#and now hes like how dare this girl kill raven she must die! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weirwoodking · 3 years

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I feel like that if Jon was a girl, she'd be hated so badly by the fandom for everything she was loved for as a male

Oh, yeah, of course. Jon (and the other male characters) gets away with feeling emotion in a way that none of the female characters do or would ever be able to do.

I was going to do this in a separate post, but your ask gave me the perfect opportunity to do it right here. I took the liberty of compiling a few Jon excerpts, and switched the name “Jon” to “Dany” and the male pronouns to female pronouns.

And then she heard the laughter, sharp and cruel as a whip, and the voice of Ser Alliser Thorne. "Not only a bastard, but a traitor's bastard," he was telling the men around him.

In the blink of an eye, Dany had vaulted onto the table, dagger in her hand. Pyp made a grab for her, but she wrenched her leg away, and then she was sprinting down the table and kicking the bowl from Ser Alliser's hand. Stew went flying everywhere, spattering the brothers. Thorne recoiled. People were shouting, but Dany did not hear them. She lunged at Ser Alliser's face with the dagger, slashing at those cold onyx eyes, but Sam threw himself between them and before Dany could get around him, Pyp was on her back clinging like a monkey, and Grenn was grabbing her arm while Toad wrenched the knife from her fingers.

—Jon VII, AGOT

Ser Alliser seized Dany by the arm.

Dany yanked away and grabbed the knight by the throat with such ferocity that she lifted him off the floor. She would have throttled him if the Eastwatch men had not pulled her off. Thorne staggered back, rubbing the marks Dany’s fingers had left on his neck. "You see for yourselves, brothers. The girl is a wildling."

—Jon IX, ASOS

In the end Halder and Horse had to pull her away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Dany, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"

No. Not enough. Never enough. Dany let her sword drop. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Emmett, are you hurt?”

Iron Emmett pulled his battered helm off. "Was there some part of yield you could not comprehend?" It was said amiably, though. Emmett was an amiable man, and he loved the song of swords. "Warrior defend me," he groaned, "now I know how Qhorin Halfhand must have felt."

That was too much. Dany wrenched free of her friends and retreated to the armory, alone. Her ears were still ringing from the blow Emmett had dealt her. She sat on the bench and buried her head in her hands. Why am I so angry? she asked herself, but it was a stupid question. Lady of Dragonstone. I could be the Lady of Dragonstone. My father's heir.

—Jon XII, ASOS

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though…do you see the candle, Gilly?”

She looked at the flame. “Yes.”

“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”

Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.

“Do it.” Kill the girl. “Now.”

Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.

“Down. Let it kiss you.”

Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.

“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”

“They’ll burn my babe, then. The red woman. If she can’t have Dalla’s, she’ll burn mine.”

“Your son has no king’s blood. Melisandre gains nothing by giving him to the fire. Stannis wants the free folk to fight for him, he will not burn an innocent without good cause. Your boy will be safe. I will find a wet nurse for him and he’ll be raised here at Castle Black under my protection. He’ll learn to hunt and ride, to fight with sword and axe and bow. I’ll even see that he is taught to read and write.” Sam would like that. “And when he is old enough, he will learn the truth of who he is. He’ll be free to seek you out if that is what he wants.”

“You will make a crow of him.” She wiped at her tears with the back of a small pale hand. “I won’t. I won’t.”

Kill the girl, thought Dany. “You will. Else I promise you, the day that they burn Dalla’s boy, yours will die as well.”

“Die,” shrieked the Old Bear’s raven. “Die, die, die.”

The girl sat hunched and shrunken, staring at the candle flame, tears glistening in her eyes. Finally Dany said, “You have my leave to go. Do not speak of this, but see that you are ready to depart an hour before first light. My men will come for you.”

—Jon II, ADWD

“Lord Janos,” Dany said, “I will give you one last chance. Put down that spoon and get to the stables. I have had your horse saddled and bridled. It is a long, hard road to Greyguard.”

“Then you had best be on your way, girl.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you.”

“You are refusing to obey my order?”

“You can stick your order up your arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering.

Alliser Thorne smiled a thin smile, his black eyes fixed on Dany. At another table, Godry the Giantslayer began to laugh.

“As you will.” Dany nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—”

—and confine him to an ice cell, she might have said. A day or ten cramped up inside the ice would leave him shivering and feverish and begging for release, Dany did not doubt. And the moment he is out, he and Thorne will begin to plot again.

—and tie him to his horse, she might have said.

If Slynt did not wish to go to Greyguard as its commander, he could go as its cook. It will only be a matter of time until he deserts, then. And how many others will he take with him?

“—and hang him,” Dany finished.

Janos Slynt’s face went as white as milk. The spoon slipped from his fingers. Edd and Emmett crossed the room, their footsteps ringing on the stone floor. Bowen Marsh’s mouth opened and closed though no words came out. Ser Alliser Thorne reached for his sword hilt. Go on, Dany thought. Dark Sister was slung across her back. Show your steel. Give me cause to do the same.

[...]

“If the girl thinks that she can frighten me, she is mistaken,” they heard Lord Janos said. “She would not dare to hang me. Janos Slynt has friends, important friends, you’ll see…” The wind whipped away the rest of his words.

This is wrong, Dany thought. “Stop.”

Emmett turned back, frowning. “My lady?”

“I will not hang him,” said Dany. “Bring him here.”

“Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out.

The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Dany said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Dark Sister.

By the time a suitable chopping block was found, Lord Janos had retreated into the winch cage, but Iron Emmett went in after him and dragged him out. “No,” Slynt cried, as Emmett half-shoved and half-pulled him across the yard. “Unhand me…you cannot…when Tywin Lannister hears of this, you will all rue—”

Emmett kicked his legs out from under him. Dolorous Edd planted a foot on his back to keep him on his knees as Emmett shoved the block beneath his head. “This will go easier if you stay still,” Daenerys promised him. “Move to avoid the cut, and you will still die, but your dying will be uglier. Stretch out your neck, my lord.” The pale morning sunlight ran up and down her blade as Dany clasped the hilt of the sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” she said, expecting one last curse.

Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at her. “Please, my lady. Mercy. I’ll…I’ll go, I will, I…”

No, thought Dany. You closed that door. Dark Sister descended.

—Jon II, ADWD

And, of course, let’s not forget about this line:

"Well, he will not want it said that Stannis rode to the defense of the realm whilst King Tommen was playing with his toys. That would bring scorn down upon House Lannister."

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn."

—Jon II, ADWD

If these scenes had been Dany’s, she would have been called a power-crazed mad bitch who’s destined to be the villain of the series. And... people still do that anyway, even though none of her scenes come close to these Jon ones. And no, this does not mean Jon is going to go mad, of course it doesn’t. I love these Jon scenes, and I think that his bursts of anger and emotion are valid and understandable. It just shows how men/boys are allowed to act in ways that would never be possible for women/girls to behave without massive, massive misogynistic interpretations and critique.

#i hope y’all appreciate this it took me so long #also mmmm the imagery of dany having dark sister is really tasty #ask #anon #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #jon snow #daenerys stormborn #fandom misogyny #misogny #fandumb

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btsinwonderland · 3 years

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A Drop of Poison - Ch. 1: The Beginning

A Loki fanfiction!

Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

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

It’s your third week back in school and you're slumped over a tower of textbooks as some kind of makeshift pillow. Your head rests on the 394th page of “The Dream Oracle” where you’ve begun to drool. You raise a hand to wipe it away, which takes up nearly as much energy as trying to stay awake.

It was cold in the dark.

Chills ran up your arms, from your fingertips to your neck as you floated through the darkness. It was frightening the first few times you dreamt of it but now it was familiar. The cavern formed slowly as your eyes adjusted to the minimal light emitted by a fire below you. Small sticks and papers created a meager flame which reflected off the black pool of water you looked into. You always wondered who made the fire, but there was never anyone there.

In the centre of the cavern was a small lake, its ripples moved like serpents. On queue, your body flew over to the middle of the lake and dove in. You swam - more like sunk - to the bottom. It may have enveloped you in utter darkness, but you saw the glow. The bluish light of the object drew you in like a moth to a flame and you reached out for it. Once again, you were thrown out of the lake just as you were about to touch it.

You looked around at the empty cavern and noticed the shadows moving. This was new. Usually, you woke up as soon as the lake threw you out.

Near the shore, by a dangerous jut of rock, there was a man. He was tall, with raven black hair and a proud nose. His expression was one of wonder and fear. There was a green light that emerged from his hands and he waved this light in front of him and beside him, almost erratically, as if he was warning someone - or something - to stay away.

“Don’t come near me!” he shouted. It echoed through the cavern.

You came closer and recoiled at what he was speaking to. Every dark shadow was, in fact, a body. The green light that the man emitted showed their decaying, pale faces. These bodies moved towards him. Not a sound, but each expression was contorted painfully. Their bony hands reached out to him, and he threw a green ball of fire at them. Some flew backwards into the lake, but there were so many.

They surrounded him. You saw him put up the fight of his life, and yet they came closer still. Until he had nowhere to run. You reached out to try to help him, but your body was already being pulled away. The last thing you heard was him scream your name, “Freya!”

Hands slapped onto the desk, and your head bounced on the pages.

“My god, have you been sleeping here this whole time?” An annoyingly familiar voice said. “You wouldn’t believe it! They’re finally getting a replacement for Professor Rattowl.”

It took several seconds for you to remember where you were. You lifted your head and look into a pair of inquisitive brown eyes and an aloof expression.

Her hair was braided on the sides and drawn into a high ponytail. Her robes were wrinkled as usual. “Valkyrie, how did you find me in the Hufflepuff common room? I specifically told Thomas to throw you off.” Your voice was thick with sleep.

Valkyrie snorted. “Thomas is a fool for a flirty conversation. You’d think that boy had never had a wank before…”

The memory of the dream hit you, and your heart sank. “Valkyrie, I saw something.”

She glanced at you and then to the wall of the hallway. A long shadow approached swiftly. “Oh shit, the prefect!”

“Quick! Hide!” You said to Valkyrie, pointing her to the coat closet.

A gleaming head of blonde hair turned around the corner and walked towards you. His eyebrows were raised, and he adjusted his rectangular glasses, glaring at you. You tried not to look guilty.

“Eves, what are you doing? This is a quiet area, and I heard voices.” he walked around your desk, looking around suspiciously.

“I must have fallen asleep. I had a poor sleep last night so…”

“Hmmm,” he said, walking near the coat closet.

You held your breath as he reached for the brass door handle. “You know we don’t allow any other houses in our quarters, Eves.”

“Of course.”

He turned to you, reaching away from the handle. “Then you also should know we don’t condone dirtying the sacred pages of our texts,” he said, gesturing at your books with a frown. “Clean this up and head to the Great Hall. Headmistress Frigga has announcements to make.”

He left, adjusting his glasses again but with his shoulders straightened out as if he had done a good job. You wondered if he would pat himself in the back afterwards.

Valkyrie all but crashed out of the closet and mocked Gerald. “Sacred texts! What a prat.”

You chuckled as she took a chair beside you. “Sacred or not, this damned thing cost me twenty galleons!” You wiped the drool away with the sleeve of your robe. The inside was a warm yellow. You glanced at Valkyrie. “How do you keep sneaking into our common room?”

She winked at you with a mischievous smile. “I have my ways, my sweet innocent Hufflepuff darling,” she said, reaching out and patting you on the head. “I wouldn’t dare want to corrupt your purity with treasonous talk.”

You punched her in the arm. “You are a jock in the land of intellectuals,” you said with a smirk, glancing at her red and gold tie.

She linked her arm through yours and dragged you away from the desk. “Alright alright, miss intellectual, now that you’ve stopped drooling, let’s go eat.”

***

The great hall was washed in the warm light of the candles that hung beautifully in the air above you. It was a sight that had never ceased to amaze you, no matter how many times you saw it. The flames flickered in a soft dance. You followed the path of candles over to the head table where all your professors sat.

Professor Odinson was there, with his chiseled youthful face that made all the ladies, Valkyrie in particular, swoon. He was a handsome man, though he did not occupy your thoughts as often as he did for others. Beside him was Professor Sif, laughing humorously at something Professor Odinson said. Then there was Professor Fandral nodding and smiling at Professor Hogun - whom you guessed was discussing the riveting growth cycles of the mandrake.

Headmistress Frigga was in the middle, in her silvery blue robes with sequins sewn into intricate patterns. Her aura was one of a Queen, with a gentle and kind face. On her one side there was an empty seat and on the other side was Heimdall, the divination professor, with whom she was in a deep discussion with. His sunset coloured eyes drifted around the room before settling on you. He always knew. You smiled back and waved at him. He nodded, though his expression was strained, perhaps even troubled.

For a moment you wondered if he knew what you had dreamed. Heimdall was one of the greatest seers of your time, and you happened to be his favourite student. He already knew of your repetitive dreams regarding the cavern, but you needed to tell him about the strange development - and the mysterious man you saw. Most of the time your dreams were fuzzy, but you remembered his face with an aggressive lucidity. Blue eyes that reflected the green magic in his hands before they disappeared into darkness remained on your mind. You took a deep breath and pushed it away.

