part of you is real, is it?”

I flinch, look away. She turns aside. “There’s a trial to come,” she says eventually. “A series of trials.”

“Naturally. A trial just for me would be pointless.”

Her head spins to me in annoyance. “Stop lying, Maven. Or is that too much to ask?”

I chuckle and sigh. “Will you leave now?” I want her to leave. She isn’t good for me, she’s dangerous. She wakes things in my heart that better stay buried and will only hurt both of us, once risen. Beautiful and cruel things, both too extreme for me to maintain my inkling of sanity.

But she only comes closer, reaching out with her hand, setting it on my head and pushing me backwards so I fall on my elbows.

“You don’t have power over me,” she mumbles, getting louder with every word. “You never really had, it was all given to you, no matter none of it was fair.” Her voice is like distant thunder. “That’s why I came here, to tell you that.”

Determination burns in her eyes and in a way, it belies her words. This visit has cost her, and continues to do, maybe for the rest of her life. She had time to prepare for this day, must’ve known long enough about me. Yet she needed every moment of this preparation. Scars don’t vanish from your soul, I know that very well.

Her palm on my brow heats and sizzles, sparks fly by. “Nobody stopped me from entering,” she says. “Despite the planned-for trials. So, do you think anyone cares about what happens to you?”

Cal does, I think. But I remember what he told me, how Mare called him Tiberias. I won’t use him to save myself. I can’t need to. I put my palm on her thigh and summon the fire within me, a flame that went cold for so long that she doesn’t notice immediately, while her electricity continues to crackle over my skin.

She jumps back. “How dare you!” she screams. Her hand goes to her chest, involuntarily, to the place I burned before. Her sight scares me, shames me more than her threat of murder. Nothing is left of the innocence she had when I saw her for the first time. I took it from her. And Mother. Even Cal. And the whole world we live in.

Breathing heavily, she calms herself, staying ready for another charge. I let her. Look down. I don’t move, don’t call an alert, or try for another fire. “If you want to kill me,” I say, “go ahead. But don’t expect me not to defend myself.”

When I look up, her demeanour has relaxed. Although she’s still a warrior. “So you want to live?” she states.

I shrug. “I don’t ask for pity or mercy, but no matter how miserable this is, it is a life.”

At first, I don’t think she deigns to answer. Maybe she’ll come another time, maybe she’ll execute me herself once the trial produced a sentence. Until then, I’ll have something to fear for.

She stops on the threshold. “Once I thought I was born to destroy you,” she says. “But that was wrong to assume. My life is so much more than that. And while you wait out your miserable fate, Maven Calore, you better remember one thing in particular: You lost.

“And we have won.”

Fin

@clarafarleybarrow  @mareshmallow @redqueenfandom @lilyharvord @inopinion @wrenskonos @runexandra @hannaharies @samanthaslytherin @redqueenforever @selenbean-beany @kihlorn @scarletguardsource @mareenattitanos @artbooks-trash @marecalrandomstuff @maremollytitanos

[thebennettdiaries]

a thousand souls crossed over (17/?)

Premise: Bonnie is finally settling into life as the bridge between the living and the dead. That is until Kol Mikaelson shows up and refuses to leave until she does him a favor: give a message to his family in New Orleans. Of course, that is just the beginning. Set in Season 5 with shades of AU, crossover with The Originals.

Characters: Bonnie Bennett, Elijah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson, Rebekah Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson, Celeste Dubois, Kieran O’Connell and a few new faces.

Author’s Note: Apparently I either go months on end without an update or throw out a couple in closer succession.  I am hoping that I can adhere closer to the few weeks between updates method as I bring this tale closer to its end.  I appreciate all the kind words --- thank you for leaving feedback.  It is so important to an author to hear it! You are all lovely!

A table of contents and cast list can be found here

“I’m staying.”

Her voice is quiet, hardly palpable in the chaos around them.  She hasn’t even realized she said it aloud until she catches the way Kol looks at her. For a moment, she feels uncomfortable, like he has placed her under a microscope but then she finds her voice. Repeats her statement.  She can’t decide if Kol looks relived or if he is just glad to hear something other than his brother and Marcel trade barbs over dead vampires (she is quickly tuning them out ).

“I have to admit, little witch, you surprise me,” Kol tells her.   She watches as he places a hand on the balcony railing and curl his fingers around the cold iron.  She wonders if he has gotten used to it --- being able to touch something but not quite.  It is such a strange sensation really and one that she does not think she will ever be fully able to explain.

Bonnie takes a deep breath. From their vantage point, they can watch as the rest of the Mikaelsons argue their way in circles to make sense of all this.  It is not something she should actively choose to be around.  Yet here she is.  “Sometimes I surprise myself.”  She too curls her fingers around the railing and then shrugs.  “In the Square, before you showed up…I told Caroline I couldn’t go back to Whitmore just yet.  I had some things I needed to do first.”  

It dawns on her that she hadn’t waited around to see what Caroline’s response was.  Her eyes widen and she pulls her phone from her pocket. True to her nature, Caroline has filled the screen with her thoughts on the news.

What kind of things?

Bonnie?

Bonnie! What kind of things?!

I swear to God if you are doing anything dangerous I will anchor-nap you!

She raises an eyebrow, knowing that she shouldn’t have left Caroline hanging like that.  However, she hadn’t expected Kol’s arrival, or the army of vampires waiting to cross over either.  She quickly sends Caroline another text, promising a more in depth discussion of it soon.  With the message working its way back to Caroline, it feels final.

She is staying.

“I thought for sure that the first second you saw an opening, you’d take it,” Kol admits.  “I half expected you to get right back on that bus after the first night.”

“Oh, I would have,” Bonnie retorts.  “If someone hadn’t threatened to haunt me for the rest of my days.” He is given a pointed look; a reminder that in the beginning of all this she had no choice really.  She had to play by his rules.  Now, she has a choice.  She had completed her task of warning the Mikaelson family of the impending threat (of course, it had not exactly gone to plan --- nothing ever did in her life). There is no tether that binds her to this situation and she has gone out of her way to make sure that others know how she feels about the Mikaelsons.  She owes them nothing.  In fact, if she were to walk right up to Celeste and pledge her loyalty, no one would question it.  Add to that, she truly had precious little she could offer as they plunged themselves into a war.  

Yet here she was.  

“I need to see some kind of end,” Bonnie admits.  “For Davina. For myself.  I couldn’t keep that promise I made to her --- so I am looking for the next best alternative.  Making sure that no one else finds themselves pulled into this fight unnecessarily seems like the closest I’ll get.”

“You can’t seem to help but want to appease that guilty conscious of yours,” Kol quips and then refuses to wither under the look that statement earns him.  “I am not trying to rile you up, Bonnie. So before you burn me with that tongue of yours, let me say it again: what happened to Davina is not your fault.”

Bonnie doesn’t say anything in return.  She doesn’t try to explain to him that is far more complicated than assigning herself blame. She sees so much of herself in Davina’s story.  Maybe she had been looking for a chance to set it right for once.  Having failed again, she finds herself determined to have any kind of victory.  Maybe she just wants revenge for the pain Celeste’s master plan has caused her (a plain and simple explanation and much more to Klaus’ liking).  

A change of subject is needed so she plunges ahead with the other thought that has been running around in her head.  “I need you to do something for me,” she tells him, her tone all business.  She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her (or more likely protest the thought).  “I need you to find Davina…”

Kol does just what she expected him to, furrowing his brows as he speaks.  “Hold on…”

She continues to barrel her way through the conversation, figuring it is the best way to get her point across before he digs his heels in.  “She could be alone.  You know what that’s like.  You might not want to admit it because you’re far too proud to do so but you hate that about the Other Side.  You don’t have to say it --- I know.” He won’t argue with her on that point. “Maybe she’s found others.  The other Harvest Girls.  Her family.  I don’t know…but I just, I would feel better if I knew she had someone.”

He appears to think it over. “And if she doesn’t?” There is something in his tone that tells her he has already predicted her answer.

“Then, just…show her the ropes or something.  Spend some time with her?” She doesn’t go as far as to say comfort her even though the thought has crossed her mind.  He looks as if he is ready to buck against the whole idea as it is.

“I am not a babysitter to a dead teenage witch,” Kol says.

“I didn’t ask you to be,” Bonnie replies immediately.  “I am asking you for a little payback for everything I’ve done here.”

He grimaces. “Fine.  Fine.  Should I come across Davina I’ll be sure to give her the grand tour of the afterlife.”

That is the best she can ask for.  

Things have gone dead silent below them and they look to see Klaus, Elijah and Marcel all stride off in different directions.  The black cloud that looms over the space tells her that nothing has been accomplished.

This is the so-called team she has hitched herself too.

X

Bonnie finds Elijah with a glass in his hand.  He appears to be studying its contents intently, as if he can force it to give up its secrets.  She hesitates in the doorway, feeling a sharp reminder of the last time she had intruded on his personal thoughts.  She thinks she is better off retreating to her room once more.

Her room; she lets that sink in for a moment too long and he catches her.

“Bonnie,” he says quietly and she jolts out of her thoughts.