“Did they already do the first years?” You said aloud to your table.

Mo, a fellow seventh year Hufflepuff, nodded. “Yep, and I guessed about 25/30, not bad, eh?”

You smiled at him and turned around to Valkyrie, who was right behind you, seated at the Gryffindor table. She winked at you when delicious food marvellously populated the table and you all tucked in. She filled her plate and then roughly rocked Mo to the side and sat down beside you.

“What were you saying about Rattowl?” You said, biting into a chicken hand pie. The rich flavour of creamy peas and carrots filled your mouth, and you reveled in it for a brief moment.

Valkyrie had half a mouthful of sausage and chewed loudly. “Well, it’s been what? A month since he croaked?”

A Hufflpuff girl across from you both, Nila, balked at Valkyrie. “How can you say that? He was...killed.” She could barely say the last word.

Valkyrie gave her a look. “What? It don’t make no difference, does it?”

Nila huffed indignantly. Mo interjected. “Well, it’s not every day a professor disappears for three weeks, only to be found ripped apart in the Forbidden Forest.”

You all wrinkled your noses in a few seconds of awkward silence. He was right. It was a bizarre and terrible thing to have happened. You had no love for Professor Rattowl. He was a cranky old man with awful manners, but he did not deserve such a fate.

Valkyrie said, “Well I heard that the Headmistress’s son is going to be the new potions teacher.”

You raised your brows. “Professor Odinson has a brother?”

Valkyrie’s eyes lit up at the mention of him. “If there are two Thor Odinson’s, then I will die this very moment.”

You, Mo, and Nila rolled your eyes at her when the doors crashed open in an echoing sound. All the chatter in the Great Hall was silenced when a lean and tall figure in a black cloak strolled into the room. His languid pace revealed a streak of arrogance - or confidence - as he walked down the hall, towards the head table. He walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and slowly removed his hood.

You audibly gasped when you saw the raven haired man with his high cheekbones and proud nose. His blue eyes snapped towards you, and you felt your face heat up in seconds. He kept his eyes on you briefly before looking back at the head table. You breathed again once he was well past you.

Valkyrie looked at you questioningly. She whispered, “what’s going on?”

You could not take your eyes off of him and whispered back, “later.”

Everybody at the table rose, and Headmistress Frigga spoke with her wand pointed at her neck. “We will never forget our dear Professor Hubert Rattowl and the legacy he leaves here. The tragedy of his passing will remain a bitter memory in the long colourful history of Hogwarts. It has been a terrible time trying to fill this role, and our surprise guest has been gracious enough to accept our invitation. Professor Loki Laufeyson’s entrance may give you a taste into his exciting curriculum as the new Potions Master.” She gave him a warm smile.

He walked over to his seat and placed his hands on the table to look out at the students. There was something both inviting and dangerous about him. You could not look away.

He smiled widely and raised his hands. “Your potions saviour is here!”

The students clapped and eventually broke into applause. The Slytherin table was particularly ecstatic. There was no mistaking what house he belonged to. He looked at every table with a wide grin, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. They rested on you and your heart stopped. They flickered away, and he moved on before sitting down as the Headmistress continued her announcements.

Your hands were still clasped together in mid clap as you looked at the same man that was in your dream. His screams echoed in your mind and you wondered if this was all a nightmare. Regardless, it was going to be an interesting semester.

#loki #loki x reader #loki fics #loki (marvel)#loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki series #mcu loki #loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #hogwarts au #thor odinson #valkyrie #Professor Loki #loki moodboard #loki of hogwarts #norse mythology

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behindheremeraldeyes · 3 years

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damirae week 2021 tuesday, May 4th - enemies to lovers & dark fantasy/ fairytale

title: bewitched

summary: “There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall. " Ao3 // ffnet

It is a moonless night when the most powerful members of the League of Assassins are gathered in the catacombs of the sacred city of Eth Alth’eban. There are at least 20 men wearing dark-green hoods to cover their faces, each holding a lit candle in order to provide just the minimum luminosity for the ceremony that is about to take place. Their leader, Damian Al’Ghul, stands straight as he holds his powerful countenance, his emerald eyes never leaving the deteriorated book in his hands. A conjuring circle has been drawn with the ancient sand of the white desert, and at this moment, all the preparations have been concluded.

At last, the time has come. After spending years studying the dark arts and reading countless manuscripts on the matter, Damian is finally ready to take the next step towards a prosperous future. He is about to do what his predecessors never had the guts to, and with this action, a new era for the League is about to begin. He will make his grandfather proud by rewriting the history of their organization. He will be respected and his name, finally, immortalized.

“From hell, I, Damian Al’Ghul summon thou. Break the gates, unleash thy power and come forward. Step into this world now that the shadows cover this land. Be mine, demon, and my heart shall be yours for eternity.” He closes the book, handling it to one of the servants standing next to him. His hand reaches for the dagger in his belt, and in a fraction of a second, he tears the skin of his right hand. Red blood oozes from the sash and he lets it drip over the circle, tinging the white sand into a bright crimson. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos.”

The last words come as a whisper and a profound silence envelops the room. A couple of seconds pass, and though he can practically touch the thick anxiety of his subordinates around him, there’s no room for hesitation in his core. His pulse suddenly increases and it’s as if he can feel his heart constricting inside his ribcage. It’s not painful, not in the least. In fact, it gives him a feeling of fulfillment, and as he embraces this feeling, the ground beneath his feet starts to shake.

A dust of wind invades the catacombs, the lights of a few candles fading in consequence. Suddenly, an ominous fog swirls inside the circle, delicate at first, but quickly escalating into a dark vortex. Breathing gets harder, as if all the oxygen is quickly vanishing, and from the corner of his eyes, he can see some of the elder man falling on their knees, holding their throats and gasping for air. He doesn’t move, though. He can’t, for his feet are suddenly too heavy and something tells him he shouldn’t move a single muscle.

So he doesn’t. He stands his ground for what feels like an eternity, but eventually, the turmoil ceases and a dark sphere appears over the circle, floating steadily. His ears capture the sound of his men recovering, and some even take a step closer to him, as if to offer their prince some support. They have their blades ready, but Damian knows they won’t do anything unless he commands them to. There’s no need for violence. At least not yet.

After almost a full minute, the orb then dissolves and a small figure is now kneeled on the floor, the runes of the circle now shinning with a purple aura. His men are left in pure awe at the scene in front of them, but Damian doesn’t let those feelings take over him. His eyes are slowly studying the figure, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize the demon he has summoned has a human form— the form of a woman, apparently.

Her head is lowered, dark hair falling forward. She’s naked, her bare skin pale as the finest porcelain and slim curves outlining her figure. Her arms are wrapped across her chest in a protective way, and he is quick to notice the way she’s shivering. She’s cold, he thinks. It’s mid winter here, and perhaps, she must still be used to the warmer temperatures of hell.

“Bring me a source of fire. Now.” He orders, and his subordinates don’t question, quickly lighting a brazier. In a swift move, then, Damian unbuttons the cape that falls over his shoulders and wraps it around her. He’s crouched now, his feet invading the circle and his face just a few inches away from hers. When he reaches out for her now covered shoulder, she trembles under his touch. His eyes squint a bit, and slowly, he watches as she finally lifts her face.

Their eyes are connected now. His emeralds and her amethyst clashing and he can’t find it in himself to look away. She’s enticing, seductive, even. Her eyes are as deep as autumn’s starry skies, and her rosy lips are slowly parting as she studies his expression. There’s a red crystal on her forehead, and it’s as if flames are dancing inside of it.

Damian is mesmerized by her ethereal beauty. She’s probably the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, and for a moment, her pure looks make him forget that she is, in fact, a demon. A demon he has summoned to help him achieve his goals.

Once realization strikes him back, he blinks and breaks eye contact. He stands up, his imposing figure now towering over her body as he reaches out, offering his hand to help her stand. At first, her eyes are just staring at him, but eventually, she accepts his gesture and he can properly feel her icy touch clashing against his warm skin. Though her legs are still shaky, she manages to stand up, and as expected, she’s smaller than him. She lets go of his hand once she’s confident enough to stand alone, and though her eyes were only filled with confusion until this point, now, he can see a new flame behind her irises.

She’s examining her surroundings now, and he wonders if she’s either planning a way to escape or to kill all of them— for their sake, he hopes it’s not the latter. The demoness takes a deep breath, then, and her attention returns to him.

“So you’re the one who’s summoned me.” Her voice is low, almost velvety, and he senses an inch of growing confidence in it.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You will help me achieve my goals.” His eyes are determined as those words roll out of his tongue, and that determination evokes a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, is that so? How can you be so sure of that? Tell me what’s stopping me from killing you and all of your men?”

The lack of hesitation in her voice causes a turmoil in his men, and they were quick to unsheathe their blades. Rage fills their hearts, and their blood-thirst is almost palpable now.

“Just say the word, your majesty.” One of them says, and it’s clear that they only need the minimum approval from Damian to slit her throat.

“Is this your pathetic excuse for backup?” She huffs, not bothering to spare them a single glance. They’re growing more irritated, but she pays them no mind. ”I see why you needed a demon, then.”

“You devil creature! How dare yo— “

“Enough.” He says, firmly, with a reprimanding tone towards his men. If anything, he won’t let them fall for her tricky games so easily. He’s glaring at her now, yet she doesn’t seem intimidated by him in the least. “If you wanted us dead, you would’ve done it by now.”

“Very astute, your majesty.” She mocks, finally turning her amethyst orbs to his men. “At ease, gentlemen. No one needs to die here tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to speak alone with you, Damian Al’Ghul.”

“Very well.” He turns to his men. “You can leave now.”

“What?! Master Damian, we shouldn’t have done this. We can just kill her and get back to the way we were before. We can—“

“Don’t you dare finish this sentence, sergeant.” He speaks, harshly. “I forbid you or anyone else in this facility to bring her any harm. Have I made myself clear?” There’s a screaming silence after his words, but eventually, his men bow their heads in acceptance. Hands are clenched into tight fists, and at last, her smirk fades from her face. For that, Damian is thankful.

In less than a second, all the men surrounding them leave the room. The light from the lit fire outlines their silhouettes as they now stand face to face. She’s still wrapped around his green and golden cape, and there’s a serious expression decorating her features now.

“So, Damian…” She starts, squinting her eyes in defiance. With her powers, the magic book he’s used to conjure the spells comes floating to her hands, and she’s quick to start flipping through its dusty pages. “You might be aware of this already, but you have used a pretty powerful grimoire to summon a demon like me. The mage who wrote this spells certainly knew what he was doing, for he’s found a way to turn the tables against us, evil creatures.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we can’t just fool you, humans, into doing whatever we want like we’ve been doing for the past centuries.” She smirks. “At least not so easily anymore. With the spells in this book, giving you my real name or stuff like that makes absolutely no difference.”

“And what is it? Your name, I mean.”

Her eyes stare at him for a while, and though she takes a couple of seconds to try and read him, eventually, she gives in. “Raven. You can call me Raven.”

“Raven.” He tests her name in his own voice, and unconsciously, he finds himself enjoying the way it rolls out of his tongue. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” She replies, finally closing the book with a loud noise. “Well, you’ve summoned me from the depths of hell, Damian. You don’t need to tell me your reasons for it, but please, do tell me, what is it that you want me to do? How can I serve you?”

He nods at her, and even if Damian knows better than to simply trust a demon, he believes she’s being genuine. Though there are still a lot of things he has yet to learn about dark magic, he knows that the book he’s used gives him the higher ground against her. There are taming spells there that can subdue her to his wills, and if anything, she’s not allowed to kill him. They’re bound together for as long as he wants to, and giving her his heart in exchange for that felt quite acceptable.

They’re each holding the strings of each other’s lives, and with that, he believes they will find balance.

“I want what all the humans in my position want, Raven. I want enough power to protect my man and the things we stand for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nothing more, huh?” Her brows quirk, and she takes a few steps closer to him. Her eyes are on his, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t spot a certain curiosity in her demeanor. “Don’t you want to rule the world, Damian? Don’t you want to be feared by nations and create your own empire?”

“No.” He says, promptly. “A true leader should not be feared, but respected.”

“How very honorable for a human.” She teases, finally returning the book to him. “But this is none of my business. I’m in no position to defy your wishes. I’m bound to consent if that’s what you want.”

She turns away from him, then, and he watches as his cape dances around her slim legs. She stretches her arms and neck, and that’s when he reminds himself that, even if she’s a creature from hell, Raven still has her own wishes and desires. They’ve made a contract, and even if the odds are in his favor, there must be something in it for her, too. He refuses to believe that a human heart is enough to pay for what could be a life of servitude.

The leader of the Assassins takes a deep breath, then, as he decides to venture unexplored territory. His intentions are noble— at least he thinks they are— and he doesn’t hesitate before speaking. “And what is it that you want, Raven?”