She decides that running in the opposite direction would seem ridiculous at this point.  “Elijah.” There is a simple nod of her head as she moves into the room.  “I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“That is a change of pace for you,” Elijah retorts and she is too caught up in widening her eyes to notice the subtle way his mouth curves upwards.  He raises a hand.  “Only a joke.”

“You have a sense of humor?” She remarks before she can even stop herself.  She makes a face.  “You know what?  I should just go back the way I came.  It’s probably safer for the both of us that way.”

“I would prefer if you stay,” Elijah tells her.  He sets the glass down and focuses his attention on her.  “There is something I wish to say to you.”

Bonnie wonders if she has a skeptical look on her face.  Any number of topics of conversation spring to mind but she is having trouble actually snatching the correct one from the air.  

“I feel as if I owe you an apology…”

Now she knows she has a skeptical look on her face.  “Look, I know you want to make amends for what happened in Mystic Falls.  You don’t have to keep…”

He shakes his head. “Not for that.  For last night.”

Bonnie’s features tighten. She thinks of the night before. Of Celeste.  Surely he is not insisting he is to blame for any of it.  “Because of her? You don’t have to apologize for her.”

Elijah’s eyes find the floor for a moment and there is a quick shake of his head.  “I may not be directly responsible for her actions but I do feel l have played some part in bringing them about.”  She knows he is thinking how things would have turned out had he chosen her over his brother.  Or had he even been able to save her from the mob that Klaus had unleashed on her.  “But that is not what I want to address.  I am talking more of my behavior…”

Her mouth forms a silent oh.  It had certainly been a side of Elijah she had not witnessed before.  He had seemed almost in a trance, responding only to Celeste’s voice, her touch.  So unlike the quiet but commanding presence she is used to.  In all the time she has known him he has presented himself as an architect, wholly responsible for every move he makes.  Last night, she had seen precious little of that.  “You…don’t like losing control do you?” The look on his face tells her she has hit the nail directly on the head.  “I don’t know how you expected yourself to act given who you were looking at.  It is not every day that someone that important walks back into your life.  You can hardly be blamed for reacting as you did.” It dawns on her that he has mulled over this for nearly twelve hours now and in the end decided that apologizing is his best approach.  She wonders if he has even properly begun to process it.  She waits a beat, trying to decide if she should ask the obvious question or not.  “Are you okay?”

Elijah swivels his head to look at her intently.  She shifts her weight from one foot to another in response.  She thinks that after he saw her at her worst, writhing in her bed in the aftermath of the Harvest, that they have entered a new stage in their interactions.  She doesn’t enjoy this awkwardness that comes with it.  It is so much easier to stand opposite him and hate him.  However, she knows that does not ring true anymore --- at least not the all-consuming hate she once felt at the mere sight of him.  She can’t even bring herself to fake it.

“This is not the first time that my life has taken a sharp turn in an unexpected direction,” Elijah tells her.

She gives him a look. “Nice dodge and weave on the question.”

That small smile returns to his face.  This time there is a sadness about it and she thinks that speaks volumes.  “She meant a great deal to me.  More than my siblings can understand.  I held her in my arms after the life had left her body.  She was cold, a shell of whom I knew her to be. I will never forget that.”

Bonnie bows her head. “And now she is here.”

“Wanting to do harm to my family,” he finishes even though she had intended to leave that fact out for now.  “I cannot celebrate her return under those circumstances.”

She thinks of Elijah’s sense of duty to his family and his heart (and how complicated that must be right now).  “It’s okay to feel conflicted…”

He shakes his head immediately.  “Make no mistake; no one will hurt my family.”

If there has ever been any question where Elijah’s loyalties lie (not by her, but perhaps others), Bonnie thinks that statement clarifies things nicely.  

“Oh good, you’re here,” Klaus announces, booming into the room and effectively sucking all the warmth from it as he does so.  “I had wondered if you had skipped off to find you newly resurrected girlfriend…”

“Klaus,” Elijah warns.

Obviously Klaus hasn’t been eavesdropping (or maybe he has and decided to be an annoyance anyway).  

“Brother, now is not the time,” Rebekah chides as she too appears in the doorway.  “Remember what we just discussed.”

Klaus looks slightly chastised.  

Rebekah moves to stand between her brothers.  No doubt this is a position she has taken up many times over the course of their lives. “We thought it a good idea to formulate some sort of plan, Elijah.  There is no sense in running into this headfirst.  We should take some time to discuss possibilities.”

“Good thinking, sister,” Elijah states and Rebekah practically beams.

The siblings move to leave the room and Bonnie stands there like an afterthought.  Thinking of what she has just told Kol, she follows them. It is Klaus that turns swiftly, attempting to level her with a stare as if she hasn’t faced worse (in the past few days actually).  

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Are we making a plan or not?” Bonnie retorts immediately.

“We are; you are not,” Klaus answers, and points a finger at her.  She is so very tempted to swat it to the side but instead she remains just as she is.

“Look, I realize this family is its own tightknit cult but I am honestly trying to help here.  I think you owe me a seat at that table --- considering what I have been dragged through,” Bonnie begins, and her chin tilts just so.  She is going to stand her ground.  “Add to that, I’m going to get up close and personal with whoever the loser is.  I’d at least like to have some idea why I am in pain.”

Klaus considers this for a moment.   “And just what can you offer us?  You are without your power…”

That stings and she doesn’t even try to pretend otherwise.  “I am not a witch.  We established that when I first arrived.  But I know what is going on here.  I’ve seen it play out enough to offer a different point of view.  Emotions are running high now or did I dream that screaming match that just occurred with Marcel?  I won’t even try to deny that I am completely objective either --- I am offering to throw in with you after all.  That speaks volumes of my state of mind.”  She is not above throwing a jab back at him.  “The way I see it, you need everyone you can get.”

“She has a point,” Rebekah says.  “I say she’s in.  Elijah?”

“She is welcome,” Elijah immediately chimes in.

“And like that, you are outnumbered,” Rebekah says simply.

It takes a great deal of inner strength not to gloat in the wake of Klaus’ loss.  Instead she moves past him, preferring to stick close to Rebekah. They all make their way to the same study she had spent her first night in.  Funny how that feels like it happened ages ago.  

She takes a chair, ensuring that she does not have to share space with any one of them.  Rebekah and Elijah take the sofa, leaving Klaus to drag another chair to complete the circle.  There is a moment of silence; no doubt each one of them is recognizing how absurd this seems.  

“Perhaps it would do us good to take stock of what we know,” Elijah suggests.

Klaus jumps on the opportunity.  “An ex-lover of yours has returned from the dead, bringing with her a whole host of those who wish to do us harm.”

Elijah flinches.

“Let’s not forget she’s targeting you,” Bonnie adds, turning her gaze on Klaus.  No doubt he is being callous to cover up his fear but she is not interested in listening to it.  “Probably because you got her killed to cover your crimes.”  Klaus glowers but she is not deterred.  She likes Elijah’s idea.  “Celeste has had over a century to nurture her need for revenge --- as well as find others in the same boat.  It would be good to actually figure out who those ‘others’ are.  Know your enemy, right?”

Rebekah nods.  “Do you remember any details of those who pushed their way back from the Other Side?”

Although she would rather not, Bonnie puts herself back in the cemetery, moments after Davina had died. There is the Harvest girl (Cassie).  Then Celeste, who appears haughtier than Bonnie first remembers (maybe that is a by-product of what she knows now).   After that, it becomes a blur of hands.  She can’t pick out any details.  Sadly, she shakes her head.

“Already proving your usefulness,” Klaus states, which earns him a look from Elijah.  He seemingly retreats.  “As it were, I think I know who attacked Marcel’s nightwalkers.” He leans forward a little, his eyes solely on Elijah.  “Araceli.”

Elijah pauses, and then closes his eyes.  There is a nod of his head.  “A fitting soldier.”

Confusion is evident on both Bonnie and Rebekah’s faces.  “Who?” Bonnie asks.  

“A hunter --- a particularly vicious one at that,” Elijah explains.  “Quite capable of inflicting the damage done today.”

“And how do we know her?” Rebekah questions.

“We crossed paths a few hundred years ago.  You were…sleeping,” Klaus says delicately but Rebekah still scoffs and throws up her hands.  “She was quite keen to end our lives and despite our near indestructible status, it was a hell of a fight.  It took me and Elijah together to put her down.”

Bonnie swallows back her gut reaction to such news.  She has to remain objective here.  Or at least keep her mind on the end goal.  She can judge them when it is all said and done (she will judge them when it is all said and done).  “You know it is her how?”

“Based on what Marcel tells me,” Klaus states in a matter of fact manner.  “We know it was a woman.  We know she used a blade…”

“Quite thoroughly,” Bonnie confirms and there is a twinge in her shoulder (an aptly named phantom pain).  

“The aftermath sounds very much like what we witnessed in our travels.  She relishes in causing damage because as she once told me, it sends a message.  Fitting given our current circumstance.”  He is all business now and Bonnie is grateful to that. If they are to come up with a plan they need to be on the same page; or at least not bickering themselves into a corner.