“Me?” She asks, curiosity lacing her voice. She turns to face him once more, and he catches a glimpse of interest in her amethyst eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking you what is it that you want. What will you get from helping me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asks, her tongue instinctively running across her lower lip. “I’ll be finally free, Damian.”

“Free?” He arcs his brows as he tries to understand her words. “Can you really be free while bounded to a human?”

“You humans have a very idealistic sense of freedom. We are bound together, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean you’re taking away my freedom. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.”

“How so?”

“You took me away from hell, Damian. And though it might not be the worst place for us, demons, it’s still pretty hard not to lose control when all of those suffering souls are screaming inside your head.” She smiles, weakly, but genuinely. “Now that I’m only connected to you, it’s easier to think straight. My mind isn’t crowded anymore, and that alone sets me free. If you are to put me in a cage for the rest of your life, so be it. At least I will some peace.”

His lips go agape after her words, and he feels his heart skipping a beat. Though he initially believed to know enough about demons due to his previous studies, Damian now knows that there’s a lot more about them he has yet to understand. They’re creatures with thoughts and emotions, and some of them might still carry some traces of humanity. Though malice and wickedness might prevail in their core, perhaps— just perhaps— some of them can come to comprehend feelings such as mercy and happiness.

Perhaps, together, they can eventually comprehend the meaning of love.

The heart inside his chest, though no longer his, beats faster as his eyes continue to stare at her. A sense of dignity and justice takes over him, and before he knows it, his hand is already placed over her shoulder. His touch is tender, and he watches as bewilderment spreads around her face. “You won’t be trapped in a cage, Raven. I want you to rule by my side, and we will stand together against whatever might come for us. I will give you anything you might desire. I will keep you safe.”

As his words sink in, a slow smile takes over her lips, and she uses her right hand to remove his from her shoulder. “A human protecting a demon… How amusing.” Her small fingers are now holding his, and he notices how foreign her touch feels. Still, she’s gentle. “Not trapping a demon in a cage, huh… You might regret this decision later, Damian.”

“I won’t.” He nods, his grip on her fingers tightening. “You will be free by my side. I give you my word.”

His promises come out almost as a whisper, and he watches as her expression, though still very strict, shows signs of excitement. Her amethyst eyes seem to shine brighter now, and her thin lips are slowly turning upwards. Right now, Damian is captivated by her genuine beauty and he can’t control the sudden desire to have her that has grown inside of him. Perhaps it’s part of the original contract or even a curse she’s putting on him. Whatever it is, he can’t find it in himself to fight against this urge.

Raven blinks one more time, and slowly, her hand slides from his and she’s now cupping his cheek. Her thumb slides across his olive skin, and he can’t help but allow the weight of his head to rest over her palm. Their eyes are connected and he can feel a soft breeze coming from her slightly parted lips. She’s incredibly close now. So close that if he leans in, his lips might brush hers. The thought of kissing her crosses his mind, and though it might seem too misplaced, it’s not completely absurd.

She’s the owner of his heart, after all. Though the meaning of it might not be the same for her, he is still human. He is still a man.

“Raven, I—“

“Shh…” She silences him, her eyes now only half opened. “Don’t say anything you might regret later.”

“I— “

Before he can even finish his words, Raven is the one who closes the gap between them. Her lips are pressed firmly against his in a soft and chaste kiss, and his body is quick to respond to her action. His arm slowly snakes around her small body, bringing her closer so they can deepen the kiss. Damian can feel the curves of her bare breasts against his chest and he can feel his body warming up at her touch.

Their tongues brush softly against one another, and once he adds a little roughness to the kiss, he’s able to elicit a soft moan from the depths of her throat. She responds to him promptly, their lips moving in perfect synchrony. Though it might not be natural for two extremely different creatures to engage in such actions, the desire running through his veins seems to be controlling his movements, and he doesn’t think he has the strength to break free.

His mind is revolving around her right now, and though it might feel a little clouded, Damian doesn’t think he has ever felt more powerful or sane in his entire life. He can barely feel his own heart beating anymore, but the power that now courses through his body is making him feel incredibly alive.

What is she doing to him? He doesn’t know, not really. However, he doesn’t really care about it right now.

He’s entranced by her, and there’s no turning back anymore. At least not until his heart stops beating.

His need for air forces him to retreat momentarily, their foreheads resting against one another. His lungs are desperate for fresh air, and judging by the way her ribcage is moving fast, he assumes she’s just as needy.

“What have you done to me?” He asks, still breathless. The turmoil inside his body seems to be fading, and at last, he can think straight again.

“Nothing your heart didn’t wish for, Damian.” Raven answers, sliding her hand across his chest, until it’s placed over his heart. She can feel it beating against her palm, and he notices how focused she seems. There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall.

And the worst part is that he’s looking forward to it.

fin.

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a/n: day 2 and here we are! Ngl, I had this idea while watching a weird show and I’m pretty happy with the result. Both Raven and Damian are such amazing characters to play with, and I think it’s our duty as shippers to explore them and their love. Well, what did you think? Hope you’ve enjoyed it! Thank you for reading it, and see ya!

#damirae #damirae week 2021 #demonbirds #damian x raven #damian wayne & raven #mydamiraefics

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

Text

The Raven; Let Loose

Part 2 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of the Raven lore outlined in part 1. I believe I will have a few more parts coming out shortly, just to solidify the Raven and Jade lore—and, I suppose, to make up for the lack of events for previous milestones (600, 700, etc.).

Today, we have the Raven’s introduction to Night Raven College! It’s a bit longer than my usual works, so it will be censored under a cut. Please enjoy~

The raven stares into a full-length looking glass. Whoever stares back at them is practically a stranger.

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

A short girl with milky skin and long hair as dark as the night, swept over one shoulder, wears a perplexed expression. Their amber eyes appear even sharper than they typically are, no thanks to the smoky shadow that lines the outer corner of their lids. They are dressed in long, black robes edged with an intricate gold pattern--the interior of the robe is violet and dotted with gold.

“You look rather fetching in those coveted ceremonial robes!” chirps a jolly voice. It belongs to a man bearing a crow mask, a top hat, and a dark cape--leaning on a walking stick. He taps a talon under the raven’s chin.

“...Wanna stay home,” they mumble, tugging on their hood. The raven’s words are terse, clumsy, and unpracticed. They are too used to cawing and the sounds of bird speak.

“Excellent orating! Before you know it, you will be speaking human as well as you can write it!” The man in the crow mask declares.

“But...feels weird, Mister Dire.”

“No, no! I’ve told you before, have I not? Refer to me as your dear old Uncle Crowley!” he insists, waving a hand. “And you are...?”

“Erm...Raven. Raven Crowley,” they mutter, wanting to vanish into their hood. The have practiced the line so many times, but it still does not feel natural rolling off of their tongue. “Uncle’s...niece.”

“Correct!” He gives them a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’ll do just fine at the ceremony, my little black bird.”

“Scary...” The raven shivers and pulls their robes tighter around themselves. “I...I don’t want to...”

“Nonsense! You cannot keep roosting in the attic forever, toiling over those accursed storybooks of yours. It would do you some good to socialize--and I shan’t have the little bird I have taken under my wing wasting their life away on quill and ink!” Crowley shakes his head. “The time has come to set this raven loose on NRC.”

The raven stares doubtfully at their reflection.

“Let me give you a piece of advice--because I am so very, very kind. Words have power--but so, too, do actions. You must put yourself out there if you wish to change the course of your story, curse be damned.”

“I’ll...I’ll try.” The raven does not believe their own words.

“Very well. I shall see you at the Mirror Chamber, then.” Crowley turns on his heel and makes his way to the door.

“A-Ah...! P-Please wait for me...” The raven cries out, stumbling after the headmaster on unsteady feet, the fabric of their robes billowing out behind them.

“Oh, my apologies--I neglected to mention that you will be making your way to the chambers without my guidance!” Crowley tosses a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “After all, cuckoos must be pushed out of the nest if they should ever wish to fly. Spread your wings, my little raven--and enjoy your new school life!”

He gives a firm tap on the ground with his walking stick--and he vanishes in...a flash of light.

The raven’s stomach sinks, as though they have swallowed stones for breakfast. Vanishing in a flash of light--that would be their own fate if they did not tread carefully.

They sigh, shoving such ominous thoughts into the back of their mind. First thing’s first: make it to the ceremony in one piece, or else they shall never hear the end of it.

The raven throws open a window, then climbs onto the sill, hoisting themselves up and out. (Why did Crowley use the door? Windows are much more efficient for birds.) They tumble into the bushes.

The bird pops their head out and squints into the sunlight. By the Great Seven, the campus is positively teeming with students, all dressed in the same robes as them. The raven shudders at the thought of approaching any of them for directions.

They tuck their head into the bushes and begin to crawl, covered by the foliage. Unfortunately, the raven does not make it long before their path is blocked.

“Ohoh? What do we have here?”

The raven freezes--for young man with a blonde bob cut and emerald eyes has materialized before them.

“Bonjour--a bit early for a game of cache-cache, is it not?” He’s grinning, taking in the sight of a small bird curled up on the ground. “Ah, but more importantly, what is a lovely mademoiselle such as yourself doing in this den of lions?”

“...What?” The raven quirks an eyebrow at him. They have never heard such...strange, flowery phrases before.

“Ah, excuse moi!” His hands go up in the air. “You must be rather lost and confused, mademoiselle. Perhaps I may be of assistance?”

“N-No...I am okay...!” The raven insists, scrambling to their feet--their extensive vocabulary fails to make itself known in its trembling voice. Human language is...so difficult!

“...Mademoiselle.” The stranger’s eyes narrow, but the easygoing smile remains upon his lips. “That cadence with which you speak—it is reminiscent of the language of birds. Are you, perhaps, an animal given human form?”

Her flabbergasted expression confirms his suspicions. The young man breaks out into boisterous laughter and clapping.

“Fascinante~ I have a vested interest in wild life, you see!” he explains, circling the raven like a shark in the water. “I would like to observe more and more of you!”

“U-Um...I...I need to go...!”

But he has grabbed her arms by the elbows, roughly maneuvering them up and down. Her limbs flop around carelessly.

“Where are your wings, mon petit oiseau?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Surely you must be capable of advanced transformation magic in order to maintain your human form? Are you able to fly as you currently are? Will you not give me a demonstration?”

The barrage of questions, coupled with being grabbed, sets the bird into a panic.

“S-Stay awaaaaay!!” The raven screeches, wildly thrashing.

They manage to land a hit on the young man’s face, sending him stumbling backwards. The raven sprints as fast as her little legs can carry her, not caring who witnesses it.

“Mon petit oiseau!! Please return to me--I must witness it...! The beauty of your flight!” comes his pleading voice behind them, growing ever louder.

The raven dares to sneak a peak over their shoulder--and screams even louder. He’s dashing right after them at a breakneck pace, closing the distance little by little. His hood has flown off in all of the rush, his golden hair whipping across his face. Perhaps he would have been a prince in some fairy tale, if his eyes were not so feral and pulsating with perverted curiosity.

This is it, this is how I will die.

The raven wills itself to run faster--

--crashing straight into another student.

The raven feels themselves falling back, expecting the harshness of the ground, but instead, they are caught and righted at once.

“Oya, oya. Please, do mind where you are going, miss.”

This student, too, is wearing the ceremonial robes. Oh, and how tall he is. Skin like sea glass, wistful lips, and a handsome face framed by teal hair and a black lock--but his standout feature are his heterochromatic eyes, one verdant green and the other a deep gold, edged in violet makeup.

“Pretty...” the raven remarks, their voice trailing off.

“Pardon?” he quirks an eyebrow at the remark.

“Eyes.”

“Ah. I see--”

“Mon petit oiseau!”

Oh no.

“P-Please help...!” The raven squeaks, ducking behind the tall student. They jab an accusatory finger at the fast-approaching blonde. “H-He is...he is scary!!”

The student regards them with the tilt of the head. “...I understand. Please, leave this to me.”

“Bonjour, Monsieur Mastermind...!” the blonde greets, having finally caught up. “The little bird you are guarding--kindly relinquish her to me, if you please!”

“Bird? Why, I do believe you are mistaken, Rook-san. She is a human through and through--a human that just so happens to be skilled in Animal Languages.”

“What?” The blonde--Rook?--frowns slightly. “Mon dieu, a human?”

“It is quite rude of you to make assumptions. See to it that you do not repeat such a careless mistake,” the tall student suggests. He smiles, but his tone has a bite to it. “You would not want Vil-san to learn of such a blunder, yes?”

“Ohoh. A fair point, Monsieur Mastermind. Cunning as always, I see.” Rook gives a light laugh and throws his hood up again, casting a shadow upon his face. “Very well, very well, I shall relent for today--my queen is expecting me.”

“I will see you at the ceremony, then?”

“Oui. Give Monsieur Kills for Thrills and Roi de Fort my regards~ And apologies for the trouble, mademoiselle!” Rook waves and disappears into a crowd of robed young men.

At last, the raven can breathe a sigh of relief. “Th-Thank you...erm. Mon...sure Mastermind?”

“Rook-san has a penchant for nicknames.” He chuckles into his hand. “I am Jade--Jade Leech. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, miss...?”

He glances at them expectantly, with those pretty eyes of his.

“U-Um...Uncle said...to wait until the ceremony for giving names.”

Jade’s eyes shift slightly as he takes in this new information.

“Ah, you must be the unusual student the headmaster warned us of. I presume you must have been on your way to the Mirror Chamber before Rook-san gave chase.”

“Y-Yes. Erm...but I do not know where to go.”

“Fufufu. It just so happens that I am on my way to the Mirror Chamber now. The opening ceremony is to start shortly.” Jade raises a hand, gesturing to the students around them. “All you need do is follow the others, like a school of fish in the ocean. However, if you are still feeling unsafe after your encounter with...Rook-san, I would be more than happy to escort you.”

“I-Is that...really okay?”

“It is no trouble at all.” He offers his hand and a reassuring smile. “It is only natural to lend aid to those in need, yes?”

And the raven, mesmerized by his eyes, accepts his hand--and they merge with the sea of robed students milling to the Mirror Chamber. Standing at the entrance is the headmaster himself, ushering young men in.

Crowley catches the raven’s gaze and beams--though his expression falls just as quickly once he registers who it is that towers over his niece. Jade notices, and releases the raven’s hand.

“...Jade Leech-kun.”

“Headmaster. Good day to you,” he greets with a small bow.

“Hmm.” Crowley’s beady yellow eyes stare right into Jade. “Thank you for delivering her to me. Now then--shoo. Join the remainder of Octavinelle.”

“As you wish.” Jade gives a small, polite wave before he heads inside.

The raven waves back shyly. Crowley tsks and whisks them away behind his feathered cloak. He mutters something under his breath about being too kind.

Within the Mirror Chamber, a certain octopus scolds Jade.

“Where have you been? It’s not like you to be nearly tardy.” Azul frowns, hands planted on his hips.

“Ehehehe~ Even I made it here before Jade today,” Floyd laughs, gnashing his teeth.

“My apologies. I was preoccupied with...networking,” Jade says with a slight bow.

“Well, it had better have been worth it,” Azul mutters under his breath. “We’ll need to be in the headmaster’s good graces if we wish to expand the Mostro Lou—“

“Ah-HEM! If I may have your attention please, everyone,” Crowley calls from the front of the Mirror Chamber.

Azul immediately snaps in attention—and Jade follows his gaze. Floyd, meanwhile, groans and rolls his eyes. Lame old crow.

“We have a special little guest joining us at Night Raven College starting this year! They are quite far from our usual demographic, so I ask that you be so very, very kind to them.” Crowley nods to the hooded figure hiding behind him. “Go on, then. Introduce yourself, my dear!”

He steps aside, exposing them to thousands of pairs of eyes. The raven shrinks back. Crowley sighs and gives them a slight nudge forward.

“A-Ah...u-um...I am...R-Raven. Raven Crowley. Uncle’s niece. P-Please...take good care of me.”

Murmurs fill the room. Some students are expressing shock that the headmaster even has relatives, others are questioning the enrollment of a female student at an all-boys school.

“Oya?” A chuckle escapes from Jade’s lips. He leans over and whispers to his dorm leader. “Azul, that is the one.”

“Is that so? Mm, this is highly unusual,” Azul notes, tucking a hand under his chin. “But...if she is related to Crowley-sensei, it would behoove us to charm her. She can put in a good word to the headmaster for Octavinelle.”

“Yes, she will be of great use to us in the future,” Jade agrees, his smile twisting into something...demented, jagged teeth on full display. “Then, shall I do the honors?”

“You really do think of everything, Jade. By all means, be my guest. See to it that the little bird is...fond of us, of you. Either works.”

“Fufufu. But of course--I live to serve.”

“Well, I’m bored and hungry” Floyd complains, interrupting the two. He slings his arms around his brother and Azul. “Let’s grab some grub after this booooring ceremony...!”

#Floyd Leech #Dire Crowley #Azul Ashengrotto #Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #twst #Raven Crowley #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Raven #SOMEONE PLEASE REMIND ME AGAIN WHY I LIKE SUCH A SLIMY EEL #Tale of the Cursed Raven

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sassybirdmanandhisangstywife · 3 years

Text

Well would you look at that, I’ve crawled back onto this page with another chapter. At least this one’s longer, and in my opinion written better than it’s predecessors. That would be due to me writing my original series, the only reason this chapter took so long. But that’s not what you’re here for. You’re here for the fic

So enjoy Diaval’s crisis ;)

Chapter 5

I hate it when I’m right

Flying across the barren land of Percefrost, I scrambled to come up with a plan. Not that I had much to plan, as I was heading to the castle without any information, but I should at least have an idea of what to do if the usual happens. The usual being a phenomenal failure of whatever the original plan was, and having to resort to a hastily put together backup plan. I shook my head. How have Mistress and I survived for this long? I really haven’t the slightest idea, but I hoped we could continue to have such good luck. Otherwise it’s down to the backup plan. Right, that’s what I was doing. A backup plan, hm......

My tired wings nearly caused me to fall to the ground as I approached Stephan’s old castle. I haven’t been sent to spy on the humans since Aurora was barely older than a hatchling, and I’d forgotten how long the journey is. Especially when you’re quite an old raven. But I had to persevere, and eventually I made it to one of the castle roof’s many holes (it is so fun when it rains in here). This one was situated right over the throne room. I figured that if anything significant was happening, this would be the place where it went down. I flew (well, fell really, as I said it took an enormous amount of energy that I didn’t exactly have to even arrive here) into the roof’s crack. Once I was inside, I quickly landed on the nearest beam. Breathing heavily (NOT panting, once again I am not a bloody mutt), I took a minute to recharge before looking around the large room. What I saw shocked me far more than I could’ve imagined.

Mistress was in chains, not iron otherwise she would be dead already, limp and possibly unconscious. Various cuts and bruises lay all across her limp form, blood actively dripping down more than a few of them. Her horns were scraped, and her wings, ones that were just returned to her, were bloody and twisted, chunks of feathers ripped out all over them both. I can’t even imagine the kind of pain Mistress must be in, emotionally as well as physically. Mistress lay in front of Stephan’s throne. I would say old throne, but that isn’t quite accurate. The bastard was ALIVE. How the fuck does a puny human like him survive a multi-story fall? He may look worse for wear, that being an understatement, but still, it’s just inconsiderate. The king had a positively insane smile on his face, and was shaking from what I assumed to be some kind of twisted joy. He was towering over Mistress,and decided that this was the moment to kick her harshly in her core with an iron boot. Mistress screamed, a shriek of pure agony, and I had to tear myself away from the horrible sight. As I turned my head, I heard a scream of “NO!” echo across the castle. I knew that voice far too well. That sound came from Aurora. My little girl. What have they done with her? I knew that scream was a reaction to Mistress’s pain, but I still saw red. Anyone who dared even touch my daughter without her permission would be annihilated by my hand. At least if I had my way. But for now, I had to hope that Aurora’s bloodline would keep her safe from the worst of Stephan’s fury. Mistress however, was in a far more grave situation.

Stephan then spoke. Or rather, screamed with more volume than an injured human should possess.

“RELASE MY DAUGHTER’S MIND YOU WITCH”

Mistress looked up, and from my vantage point, I could see the bruises and cuts that littered her beautiful face. Choking on my shock, I grew queasy. Mistress was incredibly powerful, why couldn’t she defend herself from a few humans? Powerful humans with far too much iron albeit, but still, just humans. And they had Aurora as well!? Could this get any worse?

Mistress smiled up at Stephan, a tired smile, one full of pain, but more real than anything else I was seeing. She spoke softly, but with a firm purpose.

“I have done nothing to Aurora Stephan. Why would I? She is my daughter aft-“

Mistress was horribly interrupted by a harsh kick to the jaw by Stephan’s iron covered boot.

“SHE IS MY DAUGHTER! MINE, NOT YOURS, AND SHE ALWAYS WILL BE!”

Mistress gave a harsh, cold laugh, one that ended in a painful, bloody coughing fit.

“You gave up that privilege when you sent her away, all those years ago. Aurora grew up without you to guide her, so she turned to those who truly cared. Myself and D-“ she paused, and in that moment, her eyes widened. “......And the fairies.” She finished. I knew Mistress well enough to notice her mistake, but unfortunately, so did Stephan.

“YOU DID NOT MEAN TO SAY THAT!” Stephan screamed, his face turning redder than the dried blood on his face. “WHO ELSE HAS CORRUPTED HER MIND!?!? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE MALEFICENT?!??”

“I have merely raised Aurora to the best of my abilities, something you would have done if you truly wanted to be her father. But I know the truth. You only want that claim for the power it gives you, and so you can be the true corrupter, poisoning her innocent mind with your thoughts of evil. I won’t release Aurora, as I have nothing to release. If your broken mind refuses to understand and accept these truths, that problem does not fall to me to fix.”

Stephan whipped his body around, towards his magnificent throne, and grabbed it’s arms, harshly casting it aside in his fury. The throne crashed to the ground, shattering to bits with a deafening scream. Splinters dug themselves into Mistress’s pale skin, causing her to wince painfully.

“IF YOU REFUSE TO FREE MY DAUGHTER, I WILL FORCE YOUR MAGIC OUT OF HER. IN 9 DAYS TIME, I WILL KILL YOU IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE KINGDOM, SO ALL CAN VEIW THE MIGHTY MALEFICENT’S FAILURE TO SURVIVE. YOU MAY ONLY PREVENT THIS BY RELEASING MY DAUGHTER FROM YOUR POISONING GRIP.”

Oh no. Oh, oh no.

Maleficent barked out another laugh.

“Do you actually expect me to believe that? I know you far too well to truly think my life will be spared. If you are to kill me, so be it. But you will leave my people alone.”

“NEVER! ALL OF THE MOORS SHALL FALL AT MY HAND!”

“That will never happen. The creature who will replace me is far too quick witted to be defeated by you.”

Stephan laughed, in such a way that his insanity shone through like the sun rising on a new day.

“But I have conquered you, the great Maleficent. Are you actually suggesting that you have a superior? You are the one who’s mind is lost if you say that truthfully.”

Mistress smiled softly, showing....happiness? In this situation?? THIS is where she decides to openly show joy????? Despite her uncomfortable position, she spoke with all the confidence in the world.

“Yes. There is only one I would consider my equal, and he shall rule in my stead. Diaval will end you, as well as your pathetic followers King Stephan.” She spat that last part, but I barely registered it. Mistress thought of ME as an equal?!? And she wanted me, of all creatures, to rule all of The Moors? I knew she saw me as more than a servant, for that much was obvious, but an EQUAL!?!?

Just then, my star struck inner rambling came to a stop as Stephan began to speak once more.

“DIAVAL?!? WHO IS THIS CREATURE?!?” The ruined king spat back, before somewhat recovering his composure. “No matter, if I can destroy you, I can certainly take on this Diaval.” Stephan ran his fingers through his hair, matted by his own blood, and straightened his robes. “Now for you, Maleficent,” he smirked cruelly. “Enjoy your last days. Or rather, suffer though them like the beaten animal you are.”

Stephan swept his cloak around his injured form, and strode out of the throne room. I merely stood on my perch in shock.

This definitely got worse. Oh ravens it was so much worse.

Not only were Mistress and Aurora captured, Stephan was somehow ALIVE, about to kill Mistress, and I was expected to LEAD A KINGDOM?!? What am I going to do? How can I possibly fix a disaster of this volume?! I’m just a raven! I don’t have power or wealth, all I have is.......OH.

It was like a candle flickered on in my brain. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

I may not have power over people or land, and I might not have money, but I have an entire kingdom of- shit. Right. I have no way to reach those who would help, as Mistress’s thorn wall is as strong as ever, and she’s the only one who can tear it down. That means, barring the few creatures who can fly over it, including myself, there was no one coming.

I was alone. Utterly and completely alone. What was an insignificant raven like myself to do?

Just then, a glimmer of hope shone through this situation’s never ending darkness.

Stephan’s captain darted his eyes around fearfully, before slowly and cautiously walking toward Mistress. The other guards watched, expressionless as their helmets covered enough of their faces that it was impossible to tell what each was thinking.

The captain sank down on one knee, just ahead of Mistress, and stared at her with bronze eyes that showed emotions too numerous to count.

“Do- do you really think he can do it?” The captain asked with forbidden hope.

“Kill me? My dear captain I am more than too weak to stop him. It is only a matter of Stephan’s whims now.” Mistress said mockingly, resigned to her fate. Not that I would let that happen. If Mistress is to die, I’d give my life to protect her first. But then, the captain said something that pulled the breath away from both myself and my Mistress.

“No, not that. I do not wish for you to die Maleficent. What I mean is.....can the dragon man truly do it?? Can he beat Stephan? Can he....can he free us from this madness?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The humans hated Stephan as well?? And not just any humans, but Stephan’s own royal guard??

Unfortunately, my hopes were quickly shot down.

“Boaralta no!” A nearby gaurd hissed in fury. “Do not wish for the death of our great king! Long live King Stephan!”