Rebekah appears to be mulling over something in her head and finally she pieces it together enough to say it aloud.  “Hold on, if this Aricellis…”

“Araceli,” Elijah corrects.

“Whatever,” she says with a wave of her hand.  “If she is a hunter, what is she doing on the Other Side?  I thought that was reserved for the supernatural only.”

“She comes from a long line of hunters put on this earth for the sole purpose of ridding it of supernatural beings.  Given her abilities, one would suspect she had some mystical help in the matter,” Elijah explains.

“And then she ends up on the Other Side with the very things she had set out to kill,” Bonnie concludes, and she makes a face.  She can’t decide if that is poetic in some fashion or simply a version of hell. “That would make me pretty pissed off and looking for revenge.”

“Okay, so we have Celeste. We have Araceli.  That’s two,” Rebekah points out.  “I don’t know about you but I would rather have a more rounded idea of what we are up against.”

“As would I,” Klaus readily agrees.  “We need to call on Marcel’s network throughout the city.  It is amazing what one can overhear in a dark corner.  He’s motivated to help --- given the loss of his vampires.”

“And Davina,” Bonnie adds. She is surprised when Klaus nods in agreement.

“We have to be careful not to rush into this blindly,” Rebekah says.  “Marcel’s spies are a good start.  It may help to have a witch or two in our corner.”  There is a pointed look in Bonnie’s direction.

“You’re talking about Sophie,” Bonnie concludes.

“Also properly motivated,” Rebekah counters.

There is sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She is loathed to drag any witch into this but she knows there is something in having magic in their corner --- especially given Celeste is packing power of her own. “If a witch gets involves it is because she wants to be there,” Bonnie says evenly.  “Not because one of you twisted her arm.”

“We will need to divide and conquer.”  Whether he is ignoring Bonnie’s warning (because what can she do to back up that statement?) or simply moving the conversation along, Klaus is the first to put forth some kind of strategy.  Even if it is an obvious one.   “The moment we discover an ally of hers, we take them out.  The sooner we send the lot back where they came from the better.”

“It sounds very straight forward,” Bonnie points out.  “Which we know it won’t be.  Witches, vampires, wolves, hunters…it could be any combination of people.”

“Therefore we must be sure to evaluate any potential threat to ensure we are not walking into a trap,” Elijah adds.  “I agree with you, Niklaus.  Cutting Celeste���s faction into pieces is better than a head on approach.  We just need to remember to take a breath before we do so.  There is no harm in weighing out the consequences.”

Bonnie sits back in her chair, her eyes solely on Klaus.  He has basically been told to ask questions first and bite later --- she can’t see that sitting well with him.  In fact, she is just waiting for him to argue against such a ploy.

Instead, he smiles. Nods.  “As for the head of the faction itself --- I gladly volunteer to lop it off.”  He seems to relish the idea.  “To save you the pain of course.”

Bonnie thinks back to the night before, to Rebekah telling her that she can’t possibly understand the history between the siblings.  There is truth to that because all she sees now is a petty attempt to get under Elijah’s skin.  He is a better person than she in that regard for Elijah manages to sit there without showing much reaction.  

Rebekah launches herself to her feet.  “Well, that settles it.  Should we conclude the very first meeting of…”

Before she can finish a voice echoes through the courtyard below.

“Klaus!”

The man in question stands and in a blink is gone.  Bonnie doesn’t even think, she stands and rushes to the balcony.  Below her she watches Klaus approach a man in a white collar (a priest?).  She gives Rebekah a confused look when the blonde comes to stand beside her.

“Kieran O’Connell,” Rebekah states.

Then she is off for the stairs, leaving Bonnie to play catch up.  Elijah is the last to enter the fray.  Now that she is closer, Bonne can see that Kieran looks a little worse for the wear.  The sleeve of his shirt is ripped and there is blood at his temple.  However, he doesn’t seem to pay any mind to that.  He is too busy staring down Klaus.

This can’t end well.

“I was very clear with you a few weeks ago.  I told you to leave my niece of out of this,” Kieran seethes.

His niece?  Bonnie’s brows push together.  O’Connell --- Cami, the bartender.  She feels something sink to the pit of her stomach.  If her goal is protect innocent people from being pulled into this mess, she has a feeling she has failed already.  

“I compelled Camille to leave town.  Safe and sound,” Klaus counters.  “It is not my fault that Sophie Devereaux saw fit to undo my instructions.”

“And now she’s gone.” Kieran’s tone makes it clear just how close he is to snapping.

Klaus goes rigid, any need for superiority stripped away from his voice.  “What?”

“Some vampire took her,” Kieran began.   He swipes a hand through his hair causing it to shoot out haphazardly.  Bonnie can see the blood matted in it now.  “He walked into Rousseau’s and right up to her like she was his mission…”

Because she was.

“I was there, hoping to catch a peaceful moment with my niece.  I tried to stop him…” Kieran’s face breaks now, showing pure rage before slipping into heartbreak.  “I weighed nothing to him.  She fought back.”

“And?”  When the answer is not immediate enough, Klaus grabs Kieran by the shirt.  “And?”

“He sunk his fangs into her neck until she stopped struggling.  Then told me to come here and tell you what happened if I wanted to see her again.”  Kieran shoves back at Klaus now, his teeth clenched.  “She’s gone because of you.”

Klaus does not argue. Instead he releases Kieran, paying the man no mind as he stumbles away.  Bonnie wonders how they went from attempting to formulate a strategy to this in a matter of minutes.  Celeste is working fast, using their lack of knowledge to her advantage.  

Elijah is watching his brother closely.  “Klaus…”

He’s already moving towards the door.  By chance or providence, Marcel meets him half way.  Klaus slaps a hand in the middle of Marcel’s chest.  “They have taken Camille.”  The pair shares a wordless glance and then they are gone from sight.

“Oh good, I am so glad we decided to follow that think first, act later plan,” Rebekah retorts with a heavy sigh.  She looks to Elijah for guidance.

“I will follow them,” Elijah says immediately.  “And try to stop them from walking directly into the trap that Celeste has laid for them.” Before Rebekah and Bonnie can agree, he too is gone.

Rebekah throws up her hands. “Bloody fools, every one of them.” She takes a deep breath and then glances towards Bonnie.  “I suppose we are to wait here until the menfolk return.”

Bonnie glances towards Kieran, who has slumped against the wall.  She thinks of Cami, and her friendly welcoming nature --- and envisions the hell she might be going through at this very moment.  Then she presses her lips together and takes a step towards the door.  

Next to her, Rebekah groans. “I may as well come too.  Since we are all thinking with our emotions tonight. I could use a good fight after all.”

Bonnie decides to let Rebekah lead the way.

X

“What’s the deal with Klaus and Cami anyway?” Bonnie asks after they are a few blocks away from the Abattoir.  “I always got the feeling that she hated him.  Makes sense if he compelled her.”

“I think Nik liked having her around.  She listened to him, compelled or not.  She is studying psychology and I think she tried to help him.  Poor thing --- if ever there was a lost cause.”  Rebekah clucks her tongue but keeps her eyes on the road ahead of them.  Bonnie knows she is waiting for the worst to happen and she’d be lying if she isn’t expecting the same.  “Marcel fancied her too.  Probably because she is blonde and pretty.  Reminded him of someone he already knew…”

Awkward.

“Klaus may have compelled Cami to spend time with Marcel. Back when he first returned to New Orleans and was looking for a way in,” Rebekah explained.

“And that is all I need to know.  Don’t blame Cami for practically telling Klaus to shove it every time she sees him,” Bonnie states.

“I know.  I enjoy it too.”  Rebekah smiles but it doesn’t last long.  She tilts her head to the side, her body going rigid as she does so.  It is obvious that she hears something Bonnie cannot.  “Trouble.”  Before Bonnie can even lift a foot to run, Rebekah disappears.

“Oh great,” Bonnie mutters to the empty space around her.  She has no clue where to go and no preternatural senses o guide her along.

“This way.”

Her head turns sharply to the side and she sees Kol standing there, a sense of urgency on his face.   Together they move quickly away from the Quarter.  She briefly notices that once you remove the historical allure of the French Quarter (with its many bars and balconies) New Orleans loses some of its sheen. Here things are more industrial, more run down --- she can still make out signs of the power Mother Nature once held over this city.  She has no time to dwell on the contrast.  She can hear it now --- the unmistakable sound of a fight.  

Does she really want to run head first into this?

As it is, she doesn’t exactly run into it.  More like skitters to a stop at the edge.  

Klaus is closest to her, a growl low in his throat and as he eyes their foe.  She does the same and gets her first look at Araceli.  This is her right?  They haven’t been mistaken in picking her out of the lineup of Mikaelson enemies.  Of course, she is nothing like Bonnie expects --- because in her mind, if takes two Original vampires to take you down than you must be made of something.  Instead, Araceli is small in stature with almost delicate features (although there is something unholy about the smile on her face). In her right hand she holds a long blade that she is currently let drag along the pavement.  The scraping sound goes right through Bonnie and she instinctively recoils.  Then realizes something.

The Mikaelsons are on the defense.