The captain, or Boaralta apparently, shook his head roughly and stood up.

“Of course. The witch probably took over my brain. Long live King Stephan.” Boaralta said, solemnly walking back to his position. Although, a shred of my hope was brought back by the sympathetic glance the captain gave Mistress from the corner of his eyes.

Well, it wasn’t a common opinion, but at least someone who could help disagreed with the corrupt king, even if that someone was too afraid to truly speak his mind. It was still hope. Hope to save us all, hope that I, along with everyone else, desperately needed in this time of suffering beyond anything ever seen. I flew out of the castle and away from my Mistress and daughter with this hope, begging the skies and stars that such a small thing could win against such odds. For it had to, or all was lost. And I couldn’t accept that. I could never accept that there is nothing to be done except wait for Mistress to die, The Moors to fall, and my precious daughter to fall into the clutches of such an evil man. I am willing to give my life to avoid that if need be, for that fate is one that can never come to be. I couldn’t bear it.

The only question now is how I am to prevent such a terrible future on my own.

A minor problem of course.

#diaval #maleficent #aurora #Stephan #maleval #fanfiction #fanfic #oh god what have i done #i’m so sorry #I didn’t mean to do this #our poor bird

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ginmo · 4 years

Note

on brienne being ymb what could brienne steal from cersei

Power. Cersei’s true love is power. Jaime is viewed as the male version of herself, and she resents that she wasn’t born a man. She believes she has to use men to do the deeds she’d like to carry out on her own, to gain power in the patriarchy.

“I should have been born a man. I would have no need of any of you then. - TYRION, ACOK

Within the tower, the smoke from the torches irritated her eyes, but Cersei did not weep, no more than her father would have. I am the only true son he ever had. - CERSEI, AFFC

"Your turn," she told him afterward. "Pull his mane, I dare you." He never did. I should have had the sword, not him. - CERSEI, ADWD

And she depends on Jaime the most

“As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, ‘I want.’ I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead.” The things I do for love. “It was only by chance that Stark’s own men found the girl before me. If I had come on her first …” - JAIME, AFFC

Jaime, you’re my shining knight. You cannot abandon me when I need you most! He is stealing my son, sending me away … and unless you stop him, Father is going to force me to wed again! - JAIME, ASOS

Since she views them as the same, he is her sword, representing her warrior half that she was unable to be (until ASOS lmao which is why she starts getting angry). At one point, she gets irritated by Jaime rejecting her wishes, and she begins to think he’s just getting in the way. But then she realizes she needs him, not being able to trust the others. He will either save her or they die together.

Even in her exhausted, frightened state, the queen knew she dare not trust her fate to a court of sparrows. Nor could she count on Ser Kevan to intervene, after the words that had passed between them at their last meeting. It will have to be a trial by battle.

There is no other way. “Qyburn, for the love you bear me, I beg you, send a message for me. A raven if you can. A rider, if not. You must send to Riverrun, to my brother. Tell him what has happened, and write … write …”

“Yes, Your Grace?” She licked her lips, shivering. “Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.”

“As you command. ‘I love you’ thrice?”

“Thrice.” She had to reach him. “He will come. I know he will. He must. Jaime is my only hope.” - CERSEI, AFFC

But he burned her pleas for help and won’t be her champion because... he’ll be with Brienne, where ever the fuck that is (prayer circle for Quiet Isle), and has been for several weeks already. People believe the point of the prophecy is that it’s Cersei making it happen. This fits. Instead of loving Jaime for who he is while he started rediscovering his identity, Cersei pushed him away with her violent outbursts and nasty words, making it clear she was disgusted by his stump and who he was becoming. Therefore, when she sent her plea for help, he was like lmao no and then he ran off with Brienne to help her and Sansa instead. (The Sansa bit is a lie unless Brienne’s plan is to literally save him from LSH by having him help her find Sansa. Anyway, off topic haha).

I want to make it clear, though, that Brienne isn’t stealing Jaime. I know the prophecy says, “take all that you hold dear,” but that “take” is her sword, not Jaime as a person. He isn’t an object someone can take. Although, Cersei certainly views him as one, so she may perceive it as “take.”

There’s a misconception that Brienne changed Jaime, but that’s not what happened at all. After Jaime lost his swordhand he was essentially thrown into a path of self discovery.

And Jaime, losing a hand, losing the very thing he defined himself on is crucial to where I think I want to go with the character. And he questions what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost that.” - GRRM [x]

Brienne didn’t change him, and in the books she isn’t “driving his redemption arc.” (God don’t even get me started on that hot take). What she did do was convince him to keep on living and reminded him of the person he used to be. Like that’s kinda how life works... people inspire other people, but apparently in this fandom a female role model for a male character is problematic, and they aren’t allowed to fall in love lol. Anyway, all of that work came from Jaime himself, going back to who he truly is, for himself.

Crakehall. And me, that boy I was … when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys’s throat? That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead. - JAIME, ASOS

Jaime didn't start out evil--that he actually was a very idealistic young man who was disillusioned by life, and that there was always much more to his killing of Arys than just "evil." [x]

So Brienne’s isn’t “taking” Jaime, he just would rather give his help to her than to Cersei, because she treats him with respect, and he made an oath. He could have said, “I know I made an oath, but I trust you to see it through. I have one hand, so I’d be of no use.” One-handed Jaime went, not just for the oath, but to give his help. He didn’t bother to help Cersei. If he truly cared about Cersei’s fate, he would have desperately tried to help in some form, even if he couldn’t be her champion. Trying to save her life would have been first priority. But... he’s tired of her bs. This is partly how Cersei pushed him right into Brienne’s arms, creating the YMB herself.

And honestly? Cersei does love Jaime (but loves him to the extent a narcissist can love). This bit in the prophecy is interesting.

Anger flashed across the child’s face. “If she tries I will have my brother kill her.” -CERSEI, AFFC

People argue that since she’s causing the prophecy to happen, then this quote points to Dany or Sansa, because Jaime’s allegiance has shifted due to her actions. Ignoring how I find it absolutely ridiculous that GRRM would have it be literal beauty when beauty is a theme for Cersei (and readers) to learn a lesson from, and that it would be basic as hell that he would want the readers (and Cersei) to go back and forth over “who’s the fairest of them all” (subversive BatB/Snow White hybrid), I’m... still not denying that possibility. I do believe Dany and Sansa are good candidates.

HOWEVER, I feel the irony is sweeter if the reason why Jaime won’t kill the YMB is because Jaime is in love with the woman she’d want to have killed lol. I’m not even sure Cersei would connect the dots if Brienne is YMB (because of the quote I’ll be addressing down the page a bit).

What’s also telling that Cersei holds Jaime dear (because... male her and therefore her perceived path to power), is that her friend states she wants to marry Jaime. Her friend expressing that she wants to marry Jaime became a threat, because she had just learned about the YMB, which can imply that Jaime is very much connected to what she holds dear, and possibly connected to the YMB through romance and marriage. So, she pushes her down the well to eliminate one candidate for YMB.

Cersei had not had a friend she so enjoyed since Melara Hetherspoon, and Melara had turned out to be a greedy little schemer with ideas above her station. - CERSEI, AFFC

Then, years later,

“He took Raventree and accepted Lord Blackwood’s surrender,” said her uncle, “but on his way back to Riverrun he left his tail and went off with a woman.”

“A woman?” Cersei stared at him, uncomprehending. “What woman? Why? Where did they go?”

“No one knows. We’ve had no further word of him. The woman may have been the Evenstar’s daughter, Lady Brienne.”

Her. The queen remembered the Maid of Tarth, a huge, ugly, shambling thing who dressed in man’s mail. Jaime would never abandon me for such a creature. My raven never reached him, elsewise he would have come.- CERSEI, ADWD

Ah yes. So it begins.

#brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #jaime x brienne #for the subversive Batb/Snow White bit I meant to say that I DO think he might be doing that but not the striaght forward Who is Prettier #..#cersei lannister #ymb

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nalgenewhore · 4 years

Text

obliviate ~ masterlist

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She had long since run out of charcoal to mark the days she spent wasting away in her tower. Elide no longer craved the sun to slice through the barred window as now daybreak brought only the sounds of death and destruction.

The chains around her ankles, she had never gotten used to them. They were cold and heavy, weighing her to the far wall. She hadn’t set her eyes on the battle below as she wasn’t able to walk more than five feet in any direction.

Elide had felt the change, had known that Perranth would not be lost to the demons plaguing it when the castle became quiet. Quiet and empty, she felt it in her aching bones.

Then, when no one came to throw her a moldy heel of bread or a rotting root vegetable and no one came to change out the water in the bucket next to her, Elide had known that this was where she would die.

Forgotten and alone, chained to the tower of a crumbling castle. The walls, the walls, that she had pored over, taking whatever bit of burnt wood she could find to draw with. She drew ravens, with great big wings, soaring high over the mountains and forests. She drew the big, bright, moon that was her only companion when the hunger pains kept her awake at night. The moon was her companion on the nights that her love didn’t scale the walls to see her. It was her salvation.

Her dirty and ragged dress, hung in tatters off her skeletal frame. The rips showed that every bone on her sickly form stuck out harshly. She gathered every scrap of cloth she could, every grubby, flea-ridden blanket to cower in the corner, just waiting for Death to claim her.

It didn’t matter how many blankets she had, Elide’s weak body was still wracked with shivers so hard, she was left with bruising on her garishly pale skin that bloomed a deep purple. She had once loved the colour purple, but now it made her sick to her stomach.

The stench from the dead far below her wafted up into her tower and the smell had her vomiting whatever was left in her meager stomach. After there was nothing left at all, the bile burned her throat, already tender from screaming for somebody, anybody to help her.

After the first two days, after her voice was completely shattered, she realized that no one was ever coming to get her. When that reality settled in, for the first time in five years, she tugged at her chains. Elide tugged on the wall so hard, just hoping for a brick to come loose, that when a stone finally cracked, her nails were split down the middle and her hands were bloody and raw.

It took all her strength to slam it, over and over, on the shackles. She yanked and yanked at the bolts in the wall, sobbing through gritted teeth.

She just needed to be free, she just needed to break the chains, then, then she could open the door.

Her uncle’s most depraved act of cruelty had been to unlock the door keeping her from the stairs. He had laughed in her face the day he left the door unlocked. If only she could free herself, she could open the door and race downstairs, she could be free.

But she couldn’t free herself and the exertion of her waning strength cost her as she fell and blacked out, waking to a fresh wound that pounded on the back of her skull, her already matted and dirty hair now wet and sticky with her blood.

The moon was shining into her window when she awoke, only for a moment and she knew it had been three days since she was last conscious. Her head pounded and when she summoned every dredge of strength in her skeletal body to raise her hand to her head. Her fingers came away shaking and dripping red. Her ears caught the strained groans of men from the ground far below her, under her clothes, a clammy sweat broke out over her skin. She reached for the bucket, scooping out water in her cupped hands and drinking from it, the dirty liquid dripping down her chin. Elide attempted to rise to her knees, to stretch as far as she could for the kiss of the night breeze on her hot skin, but just as her arm reached out, the blackness swallowed her whole.

The second time she awoke, it was of the hunger that gnawed on her stomach, that begged of her to be sustained. Her head was stuffed with cotton, but she still heard the scuffling and squeaking of rodents. Elide sat up slowly, already gagging at what she would be forced to do. It was either this or die and though she cried silent tears at the humanity she had lost, Elide waited until the fat rodent crossed into her reachand she closed her eyes as she snatched for and mercifully snapped its neck.

It took every ounce of tenacity in her tired self to keep down the raw meat she had choked down, her stomach rolling and heaving until finally, she was granted that sweet oblivion once more.

After a week of the same, wakingand capturing any critter that approached her, the animals learned not to go near her and now she was out of options.

On the eighth day, a raven landed on the windowsill, its claws tapping on the iron bars. It crowed at her and flapped its wings. She could’ve sworn that a tendril of black smoke creep from him, slithering across the floor to her. She reached out to it. It was a mockery of what had once been said to her, the promise he had made to her as a child. He would see her free as a raven soaring above the mountains even if it killed him.

And now, he had died and she was close to it, she could taste past the blood on her tongue that she did not have longer.

Elide knew she had little time before she would fade into the Afterworld as she lifted her hands and saw the fine bones jaunting out at her, her moon-white hands webbed and mapped with her veins, her jagged nails lined with dirt.

A soft peace settled over her, like the warmest, thickest quilt that had ever been made, like a hug from her long-lost love, who had never returned to her.

She had been told he had died, by her uncle, as he tortured her, believing her to hold information she kept from him. She held no such secrets, no such messages to be hid from the demon army. The moment he had uttered her love’s name in mock grief was the moment she became useless. The moment he uttered the words, He’s dead, you stupid girl, she had given upand lived only to await Death, so that one day, they would be reunited once again.

Elide would go to the next world willingly, knowing that her people had been freed. There was a smile on her cracked lips as she rejoiced silently.

Perranth was free.

Terrasen was free and so her people were.