Her eyes shoot around the space finding Elijah pulling himself back on his feet and Rebekah swiping blood away from her mouth.  Marcel too is staggering, and looks as if he has already met the wrong side of the blade more than once.  It seems wrong to her somehow.  Yes, this hunter was supernaturally strong but this is three Originals and a vampire who has fought since the day he was born. She shouldn’t be able to toss them all around so easily.  

“Come on, hybrid,” Araceli says, her voice quiet but airy.  She is clearly enjoying this.

Klaus obeys, as if her sword sings a siren song.  He lowers his head and Bonnie can see the wolf.  When he moves forward he does so with a burst of strength that is no doubt meant to knock her off her feet.  Instead she sidesteps him at the last possible second, spinning around to bring the sword down on the flesh of his back.  He arches his back instinctively but it is too late.  Blood soaks through the ruined material of his shirt.  

“He can do better than this,” Kol hisses next to her.  She turns to see his fists clenched.  How badly he must want to enter the fray.  

“She’s a supernatural being,” Bonnie tries to reason but flinches as Araceli uses her current position as an advantage, burying the heel of her boot in Klaus’ fresh wound.  He falls to his knees and Bonnie can see the frustration on his face.  

After watching their brother fall, Rebekah and Elijah try a joint attack, coming at Araceli from opposite sides.  She raises her sword at Rebekah but Elijah wraps a hand around her arm, yanking it back until a sickening crack echoes through the space.  Instead of crying out in pain, Araceli clenches her teeth and somehow manages to maneuver her arm until she can throw her elbow square in Elijah’s face.  

(Bonnie decides that if she was not opposed to Araceli winning that she would appreciate a move like that)

The hit throws Elijah backwards and he seems baffled by it.  Frankly, so is Bonnie.  From her outsider perspective, she feels as if she is watching new vampires being easily overcome.  An hour ago, they were questioning what she could bring to the table.  Now she is questioning what they can bring.

And then she can do nothing but watch with cold horror as Araceli buries the sword to its hilt in Rebekah’s midsection.

Kol is the first to shout, his voice cracking.  Of course, only Bonnie can hear it.

Right now she can’t even seem to breathe properly.  Can Rebekah die like this?  Is it white oak only or can you take off the head of an Original?  She suspects that no one has ever gotten close enough to find out.  They have always been stronger.  

Thankfully before Bonnie has to find out, Marcel throws himself into Araceli’s side.  With her concentration solely on Rebekah she doesn’t see him coming and loses her footing.  Together they fall to the hard pavement and the sword slips from Rebekah. Her hands immediately go to cover the wound and she stumbles until she lands on her backside.  Klaus is there, his hand too moving to inspect the wound. For a moment his forehead presses against his sister’s and then he turns, eyes a lurid yellow to stare Araceli down.  

“I killed you once,” he spits.

“And look how that turned out,” Araceli says from her seated position.  Her fingers are still curled around her blade and she pulls to close to her. Her eyes slide to Marcel.  “I didn’t get your sister --- but I will take your protégé.”

Klaus is like an animal, pouncing from his prone position.  He obviously has it in mind to rip her to shreds, his mouth closing on the first piece of flesh he can find.   Elijah moves to join his brother and perhaps history will repeat itself.  

Until she throws them off.

She stands, looking worse for the wear.  She has not made it out of the pile unscathed.  But still she is standing while the others are not --- and she has her sights on Marcel.  “I’ll be quick.  Your death is meant to be a punishment to him.  Not you.”

Bonnie surveys the scene. Klaus and Elijah stunned on the ground, Rebekah still bleeding profusely when she should be healing and Marcel valiantly trying to stand as his death draws nearer.  She turns her head sharply, deciding she can’t watch (but she will feel it).  Her eyes find the brick wall of a building instead.  

And there is a hitch in her breathing.

Her hand reaches to tug on Kol’s jacket to call his attention away from the carnage in the making.

“Look,” she says and already she is moving towards it.  The simple symbol sprayed in white.  She has seen it before --- her first night in the city.  

“There are more,” Kol tells her and he is right.  There is one on the building opposite them.  One on the corner and another to match right across the street.  In the middle of it all is the impossible fight.

“She’s got a little help,” Bonnie concludes.  “It has to be damping their strength, their ability to bounce back…”

“If they can draw her out of there,” Kol reasons.

A quick glance tells her that Marcel is not winning this fight.  He is on his knees now and he is not giving up despite how it looks to him.

“No time,” Bonnie points out.  She is frantic in her search of the debris at her feet.  There is a cry of triumph as she finds a metal pipe (someone somewhere has her back).  She raises it and swings with all her might, crashing it into the middle of the symbol on the wall.  The brick shudders beneath the impact and she feels it vibrate painfully up her arm. Instinct wants her to drop the pipe but instead she swings again.  And again until finally the brick has had enough.  It crumbles, breaking the clean loop of the symbol.

She hopes it is enough. Surely taking out one will kill the makeshift circle.

She turns her head back to see Klaus go for Araceli once again, ripping her victory from her seconds before she could see it through.  This time she is not able to shake him off as easily as she once had.

“Yes!” Bonnie cries, adrenaline still pumping freely through her.  

With the playing field more even (and about to be tipped more in the other side’s favor now that Rebekah seems to be getting back on her feet), Araceli is not as sure of herself. She swings her sword wildly, just missing Elijah.  Marcel is back on his feet and looking to redeem himself.   He looks to the rest of them.  “On three…”  The Mikaelson siblings nod.

“One…” Marcel’s voice is loud, his anger clearly coming to the surface.  

Before he can shout two they all drop to their knees, hands moving to clutch their heads.

Bonnie’s brows push together.  She took out the symbol.  The circle should hold no more power.  She gives Kol a confused look but he has his eyes beyond the fight.  She follows his line of sight and there she is.

Celeste.

Her lips are moving as she walks and Bonnie knows just the spell she is reciting.  She had used it many times herself.  Simple but effective, no matter what age the vampire is.

Celeste comes to a stop in the middle of the street.  She is not alone either.  Standing to her left is a dark haired man; to her right a redheaded woman.  Bringing up the rear is another man; one who radiates power.  In his hand is a curved blade which he seems to delight in showing off given the way he holds it.  Bonnie realizes with horror that it is made of bone.

Nothing good can come from that.  

Araceli stands among the fallen.  Blood is streaked across her face and she seems to be limping as she moves to join her comrades.  With their warrior safe, Celeste drops the spell.  Each of the Mikaelsons slump on the ground and Bonnie cannot stop herself from moving towards them.  She can’t actually help but she wants it made clear just where she stands.  

Celeste smiles.  “Good evening, Miss Bennett.”  There is a simple incline of her head which Bonnie feels compelled to return.  Gone is the bright red dress, replaced by a more utilitarian look.  Bonnie thinks she gets it --- she had dressed to declare war and now she is dressed for battle.  

“Well, that didn’t go quite as planned but we are prepared for multiple outcomes of course,” Celeste states.

Klaus is the first to stand, fitting since Celeste’s eyes are on him.   Marcel and Elijah follow suit but Rebekah stays on the ground. Bonnie wonders if she is still healing from her intimate introduction to Araceli’s sword.  However, Bonnie finds that instead of tending to her wound, she is pale and wide eyes, staring straight ahead.

Right at the redhead.

Bonnie’s gaze slides to the redhead as well only to find that she has a simple smile on her face. Still, Rebekah looks to the ground instead, clearly shaken.

“I think it is time for us to be clear,” Celeste begins.  She is still speaking only to Klaus.  “I cannot kill you.  Unfortunately.  Your mother was a clever witch.  The spell she weaved was nearly perfect and left you with very few true weaknesses. Of course you and yours would work to rid the world of them.  No white oak to be found --- so I cannot kill you.”

“I do apologize,” Klaus says and Bonnie thinks the smugness in his voice should not be there. Celeste is not admitting defeat.

“I can make you wish you were dead though,” she retorts immediately.  “And that is exactly what I am going to do.  I am going to take everything from you.  The vampires who do your bidding --- already have a head start there.”  Behind her, although wounded, Araceli taps her sword against the street as if to cheer Celeste on.  “The pretty girl that you told your secrets to…”

“Where is Camille?” Klaus asks, his tone a confused mixture of authority and desperation.  

“She’s alive,” Celeste states.  “For now.”

The man to left smiles (it is not a welcoming sight).  “She tastes exquisite by the way.  Vervain aside.”  There is an accent there although Bonnie can’t quite place it.  She is filing away the details (a redhead that makes Rebekah cower, a bone knife, an accent) for later.

Klaus lungs forward and Celeste sends him flying backwards with a flick of her wrist.  “I am not done talking.  Don’t be rude, Klaus.”  She looks to Marcel.  “The protégé --- I’ll take him too.  We came close tonight.  Next time we’ll do better.”  She takes a deep breath, her eyes flittering across Elijah.  For a brief second, her features soften and then she is all business once more.  “What does that leave you with?  That monstrosity you call a home?  We’ll burn it --- and whatever you consider to be your kingdom as well.   That leave your siblings, also indestructible but I will take them too. You do not know how yet but trust me I wouldn’t tell you this unless I was sure I could follow through on it.  I will break that precious always and forever of yours into so many pieces you will never be able to put it back together again.  And you --- you will be all alone in this world and wishing that I had found a way to kill you after all.”

Elijah comes to stand next to his brother, a hand falling on his shoulder.  “Celeste…”

“Spare me the sweet talk, Elijah.”  Celeste effectively silences him.  “In the end, when you are free from him you will see that I did you a favor.  It will take time for you to fully understand but one day you will thank me for this.”

“Oh enough talk,” Klaus scoffs.  “Why are we drawing this out?  Let’s just end it now.”  

Celeste shakes her head. “Not everything is won by a street brawl.”  She closes her eyes, mutters a few words.  

Even Bonnie feels it (and that terrifies her; a magic that can touch her in her current state).  A fog seems descend in her mind, leaving her trying to stay on her feet.  Once again she finds herself grabbing onto Kol’s jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind keeping her afloat.  No doubt he is too busy trying to work through Celeste’s opening shots to truly think on the gesture.  

The rest are rooted to their spots.  This is all Celeste and her disciples need to make their exit.  As most turn, the dark haired vampire stands his ground.  “I will be in touch,” he says with a wink in Klaus’ direction.  “About Camille.”  Then he too joins the rest of them.  

It is only when they are out of sight that Bonnie feels completely herself again.  She releases her grip on Kol and surveys the scene around them.  The rest are battered and dazed.  Elijah has his hands on both sides of Rebekah’s face and she still looks shaken to the core.  Bonnie knows it goes beyond the physical damage she suffered.  

Marcel is the next to reach for Rebekah and it is the first time Bonnie has witnessed that connection between them on display in full force.  Klaus finds an excuse to look elsewhere.  “I suggest we regroup.  We can discuss details.  Or not. I do not care either way --- I just need a drink.”

Bonnie doubts he is craving alcohol alone.  

Elijah nods in agreement. With Marcel stuck close to Rebekah, Elijah once again moves towards Klaus.  This time he faces Klaus with both hands on Klaus’ shoulders.  He dips his head as if he wishes to speak only to his brother.  “We will stop her.  She will not be able to enact whatever plan she foolishly thinks she has put together.”

“Of course we will,” Klaus replies and there is most definitely false bravado laced in his voice.

Together they began to walk away from the site of their defeat.  Marcel and Rebekah remain and for the first time Bonnie notes that they are deep in discussion.  She stays there, waiting until they notice her.  

“Who is the redhead, Rebekah?” Bonnie asks.

That look of sheer terror that Bonnie had witnessed earlier makes a return.

“Oh sister,” Kol breathes in disappointment.  He must know that nothing good will come from Rebekah’s answer.

Rebekah looks towards the retreating figures of her brothers and then back to Marcel.  She completely ignores Bonnie’s question.  Instead she reaches up to clutch Marcel’s face with her hands.  She dips her head and closes her eyes.  Marcel mirrors her and he seems to be clinging to her as much as she is him.  

“When Nik finds out, he will kill us.”

[adhduck]

Why the Change of Mind (More a Change of Heart) Ch. 5

@blyedeeks a quick update what is this??? it hasn’t been six months???? be proud of me lol

actual bellarke interaction i know it’s wild

(Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (AO3)

It’s a Rumor, a Legend, a Mystery

“Your brother,” Bellamy said dumbly.

           “Clarke Griffin didn’t have a brother,” Miller hissed beside him, not quite quiet enough to keep Clair from overhearing.

           She sighed and dropped the hand she’d put half around Bellamy. “He’s not my blood brother,” she said, “but he’ll protect me like one. Speaking of which....” She sent a withering look to Lincoln, who was still focused on Bellamy. “I told you already, put that away.”

           “I won’t shoot if he steps away and leaves you alone,” Lincoln replied, low and demanding.

           “Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t be opposed, but I need him for something.” Clair sighed. “Look, he didn’t kidnap me or anything, Lincoln, it’s okay. Can you please just let me explain? Without shooting my companions?”

           Clair felt Bellamy’s gaze slide over to her at the word companions and tensed a little. She hadn’t meant it like that, like they were a group now; she’d just been trying to ease Lincoln’s mind. It was too late to take back now, though, so she offered Bellamy only a glance in return.

           Lincoln shifted his gaze back to Bellamy and glared at him harshly, as if he were trying to see through his very soul. Bellamy stared back defiantly, and after a long moment Lincoln caved. “Fine,” he growled, lowering his weapon and stepping forward, though she noticed his fingers were still itching over the string like he was ready to lift it again.

           “Away, Lincoln. I don’t want you killing anyone, especially when you’re technically over boundary lines.”

           “So are you,” Lincoln grumbled, but slung the bow over his back nonetheless. “All right, explain.”

           “First things first—introductions. This is Miller, and this is Bellamy. They’re from Skaikru, obviously.”

           “Obviously,” Lincoln said, skirting his eyes over the two of them again, but with less distaste this time. “How’d you end up with them anyway?”

           “By accident, at first, but now...well, it’s sort of a long story.”

           Lincoln crossed his arms. “I’ve got time.”

           Bellamy explained the situation again, including the story of the lost princess since Lincoln wasn’t very familiar with it; he was oddly careful to be precise about all the details, adding where he’d heard this or that as if it was helpful to the situation. She sort of wanted to tell him to hurry up, but forced herself to be quiet until he finished.

           Lincoln turned directly to her. “So?”

           Clair gave him a look. “So, what?”

           “Do you believe them?”

           Clair swallowed hard, remembering the lump in her stomach as they walked through the same path a two-year-old girl had once taken, like there was a flood of memories waiting to burst out of her. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted them to, but most of her was too desperate and curious to resist. “Yes. Or, at least, it’s a possibility.” Lincoln started to say something, probably wanting to argue, but she cut in. “You don’t know where I came from, right? You always talk about family, and I could find mine, Lincoln. The one I lost.”

           He hesitated before letting out a resigned sigh. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

           It was Miller who voiced her thoughts. “What?”

           “If you’re going on some journey to find your maybe-mother in Skaikru territory, so am I. You don’t get to find one family and leave the other behind.”

           Clair paled a little. “Lincoln, that’s not what I meant—”

           “I know that,” he said, softer, and put a hand on her shoulder. “But I’m not letting you go without me, either. I have to make sure you’re safe, right?”

           “We’re not exactly going to throw her in a pit,” Bellamy started to protest, but Lincoln cut him off sharply.

           “Thanks for the input, but I didn’t ask you. It’ll take more than words for your trust to be earned with me.”

           Bellamy stayed quiet after that.

           “All right. Say you do come with us,” Clair said slowly, working it out in her brain. “Will the plan still work? I mean, getting one non-sky person through was going to be hard enough, and you’re much larger and tattooed than I am.”

           “Most of that isn’t too hard, once we get you cleaned up,” Miller shrugged. “With a new set of clothes and a way to hide some of those tattoos, it’s just a matter of how to get you there, really. Mrs. Griffin moved a long way away.”

           “I don’t suppose getting new clothes is going to involve more walking, is it?” Clair groaned, only half joking. “My legs are killing me.”

           “Alas, it will,” Bellamy said. He was actually smiling a little bit, rather than his usual sarcastic smirk, though he hid it fairly well. “But don’t worry, there’s way more walking to come.”

           They headed back to town, but split up once they arrived—Miller and Lincoln one way, Bellamy and Clair the other. Lincoln argued about this, of course, but Clair insisted she could handle herself and they parted ways.

           She and Bellamy snuck through a back alleys – she did her best to remain quiet, overly aware of Bellamy’s eyes on her every time she made a sound – and ended up in front of a small but intimidating building with a sign in large, sloppy block letters: Juvenile Center.

           “Is this a prison or something?” she asked, looking over the building with distaste. Did Bellamy go anywhere that wasn’t creepy?

           Bellamy laughed; it had a weirdly nice ring to it. “Not legally, but you’ve got the idea down. This is where the troublemaking kids go now instead of the skybox like they did in space. When they turn eighteen, they either join society again or go to an official prison if they haven’t gotten their lives together.”

           “And we’re here to...what? Steal some criminal kids’ clothes?”

           “Not us, just me. You’ll wait outside.” He paused, then added, “And they’re my sister’s clothes, but yes.”

           Then, being the dramatic type she already figured him out to be, he slipped inside without giving a further explanation.

           She nearly went in after him before remembering he’d told her to wait outside – which made sense, since getting caught breaking into a building in a town that she didn’t belong in was sort of doubly bad – and huffed, going to the side and sitting against the wall.

           While she waited, Clair tried to go over everything that had happened. The scouting mission with Lincoln already felt like years ago, though it must’ve only been a few hours. And now she was going on an illegal adventure with her brother and two strangers to maybe find her long-lost mother. It was crazy at best, and definitely the worst idea she’d ever had, but somehow...somehow she couldn’t imagine backing out. The experience in the forest was too real for that, and besides, there was something about Bellamy—a secret, something he wasn’t sharing with anyone. She was itching to pry it out.