She had done her duty, to her, to her parents and her country. After her lifetime of suffering, Elide had done her duty and she could go now.

The world began to fade and her belly was full again and she was so deliciously warm. Come along, my child. I promise, all your pain will be fleeting.

It was the soft voice of her mother, one she had not heard for twelve long and lonely years.

They had not all been lonely, her nights had been filled with the truest love and friendship that had ever been.

Elide could not find the strength in her to keep her heavy eyelids open and so she let them fall shut. Her mother and father waited for her, soft smiles on their faces as they beckoned her forward. Mama, she breathed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

She rose from her body, reaching out to them when another person appeared before her.

He appeared as a boy of seventeen, anger on his face, his brows lowered. He wouldn’t allow her to pass and Elide thought she heard the pounding of feet outside the door. Let me through, now, before I am killed.

It is not your time, Elide. You cannot join them.

Elide slammed her hands against his chest, Let me pass, Lorcan. I cannot stay here, I cannot live any longer without you. Please, she caressed his face, feeling tears build in her eyes, please let me be with you.

He took her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones, You will not find me here, my love.

Then where? Where will I find you?

Exactly where you are. I will come home to you, like I promised. Won’t you wait for me?

Yes, yes, I will wait for you. How long will you have me wait this time? She asked him, a giddy laugh on her lips as he would return to her, after all these years, she wouldn’t live the rest of her days alone.

Lorcan laughed, but all she could hear was the slamming of her door being opened and the cries of men, “She’s here! We found her!”

Not long, Elide, I swear to you, mahasani, I will be with you by our lunar eclipse.

He began to fade and she dug her hands into his shirt, crying and holding him. Don’t you dare leave me again, you bastard, don’t-

I must, I am so sorry, I must leave you once more, when I am next with you, I shall never leave again. But, for now, he rested his forehead on hers, I am with you, always. She closed her eyes, tears cutting through the grime on her cheeks. He pressed his lips to hers and Elide could taste the salt of his own tears. When she opened her eyes, Lorcan was gone and she saw someone with silver hair and a black ink marking the left side of his face raise a gleaming hatchet above her.

She cowered and let out a hoarse scream, waiting for the blow that was sure to come. Instead, she felt a jarring blow reverberated up through her legs, the straining feeling as she sought to get as far away as she could from the wall lessened. Hands, the feeling of them foreign to her after not being touched for longer than she cared to remember, lifted her and her shackles were still around her ankles. “Get them off, take them off, please, please, take them off,” she sobbed, scratching at the arms of the man with a golden halo of curls who carried her. She thrashed, “Free me!”

Her screams cleaved through the castleand she was jostled as whoever carried her sprinted down the stairs. “Take them off!”

“Majesty, majesty, we found her.”

She was set on a soft surface and a gentle hand caressed her face, a golden voice that soothed her like honey on burns, “You are safe, Elide, my sweet, you are safe.”

Elide knew that voice, had dreamt of that voice for ages, “Ae-”

“Don’t- don’t talk, my heart, I am here with you,” the queen whispered. “I am here with you.”

“Take, take them off, please, take them off,” she begged. “Get them off of me.”

There were soft hands stroking over her brow, a cool cloth patted on her cheeks. But they were not the hands she wanted and she thrashed again, screaming for someone, someone to free her. “Take them off, take them off of me!”

She sobbed and strained at the hands holding her down, her nails cutting into forearms corded with muscle. Something was held to her lips and she shook her head, whipping it back until a hand gripped her jaw and forced a cool liquid into her mouth before tipping her head back, the medicine falling down her throat.

Elide coughed, trying to expel whatever this was she had been made to drink, but the fight left her as she began to float to a softer oblivion, one that did not lead to death.

She was a child once more and the moon, that blessed, beautiful, bright moon, was the very same as the night she had first met Lorcan, one she had drawn so many times on her walls and one she would never be able to forget.

They had been children, though at the time, Lorcan, in all his ten years of life, would have vehemently insisted that he was no longer a child, Elide, at only nine was a child, but not he!

Night had fallen and Elide was alone again. At least during the day, she had Finnula and whichever of her uncle’s croneys he sent to torment her, some way or another.

The one thing they had never managed to do was to cut her hair and Elide would be damned if her uncle took her dark as a starless night locks.

If she had her hair, she could pretend that she was a princess, locked away by an evil witch, just waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive.

The boy that appeared on her windowsill was definitely not her Prince Charming. He had no white horse to take her away nor was he royalty. Prince of the gutter, perhaps, but not her Prince Charming.

He was scrawny and anger rippled off of him, as well as these shadows that felt like death. Curious, maybe, if she drew him something, he would tell her about them.

“Who are you?” he demanded from his perch her windowsill, soot and dirt on his face.

As soon as the first hand had appeared on the stones, quick to be followed by a body, Elide had thrown herself in the far-most corner of her wall, the scrap of paper and pencil held menacingly in front of her. At his demand, she forgot her fear and rose to her feet, stomping over to where he was. “Who am I? Who are you? How’d you get up here?”

It was a long, long, long, way down to the ground. She knew that because after the first week of her confinement, when the jump down started to seem more and more appealing to her, her uncle had dropped one of her ceramic dolls out of the window and they watched it fall. That is what will happen to you, girl, if you jump. And so, she had never contemplated it again and stayed in her tower, only to be let out for one hour of sunlight each week and if she misbehaved, it was to the dungeon for her.

“Um, I climbed,” he told her, his tone making it seem like it was very obvious. “What’s your name?”

“Elide Lochan. I’m the heir of Perranth,” she said, pompously as she put her hands on her hips. “And what, exactly, is yours?”

“Lorcan Salvaterre.” He jumped off the window and into her room, walking around it. “Why don’t you come and play outside? Oh,” he said, looking at her with a distasteful sneer, “are you one of those silly girls who don’t like playing ‘cause they don’t want to get dirty? I never understood that, you can just wash your clothes.”

“Oh, no, I love playing outside, but my uncle, the Lord, says someone could steal me away and kill me, so I only go outside when I am good and with a whole bunch of guards, but not my old ones, new ones. They’re not as nice, they don’t like to play with me.”

“Hm, that doesn’t sound like much fun.” Lorcan sat himself on her floor, looking at the pictures she had drawn, “Ooh, these are pretty good, you know. You could sell them in the marketplace, Elide.”

Elide liked how her name sounded when he said it, like it was something special. It sounded like a curse on her uncle’s tongue and Finnula always sounded sad. She didn’t care much for Finnula when she was sad. “I’m not allowed to go to the marketplace, it’s not safe.”

Lorcan rose his brow, “Can you go anywhere?”

Elide sat next to him and shrugged, “I like my tower, I can pretend I’m a princess.”

“Yeah, but princesses in towers are always put in towers by a bad guy. Who put you in the tower?”

“My uncle, Lord Vernon.”

“I don’t think that’s what uncles are supposed to do.”

“Me neither.”

“My mother works here, she’s the healer. I bet she could take care of you,” he told her, picking up her drawing of a raven. “Oh, I like this one the best, I like ravens.” One of the shadows that leaked off him approached her and she jumped when it brushed against her hand.

“What’s that? The black smoke stuff.”

“My magic, I’m not so good at controlling it right now but my mother says when I grow up, I’ll be really strong. My father was a Fae warrior.” He seemed to puff up when he said that and Elide giggled.

Lorcan looked at her, his brows furrowed as her giggles turned into full-blown laughter and he couldn’t help but join. They laughed until their stomachs hurt and then fear, the scent of fear shoved itself up Lorcan’s nose as they heard the scuffling of feet outside and quickly, she hauled him to his feet and pushed him to her bed, shoving him under. “Don’t say a word!”

He nodded and disappeared in the shadows, as the door swung open and her uncle stood there. Even from across the room, Elide could smell the reeking scent of booze. “What’re ya laughing about, girl? Who’s in here?” he shouted at her, stumbling forward a step.

“No one!” she yelped as he got too close and she was forced to step back. “It’s just me, I promise.”

“You’re a liar, a liar, you stupid girl!” He reached to grab her hair, but Elide was smaller, quicker and most important of all, sober. She duckedand cowered by the fireplace that was still cheerily burning. Vernon stepped on one of her drawings, the one with the raven that Lorcan liked. He laughed cruelly at it and stooped to pick it up. “Well, ain’t this a pretty little drawing? Would be a shame if,” he crumpled it and she squeaked, tears choking her as he threw it into the fire. “Oops.”

“No! What did you do?” she cried, scrambling forward only to be struck across the face by the back of his hand, her hands flying to her stinging cheek, smarting from the rings he wore.

“Stay back, girl, or the next thing in the fire will be you!”

Elide began to sob as he ripped every single one of her drawings and threw them into the fireplace, laughing at her tears. The bottle of alcohol in his hand was near empty and after he had emptied it with one last swig, he threw it. The glass bottle shattered and the shards surrounded her. “You don’t question me, or you will be punished, you ungrateful wretch.”

Vernon pulled her head back by his painful grip on her hair and slammed her head into the stone wall she cowered against. “That’ll teach you.” He spat at her feet and left, locking the door behind him.

Elide was crying as Lorcan crawled out from underneath the bed, his eyes wide. “A-are you okay, Ellie?”

She smiled despite her pain at his new nickname for her and found that she quite liked it. “Yeah,” she breathed, wiping her tears away. “Sometimes he drinks too much, he’s not always like that. I’m not supposed to make him ma-ad.” Elide hiccuped and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and heard Lorcan moved away glass shards to sit next to her, his shoulder pressed against hers.

“I’m sorry, Ellie, I shouldn’t have climbed up here, I was just curious.”

“It’s okay, it was nice that you did,” she whispered, breathing in and out, past the sobs that threatened to wreck her.

“Ellie, what did he mean by ‘you’ll be punished’? You’re locked away in a tower, isn’t that punishment enough?”

“We have a dungeon. When I misbehave, I get sent there.”

“What? For how long?”

Elide shrugged and tentatively leaned against him, “I don’t remember, it’s so dark down there that time doesn’t exist.” She felt him stiffen and she thought it might be because she rested her head on his shoulder, but he let her continue to shore up against him. “I think I would like it if you visited me.”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble, Ellie,” he said quietly, his voice remorseful as he stared into the fire. “It’s my fault all your art got burned up.”

“No, he’d probably do it anyways. Please say you’ll visit me, please?” Elide lifted her head to turn and look at him. “Will you?”

Lorcan looked like he would come to regret these next words, but he nodded. “Yes, I will come to visit you. Don’t you have any friends who come to see you?”

Elide looked down at her hands, her cheeks heating. “No, I’m not allowed to have visitors here. Or friends.” She shyly looked up into his eyes, “Would you be my friend?”

“Yes, I will be your friend. I gotta go, I’ll see you later, alright? Next time,” he said as he hauled himself up on the windowsill, “I’ll bring a toy for you, so you can have one too.”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Yeah, what are friends for?” Lorcan disappeared down the tower without another word.

Elide gasped as she came to and winced against the brightness of the candles lighting the room. There was a soft blanket tucked snugly around her and her skin, for the first time in forever, was clean. Her hair was washed and dried, twisted into a thick braid that reached beneath her hips. It was too soft, the bedand the sheets, she felt like she was sinking down through a cloud and she floundered. “Ae-” she cut herself off with a hacking cough, her throat dry and scratchy.

Her oldest, most dear companion awoke in the chair she had been dozing in and tears pooled in her turquoise eyes. She quickly stood and poured her a glass of water, helping her to sit up and drink small, little sips. “There you go, El, it’s alright.”

After she had taken a couple sips, the cool water cutting through the dryness in her throat. She pushed Aelin off, shaking her head, “Ae, Ae,” her voice was still only a whisper and her stomach turned over the water she drank. “He’s alive, Lorcan, Lorcan is alive.”

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ope-

thenk u 2 my luvs 4 beta reading 🥺🥺🥺

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@myfeyrelady @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @highqueenofelfhame @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @court-of-fuck-me-daddy @chemicha @sezkins79 @someonemagical @yikesitsmaddie @thephilosophyofblank @mis-lil-red

#obliviate chapter one #elorcan #elidexlorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

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astroninaaa · 4 years

Text

clarke griffin sucks here’s why

Hi! I’ve wanted to actually write some anti-Clarke discourse for a while now, specially because I’ve hated her since I first heard her talk to someone else in the show, but I was always hesitant because of blorkes and Clarke stans and all that. Well, I’m doing it anyway.

(DISCLAIMER: all this comes from her depiction in the show. I have no idea how book Clarke is, since I’ve never read the The 100 books. Now buckle up and enjoy my angry and not-that-thought-out rant.) (And I’m putting it under the cut because it is... a lot.)

I know many people started to dislike Clarke after season 3 or whatever, but I believe she has been problematic since the beginning.