           Sometime later – a few minutes? An hour? It was getting harder and harder to tell – she heard the click of a door and a voice hissing, “You out here, Princess?”

           “You did not just call me that,” she replied, standing and entering the light.

           He shrugged, not even bothering to conceal his smug smirk. “Better get used to it, if you really think you’re the real deal.”

           “If you really thought I was the real deal, you’d be a little nicer,” she muttered, then noticed the clothes in his arms. “Is your sister the vandalizing sort of criminal or the murder type of criminal? Because despite what your people probably think of my people, I’m not big on blood, especially on clothes.”

           “More the insubordinate, running-off kind,” Bellamy said, with the air of someone who knew just how insubordinate she could be.

           “What, she not like her parents or did they not like her?” Clair asked, taking the clothes and looking through them.

           “She doesn’t have parents to hate; just me.”

           Clair froze at his words and the bitter, hollow tone they carried. She kept her eyes carefully on the clothes in her hands, wishing she could think of something to say better than, “Oh.”

           “You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” Bellamy said gruffly, like he’d been through this whole situation too many times to count—which, he probably had. “Neither of our dads were ever in the picture, and Mom died when she was just a baby. Nothing you can say will hurt.”

           “Actually, I was going to think of something sad about my family to say to distract you,” she said, looking up cautiously, “but you seem to know most of it already.”

           He held her gaze for a moment, and she sensed...something. Like he was looking at her for the first time. Then he cleared his throat and the moment was done. “You’ll need to see if those fit, and I’m assuming you don’t want to that right here, so go around back.”

           “Wait, only one outfit?” she asked, confused. “This isn’t exactly going to be a day trip.”

           “That’s all we can spare to take without anyone noticing,” he said; then, when she still didn’t move, “We’ll get you more clothes later, but this is all you’ll need for now and we have to get moving, so just go, please.” He pushed her lightly away from him for emphasis.

           She huffed and stalked off to change, muttering a few choice phrases, but when she glanced back, Bellamy was staring at the building the way she’d looked at the forest, like he’d lost something, and she couldn’t hold onto her annoyance.

           The clothes fit, technically, though they weren’t the right shape for her and clung to her curves in a couple of odd places, but they’d have to do. She went back to Bellamy, who checked her over and said it’d be fine, and they waited back at the edge of town until Miller and Lincoln arrived.

           “It was harder than expected, finding something that fit him,” Miller explained, referring to the mismatched, ill-fitting clothing they’d found for her brother, including an oversized beanie to hide his head tattoos.

           Lincoln just sulked, and Clair had to work hard not to laugh.

           “Well, what now?” Clair asked, looking at the strange quartet they made—the mystery, the con man, the brother, and the princess. It would be a miracle for them to make it to the capital, but that didn’t stop a tiny part of her from swelling with excitement.

           (She realized a moment later she’d referred to herself as princess and promptly decided to never reveal that to Bellamy.)

           “We have plenty of food and supplies packed away already, so we’re basically ready to go,” Miller said.

           Lincoln looked at the darkening sky with a frown. “Except it’s too late to do anything right now, I’d wager.”

           “Yeah, night travel is dangerous,” Bellamy agreed. “We’ll have to go back to the hideout to sleep and start out in the morning.”

           “This adventure is starting to look more like an errands list,” Clair grumbled, but followed him just the same.

           The hideout was interesting, but small, and Bellamy and Miller insisted they all stay in one room—supposedly to ward off attacks better, but Clair knew they really just wanted to keep them from running off, which was silly. She was the one who had agreed to find her mom; she wasn’t about to back out now.

           Bellamy and Miller had their own beds, though they were crude; there were no spare beds, however, and Clair was looking around for something to sleep on when she heard a familiarly snarky voice say, “Not used to sleeping on the floor, Princess?”

           “I lived in forest clan, not some castle,” she shot back, not giving Bellamy the satisfaction of looking up. “Are there blankets or am I just cuddling with your books?”

           “Here,” Miller said; she glanced up and saw his armload of blankets and pillows. “Bellamy’s right about the floor, though; we don’t have many guests.”

           Clair took them from his arms and laid them out on the floor, side by side. It reminded her a little of how Lincoln would sleep beside her when she was small, tucking her face into his chest because it was the only way she could sleep without nightmares. Of course, when she got older she refused such a childish set-up, nightmares or no, but it still made her sort of nostalgic to think about him patting down her hair and calming her down with his words until she fell asleep.

           And something else, too. A different kind of nostalgia; homesickness for something she didn’t remember. It made her dizzy.

           “Whoa, easy there,” Miller said, catching her as she swayed. “That walking must’ve really gotten to you, huh? Just lie down and get some rest. We’ve got a long day tomorrow and you probably don’t want to pass out in the middle of nowhere.”

           She nodded and slowly went to her knees when she saw Bellamy moving towards the front. “Hey, where are you going?”

           Miller grunted in agreement, crossing his arms across his chest. “Getting a midnight snack or something?”

           “I’m sleeping in the front room,” said Bellamy. “So if anyone comes in, they’ll just see me. And yes, that means the princess or Lincoln can have one of the beds, if they’re so inclined.”

           “They won’t look on further?” Clair asked skeptically.

           “If they recognize me, and they will, they’ll expect me to be alone,” Bellamy muttered darkly, turning to go.

           “Said like someone who’s done it before,” Clair called after him, feeling a strange urge to pull something out of him, force this sarcastic, closed-of fman to say something real.

           “Get some sleep, Princess,” Bellamy said without turning, and shut the door between them.

           Lincoln didn’t seem to mind the situation as much as Clair expected, simply laying out on one pile of blankets and pulling the others on top of him, tipping his head to indicate she take the bed. She did, hesitantly, already thinking about the teasing she would get from Bellamy in the morning but not entirely minding.

           As she slipped under the covers, Clair noticed Miller standing by the door, fuming. “That idiot Bellamy Blake. He knows between the two of us it’s better if I get caught, and if he didn’t have such a thick skull he’d see that. He’s going to blow his cover. And I don’t care if you can hear me, by the way!” he added, louder.

           “If you’re so worried about him getting caught,” Clair said, bored, “why not just switch with him?”

           Miller looked over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow. “Even you should’ve realized by now how stubborn Bellamy is. He’d sooner have his hands cut off than admit he was wrong about something, especially when it puts a friend in danger.”

           “What would happen to you if you got caught? Is it really so bad to be in an abandoned building?”

           “If we were some random people off the street? No, not really. Maybe some community work, a little jail time at most, just to give us a lesson,” he said. “Problem is, I came from that juvie center he took you to for clothes. Being out in the community past eighteen is our second chance, so getting caught doing any infraction means a long time in jail.”

           Clair pursed her lips, unsure if she should continue but too curious to stop. “What about him?”

           Miller scowled. “Let’s just say it’d be worse for him to get caught here than both you and your brother combined.”

           She opened her mouth again, wanting to ask why, but it was clear from Miller’s clipped tone he was done speaking. He went to his own bed – though not before kicking the door and cursing at Bellamy through it – and burrowed under the sheets.

           “If there’s one thing Bellamy’s right about,” he said, just as Clair was about to drift off, “it’s to get some sleep. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, long day tomorrow.”

[hotels-motels-heathens]

H/M/H 01 - 'Welcome to Haleton'

Part 1, Dilapidation in Torchlight:

A torch hung from a string tied around a beam overhead emitted a vividly amber tone throughout the room. That light flickered through the air and illuminated the rusted frame of the building, along with what was left of its long withered walls. A faint buzzing came with the light. The boards covering the windows were the only fresh wood in the room. The bed, situated awkwardly in the centre of the room, wasn't new per-se, but it was clean. The holes in the ceiling were not coupled with any debris. The air smelled of vanilla.

A loud groan echoed from behind one of the room's doors, like the rusted metallic skeleton of the building was wailing in pain; a result of having seen near-to-no movement in decades. The only exception to that stagnation, a young woman who had seemingly developed some kind of fixation with this place at some point, was re-entering.

Part 2, Brushing Rust Out of Her Hair

Amber sat on the side of her bed, exhausted. She had spent hours upon hours of the day working her ass off, moving the degradation and rubble out from just one room of the junk mansion she'd just wasted her money on. Then moving her own stuff into that room. Then setting up a make-shift light system. And all of this was only after having dealt with the tedium of the real-estate agency, people who were absolutely bewildered by her decision to buy this place. She knew that she couldn't blame them for that, but she also knew that she could blame them for being so unapologetically rude. She took her hairbrush from the suitcase at her feet and started trying to straighten her hair up before she inevitably passed out. The hum of the light above her rang in her ears. This was the point that she had been saving her money for years to get to. She had convinced herself that this was the end goal, that she'd be done. She had known, at some level, that she would have to spend time cleaning this place, but she hadn't thought to include that part in the plans she had established. These were left as two completely distinct thoughts, two separate, purely conceptual periods of time. Now she was sitting here, confronted by the task before her as an actuality. This, she concluded, was gonna take her a while.

A knock on the door interrupted this line of thought. It took her a moment of stillness, with her brush left stuck in her hair, after this to remember that she had invited people over. She stood up, swept the brush out of her hair, and went to let her friends in. Elliette, a short, scrawny girl with blonde hair and a stutter, made her way in without waiting to be invited. Following her, with significantly less hop in their step, walked Nitro; his hair, clothes and the freckles on his face, his overall presence radiated darkness (as they were want to do). The two of them didn't say much as they entered, moving through the unlit parts of the building carefully in an unthinking effort to avoid tetanus. They had expected that any place Amber could afford would be in a rough state, but this was a biohazard.

Part 3, The Grandeur (of Rotten Floorboards)

"Congrats Amber!" Elle said, somehow compartmentalizing (if not completely ignoring) the state of the room and its improvisational light system instantly. "H-how long were you trying to, ahh, to save up for this place again? W-w-we knew you could do it!" "Aww, thanks Elle," Amber replied. She tried to think of a way to fill out her response, but anything she could think to add about the place would have just embarassed her more. "It was a few years, yeah." Nitro had been intentionally refraining from saying anything. As much as he recognised this as a success on Amber's part in its way, he lacked Elle's ability to overlook a friend in need; and even if she wasn't going to admit it, Amber was absolutely in need. "You," he began, not wanting to say what he felt someone needed to say. "You can stay with us any time you want. You know that, right?" Amber sighed. "I, umm," Amber's pride was trying desparately to think of a way to make staying here sound like a reasonable idea. "I worked so hard at cleanin' this room up, though. It'd feel like somethin' of a waste..."

Amber failed to look Nitro in the eye as she said this, knowing how ridiculous of an argument it was. Even so, Nitro could see that it was true. She'd stripped most of the walls bare, boarded over the windows that were broken (that is to say, all of them), and if the hall that they'd entered through was any indication then she'd cleared out a ridiculous amount of dust and dirt. "You're at least gonna stay at our place tonight, okay?" "Y-yeah!" Elle's response to this idea lit the room up almost as much as the torch did. "It's always great when, like, when you come 'round!" Amber laughed faintly. "Okay, you're right. Should we head out right now then?" "Actually, I was thinking of grabbing something to eat," Nitro answered. "Sal's place is pretty closeby here, isn't it?" "Yeah, I think so," Amber replied. "Y'know, I didn't really think about it but you must get a pretty nice view of the town from here," Nitro remarked. "There's a staircase to the roof just through that door," Amber replied. "Though I'm not sure how much I would actually trust it." Elle opened the door Amber had pointed at, and briefly appeared to be inspecting the stairs. After this she started to make her way up them, quickly and (from the sound of her footsteps) clumsily. "For God's sake Elle," Nitro started to follow after her, though in a much better thought out manner.

Part 4, This Whithering City

As they stepped out onto the roof, the two of them were disappointed. To be fair, they had been given a good view of the city; the only problem was that the city they were looking at was Haleton. The sky itself was thickly clouded over, too dark to see any stars, and the moon was barely visible. All that they could make out were a few unevenly spaced spots where streetlamps managed to illuminate the dusty roads in a palid, artificial tone. There was a light breeze blowing whistled noise through rust-dissolved holes in exposed parts of the building's frame. A vaguely metallic groan echoed from somewhere indiscernible. If they could have made more out, Nitro thought, they would've been even more disappointed; it was a mistake to expect anything more from Haleton. Amber made her way up, having taken the torch down from the roof-beam. Its light revealed the appearance of the roof, which was less rusted than she had expected; to be fair though, it was rubberised. Still, on top of that, it was a mess. Much of the rubber exterior had worn away, there was a clutter of dust and garbage that must have been blown up their by the wind over the years. She turned her attention away from that. Despite the dissapointing view, Amber could forsee that the roof might be a fairly nice place to be. It needed to be cleaned firs,t and they would need some kind of permanent light fixtures, but on a better night than this, she thought, it could be a nice place to hang out.

Not so much satisfied as they were resigned to an acceptance of where they lived, the three of them turned back to make their way back inside, and then began to head out into the night. Amber questioned her own logic as she locked the door behind her - what was there to steal anyway? But independent of what, if any, reasons existed, it just felt like the thing to do. Over the length of their friendship, Nitro, Elliette and Amber had come to accept roaming Haleton's streets with a flashlight as their guide. Initially there had been an unspoken recognition of the fact that this was strange and unnerving, none of the three were natives to this place. But this was Haleton's nearest emulation of nightlife. The majority of the city's streetlamps didn't run at all; infrequently, someone might go through small stretches of roads and replace the old bulbs, but the city had little in the way of management services.

Part 5, Sal's Diner

Something in the difference between the lighting used outside of Sal's Diner and that emitting from the windows of the building itself always resonated with Amber. In reality the lights being used in both places were the same colour, plain white. But something about the lights or the walls or the general atmosphere, she could never actually quite tell, of the building seemed to almost taint it in a faint green. Moving between the two tones was like stepping into a new, artificial world.

Inside, that world would always feel small. Despite the size of the building, and the fact that the place didn't seem to have any trouble running, it still always seemed empty. None of the three of them had ever seen more than three other people in here, and one of them was always Sal herself. Sal was a fourty-odd year old woman who seemingly never let her hair down. All three of them saw her out in the city running errands and generally living her life with fair regularity, but even so Elle always responded like her being anywhere other than the diner was impossible. Perhaps it was just the way that her work and her personal life seemed to overlap; after all, her home and the diner were the same building.

The three of them ordered some food and sat at one of the booths. "That place is a dump, but there's nowhere else in town to waste time at," Nitro commented. "Plus, I like the lighting. I've chatted to Mick, the guy who owns the place a few times," they took a gulp from their drink. "He's the worst." "Mick Hennigan, right?" Amber asked. "His brother comes into the Hotel from time to time; he's nice enough. Apparently lives down in Denton though, so I dunno why he won't stay with his brother while he's here." "It's because his brother's the worst," Nitro reiterated.

Elle seemed more interested in her milkshake than in the conversation, but noticed Nitro glare slightly at the mention of Denton. That was interesting, given that he'd never been there; unlike Elle, who'd lived there for the first part of her life. "Oh, oh Nitro," She started. "That, ah, that tape you found, w-what was on it?" "Oh, the one from Wednesday?" He thought back, always willing to think about what was technically his job. "Nothing. It was bloody ancient, sounded like rust. I might've been able to recognise some of the noises as a garbled-up voice. Maybe." "Ah, sorry," Elle responded. "I should, I should've asked sooner." "Why?" Nitro asked. "What do you mean, Elle?" "I just," she began, unsure of how to explain. "It, uh-I just forgot I guess." "Have y'found anything interesting lately Nitro?" Amber asked. "I'm really impressed by how much time you spend working y'know?" Nitro laughed. "Depends what you find interesting, I guess," he appeared to think, but only for a moment. "I found this one tape by an old band - I forget the name - it's pretty cool though. 'Course, it isn't about what I like; I haven't stumbled across any of the newsy stuff I'm supposed to be looking for in a couple of weeks." Nitro was passionate about his work, but the historians he worked for were somewhat dismayed by his disinterest in, well, history. Even so, they couldn't deny that Nitro was a valuable asset to them; his ability to scrape through the deepest depths of the junkiest junk-pile (whether physical or digital), and always manage to pull something that was somehow valuable out was admirable. That was something that Amber respected, and it was absolutely something that Nitro enjoyed.

The three of them ended up distracting each other from their food for long enough that they were in Sal's Diner for almost an hour. Elle finished her food first, as ever, and ultimately Amber and Nitro took a while to follow her lead. They thanked Sal as they left, but she didn't offer much more than a closed-eyed nod as a response. Outside the air had become slightly colder than it had been before, but it wasn't overly so. Nearby, one of the streetlights flickered and died; thankfully, it was in the other direction from where they were headed.

[superjournalslibrary-blog]

Six Reasons Why It Is Important to Remember

And THOU SHALT REMEMBER that thou wast a bondman in Egypt: and thou shalt observe and do these statutes.

Deuteronomy 16:12

Amongst the people you will work with are men who do not have the ability to REMEMBER. Men without remembrance are a most deadly group. They are the brewing conspirators of your ministry. They are the up and coming traitors of your team.

The ability to remember is probably the single most important quality for a minister. I am set at ease when I discover that I am relating with someone who has the ability to remember. Almost every disloyal person lacks the ability to remember! When I think of some of the strange sons that I have had, I wonder if they cannot remember the times I had with them.

When the children of Israel were coming out of Egypt, remembrance was one thing God wanted them to have. He wanted them to remember how He had brought them out of Egypt. He wanted them to remember how bad things had been there. In their prosperity, He wanted them to remember the Lord God. God knew what would happen if they forgot these important things.

1. Remembrance makes you appreciate salvation and preach about salvation.

Men without remembrance sing songs that show their short memory. Most Christians are not grateful to God for their salvation.

Sadly, many Christians do not remember what Christ has done for them. The songs composed and sang by Christians today reflect this forgetful and unfaithful attitude. My heart jumps when I hear songs about salvation. Perhaps, this is why I love songs that speak of our salvation.