For starters, she put herself in a position of power during season 1, and that’s a fact. People say she “had no choice but to become a leader”, but that’s a lie. Just like Bellamy did, she made the decision to bear leadership: from the moment they arrived, she was already making orders and trying to boss people around. Was she wrong? No, she wasn’t! She wanted to keep herself and others alive, which is a good thing. But she didn’t have to. Btw, if she had never done anything things wouldn’t have change, to be honest, since they did not get to Mount Weather and built their little cute camp around the dropship. I mean, Jasper wouldn’t have been speared and they would have found out about the Grounders a bit later, but I think nothing much would’ve happened. Actually, maybe things with the Grounders would have been easier, considering I firmly believe the theory that the only reason they attacked Jasper in the first place was because he was all happy about finding Mount Weather, the place that had been kidnapping and killing Grounders for a long ass time.

My point is: I believe Clarke wasn’t actually needed as a leader when they first came down to Earth. I think she was just a spoiled priviledged girl, just like Bellamy said she was, who could not get around to letting go of the power she held. There was no more priviledged and non-priviledged, so she secured her influence by becoming a leader.

An important statement that people tend to forget: she was just as guilty as Bellamy was for Murphy’s hanging, if not more. She was always talking about justice and whatnot, but when she had the chance to be just, she wasn’t. A knife is not enough evidence to fucking accuse someone of murder — during 1918 and 1919, there was a serial murder going around called “The Axeman of New Orleans”, who used axes he found in people’s houses to kill them (I’m a fan of true crime sorry not sorry). If police went by Clarke’s logic, the dead would’ve been the murderers, which certainly does not make much sense. The least she could’ve done was talking to him separately, conducted a trial or whatever, anything but accusing Murphy of murder before the whole camp. She knew they hated him, and so did Bellamy, and that’s why Bellamy didn’t want her to tell everyone about Wells’ yet. And yes, sure, she was grieving, but grief is still not an excuse for what she did to Murphy, it isn’t. She might have tried to stop the hanging later or whatever, but it was still a direct consequence of her actions and would not have happened at all if she had stopped to think for even a moment. The truth is that Clarke does not comprehend that she can actually be wrong, a fact that repeats itself multiple times throughout the series.

(There are other times she fucks up during season 1, but Murphy’s hanging is what stands out the most to me, so I decided to leave it on that. But don’t worry, I have many other examples!)

I can’t even express how much she pissed me off during season 2. Yes, Mount Weather was a very suspicious place and she was right to be wary, but how could she leave her people and escape? She wanted to get help and all that, but she fucking knew they were bleeding out the Grounders and was definetely aware they would soon try something alike to the 48, and she still left them. She left them alone and clueless to the danger they were in, and she didn’t even know if the Ark had come down alright or if there were other survivors. Mount Weather was lying to them about not finding anyone but she couldn’t be sure of that — everyone could have been fucking dead and she would have left her “people” to die too.

I’m not even gonna talk about Lexa’s betrayal because that wasn’t actually her fault, I admit that. Was she stupid to trust a Grounder? Yes. Should she have considered the fact they tried to kill Raven the first opportunity they got (when Lexa’s cup was poisoned) and the fact that the Grounders did not trust them because of Finn and wrongly Raven? Obviously. Does that make Lexa’s betrayal her fault? No, but she should have seen it coming, tbh.

And, again, she put herself in a position of power where she wasn’t needed. There were actual adults ready to look for a better solution, but she didn’t let them. Of course she didn’t — how could Princess Griffin let go of her power?

Letting Mount Weather drop the bomb on TonDC was... horrible. It was not the act of a leader and it was not the act of a good person. It was selfish, it was the act of someone who leaves their people to die with the excuse of “looking for help” without even knowing if there is help waiting for them at all. It would have revealed Bellamy’s position, yes, but Bellamy would have preferred that than letting people die like Clarke and Lexa did. THEY LET PEOPLE DIE. Hundreds of people! God, they didn’t save the Grounders and the Skaikru that had come for a DIPLOMATIC AND PACIFIC reunion, but Clarke really thought her deal with Lexa would mean something if a better deal appeared, right? Damn, that was naive.

And then she left her people again by the end of the season, of course. “I bear it so others don’t have to” my ass — Bellamy still went apeshit and Jasper still got depressed and no one actually saw her bearing it, so they bear it too. The only thing girlie did was leave behind responsibility and betray her friends so she didn’t have to face regret for her actions. Meanwhile, people needed her, since she had put herself in a position of power for so long that everyone actually looked up at her, for some unknown reason, since she mainly fucked things up.

I don’t remember season 3 that well, but I know that Bellamy’s rant to her when she came back and was trying to be his friend was absolutely reasonable and true. She fucked off into the woods, represented Skaikru in Polis without them knowing for a while, came back to Arkadia and tried to get some power again, but then no one cared about her. Bellamy was too busy making the wrong decisions because of his emotional pain and sorrow to actually give a shit and they had greater things to solve than filling Clarke’s need to be worshipped.

Also, the whole “blood must not have blood” shit? Funny, real funny. It’s just like Lexa pointed out: “blood must not have blood until it applies to your people”. She is SUCH a hypocrite it pains me. And she did not spare Emerson for “blood must not have blood”, she did it because she knew it would make him suffer more and that came back to bite her in the ass. Karma’s a bitch, I guess. And she tried to make Luna become Commander against her will, which I’m not gonna talk about, but was just really fucked up.

I think my hatred for Clarke peaked during season 4. First, she didn’t want to tell the Grounders the world was about to end again and was apparently okay with letting them burn, until Roan found out and got mad about it. She tried to become Commander, blatantly disrespecting Grounder culture just so she could boss all the people in the world around. “She wanted to help!” “She had no choice!” Yes, sure, she had no choice but lying to everyone and disrespecting a whole nation. She couldn’t, you know, talk about it. Okay. I mean, that’s how Clarke does things, right? Kill and deceive first, give a half-assed apology later. It has been working so far, there’s no reason for her to stop.

Forcing Luna to give them her bone marrow? Very problematic, but “Welcome to Mount Weather” was one of my favorite Raven quotes. Abby was also a fucking bitch for being alright with killing Emori but throwing a tantrum when Clarke finally came to her senses and decided to test Nightblood on herself instead of murdering people who went all the way there to help her, but that’s not what I’m focusing on.

Locking Murphy up while she attempted to kill Emori? Not good. Emori knew from the beginning she would be chosen for testing Nightblood — she is a Grounder, and Clarke’s disregard for Grounders has been made very clear before. (And no, having a Grounder girlfriend in a very unprofessional and non-diplomatic way does not excuse her from discriminating against Grounders.)

And then she took over the bunker, disrespecting Grounder culture once again by betraying the conclave and, well, many people. (I know Echo did it too, but I’m not talking about Echo right now so if someone brings this up I’m gonna riot.) I also think it’s funny how she was always talking about saving everyone and all that shit but was so fucking fast to leave Raven, Octavia, Monty, Harper and Kane to die. You know, the people who were supposed to be her friends and all that. Oh, well.

Then Octavia won. And she still did not open the bunker. Man, opening the bunker would save so many lives, including the life of her oh-so-called best friend’s sister, but she still didn’t do it. Classic Clarke God-complex: she decides who is worth saving, and the Grounders aren’t. Then there’s the whole thing with holding Bellamy at gunpoint and then using “but I didn’t shoot!” as an apology. Bitch, it isn’t about shooting, it is about the fact you looked your supposed best friend straight in the eyes and pointed a gun at him, threatening to kill him if he dared to try and save his sister and many others of certain death.

She sacrificed herself by the end of this season, great. I mean, yeah, that was nice of her. Congrats for doing a good thing for once, I guess, even though she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to get back in time anyway so the least she could do was making sure the others lived. I wish she had actually died then, it would’ve been a great end to her arc (finally saving her friends at the cost of her life after betraying them and leaving them to die repeatedly — damn, I might had even started to like her a bit after that) and I would be able to stand the worshipping of her done at the start of season 5, since she would be, yk, dead. Sadly, that did not happen.

She was a villain during season 5 just like Octavia and I wish she had been depicted that way. She wanted to kill Blodreina (because just overthrowing her wouldn’t do) but she wasn’t okay with letting Madi take the chip. I know these are different things, but see it like that: killing Octavia was a way of taking control of Wonkru at the expense of a life. Madi becoming Commander was a way to take control of Wonkru at the expense of Madi’s childhood. Are any of them good? Not really, but Commander Madi does not envolve killing someone and even has a nice ring to it. Besides, Madi had given consent to taking the chip.

(Another point: Octavia was actually thrown into a position of power, just like everyone claims Clarke was. Octavia was the conclave’s champion and was expected and even obligated to lead, while Clarke simply decided she was more competent than the others and became a self-proclaimed leader. After that, she whined for all seasons about how she didn’t want leadership. Octavia never did that, despite being the one who became a leader unwillingly. Just like Raven put, Octavia and Clarke are the same, but Octavia doesn’t pretend to feel bad for empathy points. Damn, I love Raven.)

She left Bellamy to die in the fighting pit, because now Madi is the one she cares about so fuck everyone else. She gave over Raven and Shaw and let them be tortured for nothing. She betrayed literally everyone and was the one to put McCreary in a position strong enough he had the power to literally destroy Earth. Clarke Griffin was directly responsible for Earth’s end.

And then she said “sorry, I had no choice” and most characters fucking forgave her. I hate the way this series throws Clarke’s half-assed apologies onto us and expect us to accept them. I think it is very annoying, since Clarke would be an awesome villain, but they insist in making her one of the good guys, even with the whole “there’s no good guys” theme, which I wholeheartedly believe to be just a way to justify why Clarke needs to be forgiven again and again and again. It is not much more than bad writing, to be honest.

During season 6 she again becomes a leader without being prompted to. I loved Josephine and I think that the fact Clarke wasn’t actually Clarke was the only reason I didn’t absolutely despised her like I have done for the previous seasons. Again, I would have loved it if she had actually died then. Imagine Josephine becoming a main character for season 7 too? Amazing, brilliant, showstopping, incredible.

And she is not even there for season 7, at least until “The Queen’s Gambit” lol. Guess they finally saw how much of an annoying character she is. The only thing I remember of her is the “I don’t believe in Karma” thing, which was... expected. I mean, someone who has done as much harm as she has can’t believe in Karma anyway or she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, and Clarke’s whole thing is about pretending to be sorry but not actually trying to change, so we can’t have that.

In conclusion, Clarke Griffin fucking sucks. She is a bad person and the way everyone always forgives every bad thing she does is bad writing. The series tries to sell her as one of the characters on the “good” side, but she actively works against it. She is not even a GOOD villain to watch, like Murphy was for many seasons. She is just an annoying character with a God complex who fucks things up, betrays her friends and lets people die again and again and then is forgiven because she is supposed to be an admirable main character. She is selfish and abusive and manipulative and power-hungry and fucking sucks, so please don’t stan her.

And that’s on that! Nice.

(DISCLAIMER PART 2: this blog DOES NOT support Eliza Taylor and Bob Morley, specially after Arryn Zech’s accusations. I know we cannot be sure of anything, but I prefer to side with a potential liar than with a potential abuser.)

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vampirrediaries · 4 years

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Enemies Of The State : Dark!Klaroline {11}

summary:

This fiction follows the events of just how Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes lost everything that tied them to their humanity, leading them into something neither of them can come back from.

——————

{10 years ago}

It was just as she said it would be.

‘The both of you are going to start something that you can never come back from’

Sophie Deveraux’s voice came in like a phantom, the memory eerily echoing in his mind of when he swiftly took her heart. She’d warned him of something exactly like this, and now it was proven. You can’t stop what’s coming.

Klaus would give almost anything to see what exactly was coming for him.

Caroline.

She was the other person, he quickly realised. His Caroline, who hadn’t a horrid bone in her body, who wouldn’t trade her humanity for all the pleasures in the world. The words seemed foreign, as if it were a cruel joke.

It just wasn’t possible. These incessant people must be lying, seeing as they never cared for her in the first place. Not like he did. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe Sophie Deveraux’s grim prediction of the future. Klaus may be ruthless, but he didn’t want hell unleashed on earth.

He only wanted to find Caroline.

“Tell me where she is.”

“Don’t you get it?” Elena stepped in front, visibly exhausted. “Caroline is gone. She left the minute after she had that outburst-”

Elena froze, knowing she had said too much of that matter as the rest of the group stared daggers into her.

It was quite stupid to disclose that to a ruthless Hybrid killer who would kill anyone who hurt his love. Like expected, Klaus immediately stood alert at the ‘outburst’.

“What outburst?” He demanded, approaching the doppelgänger in long strides. “Answer me!”

“Nothing happened that wasn’t justified” Bonnie cut in, clearly scared for Elena’s safety. “She was acting like a different person ever since you left, and that night was the tipping point.”

Damon gave the witch a look as if to say, do you want us to die?. He found it absurd as to how nobody was taking caution on what to say, and judging by Klaus’ expression, he was not wrong.

“If any of you,” He responded venomously. “had anything to do with this, i will assure you meet an end so cruel, the devil will weep.”

“We didn’t do anything!” Elena protested, slowly backing away from the seething hybrid. “We only confronted her about betraying us by being involved with you, and then she had an outburst and ran away.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Klaus spat out venomously. “Seeing as though a vampire only flips the switch when all becomes simply unbearable.”