Men without remembrance do not evangelize. They have forgotten how salvation came to them. They have even forgotten how salvation gets to anyone.

Pastors who have forgotten about their salvation preach without doing altar calls. Men without remembrance have substituted the message of salvation for the popular motivational sermons on finance, management and “prosperity”. These messages may be good but they cannot be substituted for the message of salvation.

It is Christians without remembrance who go round the world giving out food and water to sinners without ever preaching to them. Perhaps they have forgotten that no one will go to Heaven unless he is born again.

Churches are filled with happy-go-lucky Christians who want to celebrate their prosperity without a thought about how they got saved. What about others? Would I have been saved if no one had remembered?

2. Remembrance makes you walk in your calling.

And THOU SHALT REMEMBER that thou wast a bondman in the land of Egypt, and the LORD thy God redeemed thee: therefore I command thee this thing to day.

Deuteronomy 15:15

I remember that I got saved in secondary school. I was about fifteen years old when I found the Lord. The memory of how I found Christ stays with me. I feel so blessed and favoured to be chosen and saved. The memory of it guides me in my current ministry. I find myself preaching in schools and universities. I have great hope when I see young boys and girls walking forward to receive Jesus Christ. I remember that I too gave my heart to the Lord in school. Some people seem to remember nothing. Perhaps salvation means nothing to them.

Some men who were raised in orphanages remember how they were shown the love of God. Some of them have built orphanages and cared for other children because they remember everything. Others walk away and rewrite their history, deleting every memory of the orphanage.

The Memory of the Missionaries

The memory of what God has brought you through is supposed to guide your present-day ministry. When I see the cemeteries of white missionaries, I remember how they shed their blood on Ghanaian soil for the salvation of an entire nation. Then I think of other remote nations, which are waiting for similar missionaries to come.

"Will anyone go?" I ask myself. "Will an entire nation perish because there is no missionary?"

I remember the sacrifice of these Swiss missionaries with gratitude. It is because Ghanaian churches are led by pastors who have forgotten about how missionaries came to die in Ghana, that they do not send missionaries to other similarly deprived areas.

3. Remembrance keeps you humble.

When you remember where you came from, you always recognize that the grace of God has been at work. When you clearly remember where God picked you up from, you will not attribute your current success to any personal strengths or wisdom. Unfortunately, people tend to black out their past. They refer to no one and they seem to remember nothing bad or difficult from their background.

Listening to them, you get the impression that they are self-made. They do not mention their beginnings, their struggles or their failings. You almost get the impression that you are reading about superman when you read about them!

But Paul said that he took pleasure in his infirmities and distressing situations. Paul told us that he had been beaten and whipped by unbelievers. This does not sound like superman.

Talking plainly about things God has brought you through will only make you thankful and humble. It will save you from self-deception and unnecessary pride.

...Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

2 Corinthians 12:9, NASB

A man of remembrance stays humble through the memories of his different trials and sufferings. It is wiser to share these difficulties than to share your victories. I have noticed how the Lord has helped me to share my uselessness with others.

Sometimes I end my sermons on a note of weakness and defeat. I take pleasure in the weakness that is real so that the power of Christ will rest on me.

I have seen the dead raised in my ministry but I have also seen many people die after I prayed for them. There are times I think about the powerlessness and uselessness of my life and ministry. I am learning to choose this way so that the power of Christ will rest on me.

There is no need to protect an image that needs no protection. Be real! Remember the realities of your life. Share them and help yourself to be humble.

4. Remembrance makes you a grateful person.

The sin of ungratefulness is as the sin of forgetfulness. They are almost synonymous. Sadly, people forget how they have been loved. Because people forget exactly how they were helped, they are indifferent to the source of help.

Some parents virtually have to beg their children to remember them in their old age. Some pastors virtually have to beg their congregations to honour them for their labours.

This world has six billion, ungrateful and forgetful people! This is what creates the discontentment, conflict and wars. There are people we must be grateful to. God wants us to be thankful and grateful for all His blessings. We must be grateful for the channels that God uses. We must be grateful for their faithfulness with what God gave to them.

5. Remembrance makes you kind and helpful to others.

Remembrance is important because it is supposed to govern your current behaviour.

And thou shalt REMEMBER that thou wast a bondman in Egypt: and thou shalt observe and do these statutes.

Deuteronomy 16:12

The Israelites were supposed to remember their past and allow this memory to influence their current behaviour.

In the Scripture I just quoted, remembering their past state of being bondmen would propel them to obey the Lord and include the fatherless, widows and strangers in their feasts of rejoicing.

And thou shalt rejoice before the LORD thy God, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maidservant, and the Levite that is within thy gates, and the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that are among you, in the place which the LORD thy God hath chosen to place his name there.

And thou shalt REMEMBER that thou wast a bondman in Egypt: and thou shalt observe and do these statutes.

Deuteronomy 16:11-12

You Can't Stay Here

When you do not remember where you came from, you behave wrongly. One day, I noticed a lady who was constantly irritated by a stream of cousins, nieces and nephews who were living with her.

She did not want to have all these relations living in her house. She wanted her privacy. She wanted to enjoy her husband, her home and her children without interruption. But her husband insisted on having all these cousins, nieces, nephews and miscellaneous relations in the house.

The conflict that this situation was brewing brought the problem to my attention.

One day I asked my wife, "What type of home did this lady grow up in? Did she live with her Daddy, her Mummy and other brothers and sisters?" (You see, my wife knows everything).

My wife smiled and answered, "No, not at all, she didn't."

"So what kind of home did she grow up in?" I asked.

"Oh, she lived with her aunty for most of her early days. Her mother had travelled away for most of her childhood and she grew up living in other people's homes."

Then I thought to myself, "Has this lady forgotten that she was a guest and maybe a bother to someone for many years? Can she not accommodate relatives as she was once accommodated?" The problem is that people forget where they came from.

I remember that it was not easy to break out in ministry. I felt so intimidated by senior “big shot” ministers. They commanded crowds and crowds of people and seemed so powerful.

“How would my ministry ever be like this?” I wondered.

I Was Mocked

One afternoon, I met the pastor of a large church at a social function. He looked me up and down and said, “Pastor Dag.” When he addressed me as “Pastor”, I felt silly and withered under his mocking smile. You see, I had about twenty people in my church and he had thousands! I felt like an idiot. His voice reeked of contempt. I almost blurted out, "Are you mocking me?" I felt no help from this great man of God - only mockery.

When I began my church, I made several efforts to be accepted and to gain help. I went to see the pastor of a large church in my city. I had to travel to the upscale part of the city to see this pastor. He graciously received me and sat with me in his garden. I told him how I had begun a church. When he began to talk, however, I wished I had never gone there.

I Was Rejected

He said, “There are many young boys who are starting churches without attending Bible schools. They do not know what they are doing. They will all amount to nothing.” Every time I read the comment that Nabal made about David, I remember that day because the remarks Nabal made about David were very similar to what this man of God said to me.

And Nabal answered David's servants, and said, Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse? there be many servants now a days that break away every man from his master.

1 Samuel 25:10

Instead of helping me, he sent his associate pastor to organize a large crusade right where I had started the church. During the programme, they showed a documentary of this pastor's ministry and I felt foolish for even trying to begin a church. But I did not give up. I was still looking for recognition and help for my fledgling church. I invited another well-known pastor to minister in my baby church. This fellow had ministered in my fellowship many times.

Who Are the Thorns?

This time he told my assistant who was sent to invite him that he would not come. “Why not?” I asked.

My pastor was hesitant to answer my question. Finally, he did. He said, “The 'big minister' said, ‘I have stopped sowing amongst thorns’.”

“Thorns?” I asked. “Who are the thorns? When did we become thorns? He doesn't want to preach to us anymore?” I questioned.

“Yes,” the messenger answered. “He will not come to this new church and he has given the reason. He does not sow among thorns anymore.”

Nobody helped us when we were small. And I remember each encounter. That is why I try to help others in ministry. I love to encourage up and coming ministers and to tell them that they are going to make it. Nobody ever told me that. Even up till now, nobody tells me that I am going to make it. It is a great thing to be encouraged.

6. Remembrance makes you kind.

God told the Israelites to be kind to strangers just because they were once foreigners in Egypt.

You shall not oppress a stranger, since you yourselves know the feelings of a stranger, for you also were strangers in the land of Egypt.

Exodus 23:9, NASB

I remember how I suffered under the repression of some lecturers in medical school. Many lecturers had only threats and warnings for their students.

I thought to myself, "If I was ever a lecturer I would be kind to the students and help them to pass their exams."

One day, however, I was chatting with one of my classmates and he said, "When I become a lecturer I will ensure that students suffer as much as I did."

I was amazed at his declaration. Could he not see what he was going through? Would he not remember the anguish that he experienced in this place?

Unfortunately, wicked people do not remember their hardships. Many wicked people simply cannot remember what it was like to be on the other side. God warns us in His Word to remember how we felt and to help others who are in a similar situation.

Perhaps you come from a very poor background. God expects you to reach out and help such poor people because you know what it feels like to be poor!

by Dag Heward-Mills