“But it’s true,” Bonnie intervened “She was changing in a way that i’ve never seen, as if something was almost...corrupting her from the inside.”

“Oh, please” Damon rolled his eyes at Bonnie. “Caroline was only upset she got caught in her little secret. I’m surprised she lasted this long, being the neurotic little vampire she is.”

Rebekah repressed a smile, knowing all too well what was going to happen now. She didn’t care for Caroline much, but how her so-called friends treated her, made her happy with them being in the unforgiving wrath of her brother. They’d deserved this.

Klaus felt himself go completely and utterly full with hot rage.

It was because of them. Caroline’s little group of friends, whom she would die for, that she’d turned her humanity off. That she went through the pain of him leaving her, only to be bombarded with accusations of fake-loyalty and betrayal. Only because she had feelings for him.

Klaus was angry at himself as well, knowing that things would be different had he kept his vow to her. I intend to be your last.

The least he could do now, is get rid of the toxicity from her life.

It happened in a way that they didn’t see coming, in pure Klaus fashion.

He immediately went towards Elena Gilbert, the girl whom everyone loved so dearly, and grabbed ahold of her neck in a deathly grip in a flash. Pulling her hair aside with one fist, he plunged deathly daggers into her carotid artery. The sounds of pure agony and anguish made it all the more worthwhile, making the group go into hysterics as well.

Damon flashed towards them in efforts to save her life, but Klaus merely pushed him away with a free hand. Nobody else dared to go against him, not even Stefan.

Elena helplessly thrashed against the Hybrid, screaming, but he didn’t feel pity. Klaus wanted them to hurt like Caroline hurted. Killing sweet little Elena Gilbert in the most brutal way possible, ensured him of that satisfaction.

He ravenously fed on the doppelgänger until the sweet melody of her heart slowing down filled his ears. It wasn’t long now, till she would be dead. Klaus continued until her heart was merely pumping the very small quantities of blood left in her system, when he was pushed aside by a force much stronger than an oridinary vampire.

“All right, Nik” Kol Mikaelson stood next to the almost-corpse of Elena. “You’ve had your fun.”

“Will you ever mind your bloody business, Kol?” He growled, wiping the blood with the sleeve of his jacket. She lay unconscious on the grass, neck bloody. Damon immediately flashed towards her, a wrist extended. The rest quickly followed suit.

“Not in this situation, brother. Let’s focus on what we came here to do.”

Rebekah wasn’t surprised at all, eyeing her younger brother with a pointed glare. Her relationship with Kol wasn’t as hell bent, almost feeling happy to see him well.

“I’m sure you heard Elijah has already made his way to Mystic Falls,” Klaus spoke lowly. “He disappeared before we arrived.”

“I heard everything from the car,” Kol responded dryly. “We need to find Caroline before he kills her. I wish she hadn’t run off.”

“Why on earth does Elijah want to kill Caroline?” Rebekah intervened impatiently. “The amount of times i’ve bloody asked-”

“Katherine Pierce has died after Nik managed to not follow through on a demand to save her life, and now our brother wants revenge,” Kol hurriedly tried to explain.

“I followed through on that,” Klaus countered angrily. “That witch didn’t-”

Rebekah groaned, cutting him off. “Even in death, that wench manages to make our lives a living hell.”

“Let’s get back on track,” Kol makes his way towards Caroline’s door. “We need something important to her in order to do a tracking spell. Threaten the witch if you have to.”

“I have something of Caroline’s”

Stefan approached the trio in short steps, speaking lowly. He was visibly distressed. “Bonnie is willing to do a spell.”

“You might be of use to me after all, Stefan” Klaus analysed. “It’s a shame your friends aren’t as cooperative.”

“I want to find Caroline just as much as you do,” He replied dryly. “Especially since your brother has a murder plot against her.”

Klaus eyed the group behind Stefan in disgust. They surrounded Elena in worry, who was now fully healed due to Damon’s blood. This didn’t prevent her, however, giving him a terrified expression. Good. Let that memory stay in her mind.

“Right,” Rebekah made her way to Caroline’s door, breaking the lock in an effortless push. “Let’s bloody find Caroline Forbes.”

—————

“You were the last person who i thought i’d see ripping into an innocent bystander.”

Caroline chuckled humourlessly, feeding on a blood bag Katherine had so thoughtfully provided. “I might as well make the most of what no-humanity has to offer. Besides, animal blood is disgusting.”

“Like a true vampire gone rouge,” Katherine murmered from the driver’s seat. “Tell me, cupcake, what brought this on? I’d love to hear that story.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole switch thing. What could’ve possibly happened that even you couldn’t handle?”

Caroline inwardly groaned, knowing that she had to talk about the worst thing she’d ever experienced. Not that she felt anything, but it was...uncomfortable.

She guessed that there were some things that even the switch can’t fully shut off.

“I did something,” Caroline huffed as she tried putting on a cool exterior. “but after they found out about this little thing, they accused me of being un-loyal and betraying them. I lashed out and flashed away.”

“What did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter, but what does matter is that I’m here. Emotionless and free to do whatever i want.”

Katherine knew perfectly well what Caroline’s little indiscretion was. She also knew that the vampire was changing, becoming darker and hostile quite like she’d told Klaus in New Orleans. She just wanted to hear the other side of the story.

“Sounds like something Elena would do,” The Petrova huffed. “Tell me, how is my beloved little doppelgänger doing? Is she still as whiny as i remember?”

“Horribly infuriating now that i think about it,” Caroline retorted. “Still playing damsel in distress as always.”

Katherine murmured an insult under her breath. She grinned. Her and Elena’s relationship was always amusing.

“How on earth did you get that freedom anyways?” Caroline questioned curiously. “After 500 years of running, and he gave it to you?”

“Hmm,” Katherine smiled wickedly. “Let’s just say i manipulated a certain Original, and made sure i was fully free from that damn family once and for all.”

“Manipulated?”

The doppelgänger gave her a mischievous side-eyed look. She decided it was best that she didn’t know what exactly Kat had done to earn her freedom. Klaus wasn’t exactly forgiving.

“So,” Caroline tried changing the subject altogether. “Mind telling me where we’re going? Or is that a secret too.”

“We’re going somewhere to unleash our rage and terror. I think we both have way too much of that in ourselves, don’t you?”

She smirked, absolutely loving that idea. “You aren’t telling me the place, are you?”

Katherine only sucked on a blood bag with a free hand, while the other was occupied at the wheel. She said nothing, but had that glint in her eye which told Caroline that wherever they were headed to, would definitely be worth their while.

——————

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the-truest-sentence-i-know · 4 years

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you are the one thing i did right

Fandom: The 100

Relationships: Bellarke; Bellarke & Madi

Summary: Basically just, what if Madi was Bellarke’s kid. Encompassing the end of s4 to the beginning of s5. One-shot.

Words: 2.3k

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It had been a long time coming, her and Bellamy. In the years that they had led side by side, they had borne so much responsibility it was a wonder they were not stooped over under the weight. But they had done it together.

And now, once again with lives in their hands – a list this time, not a lever; ninety-nine names in Clark’s handwriting, and one in Bellamy’s. His voice was gentle, his hand firm upon her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, she wondered why they had never crossed this line with each other before.

So when they did cross it, seconds later, lips soft and open like a promise kept, bodies meeting like hands clasped in prayer, begging an uncaring god that maybe for once, something good could happen to them.

They allowed themselves a moment of happiness, of pleasure, of arching backs and tangled limbs and a low murmur of, “princess.” They hardly had a chance to speak of it afterwards, in the flurry of hope and subsequent disappointment under the looming threat of nuclear apocalypse.

Before they had the chance to express any of the feelings that had burrowed their way so firmly into their hearts that it was like they had always been there, they were separated once again. Bellamy stared at the destruction as they took off, having not only lost his best friend, but also a chance at a maybe that had been on his lips since their first days on the ground.

And Clarke smiled through her tears as she watched her friends escaped the radiated Earth. “May we meet again.”

Clarke did not realize she was pregnant until she had found the valley. She had first thought it the morning sickness was merely an effect of the radiation in the air, but in a few weeks, it was impossible to deny the bump.

Practically speaking, an abortion would have been best under the circumstances. However, she had neither the experience nor the equipment to do it safely and she had seen the efforts of botched procedures during her training on the Ark.

She had omitted it from her daily calls to Bellamy, although she was not quite sure why. She supposed that if the calls were actually making it through to him, she did not want to cause him to worry.

But she was terrified. While she knew all the practical and theoretical information, her situation was less than ideal. There was no telling whether her Nightblood would be passed on to the child – without which, it could not survive – and she had no way to check anything. What she really wanted was to be able to talk to her mom, but there was no way to.

One day, finally, she broke and grabbed the radio. “Hey, Bellamy,” she said. “If you can hear me, maybe listen to this in private, it’s kinda personal.” She took a breath. “We slept together, like two months ago, which you know… cause you were there.” She sighed, shaking her head. “And now I’m pregnant. And I didn’t want to tell you because you would worry and you can’t really do much from up there, but I can’t contact my mom in the bunker and I really need to talk to someone about it.”

She poured out her heart to the radio, with all the fears she had not dared to say out loud. “I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a mom,” she said finally. “I’ve messed up so many things, Bellamy. I can’t mess this up, because it’s a person. God, this would be so much easier if you were here. I work better with you around: the head and the heart.” She stared at the blue sky. “And you’re great with kids too.” She sighed. “But don’t worry too much about me. I have enough medical training and experience to do this.”

The wind whispered through the trees and Clarke closed her eyes for a moment, trying to picture Bellamy beside her, and imagine what he would say. And while no specific words came to mind, she saw his encouraging look, the silent expression she understood in a heartbeat. “I miss you.”

Months passed. As she neared what she guessed was the ninth month, Clarke gathered extra food, smoking fish and drying berries to store.

“I guess I should start thinking about names.” Clarke laid on the ground next to the rover. “I knew you’re into Roman history, but I don’t know about having a kid named Julius, or Caligula.” She laughed. “Hadrian’s okay, I suppose. You know what: if it’s a boy, he can be August, like Augustus. If it’s a girl, I pick…” she mused. “Madi.” She smiled. “And then when she’s in trouble, she’ll be Madi Augusta Griffin-Blake. And yes, the child will be hyphenating.”

She stared at the sky, squinting even though she knew she couldn’t see the Ark. “You know, I’m so big now that I can’t even climb on top of the rover anymore.”

Madi Augusta Griffin-Blake was born on a foggy morning two weeks later, after hours of labour. And when Clarke held her, tears of relief and joy mingling with the sweat on her face, she could not take her eyes off her. Madi blinked in the light of early morning and opened her mouth to cry.

Clarke held her close – gently, because she was so small – and whispered, “Your dad is going to love you and you’ll be so lucky to have him.” A few more tears slipped down her cheeks. “And we’re gonna do everything we can for you. You’re gonna be the thing that I, that we do right.”

Madi was a wide-eyed baby who became an inquisitive toddler – stubborn too, but Clarke managed to handle it. She wanted Madi to know everything she could need to survive on her own. She never said so explicitly, but she remembered being a kid sent down to Earth to die. And no matter what happened to her, Madi had to make it.

So by the time she was five, Madi could bandage a wound, set a bone, and pear fish and start a fire. She also knew the surviving members of the 100 by name, and Raven and Emori. And of course, Bellamy. With her drawings, Clarke ensured that Madi could recognize them – again, with the unspoken intention that if something happened to her, Madi would know who to trust.

She grew up to stories about them, and while she loved to hear them all, her request before bed was always the same.

“Tell me about Bellamy.”

Clarke smiled, sitting on the edge of Madi’s bed. The night was cool, and she snuggled under the blankets. “Bellamy Blake grew up on the Ark, like me. He has a sister named Octavia, who he cares very much about. He is strong and brave and has a really big heart.”

“Clarke,” Madi said sleepily. “When will they come back?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke said. “But they will… eventually.”

Eventually came about two years later, when Madi was seven years old.

She had grown up in the valley, so even in the dark, she could run through the trees no problem. Ahead of her, figures with guns – three of them. She took out one with her spear and shot the other two. The gun – too big for her, really – gave some kickback, but she was able to handle it.

The three with guns had been ambushing a group of people in the clearing, cast in shadows, but they stood back defensively.

“She’s just a kid,” said one.

Madi stepped out of the shadows and stared – standing in front of her were Clarke’s drawings come to life: Monty, Harper, Emori, Echo, and, “Bellamy?”

They stared back.

“Clarke knew you’d come,” she said. Bellamy looked older than he had in Clarke’s drawings – they all did.

Bellamy spoke first, a slight tremor in his voice. “Clarke’s alive?”

Madi was quickly brought back to reality. “And she’s in trouble, we have to go.”

Bellamy was not quite sure what to make of this kid. He was making the same calculations in his head that he knew they all were – was he the father? The rover bounced as he drove through the woods, following her directions.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

“Madi,” she said. “Take a left here.”

“And Clarke is your…?” Harper asked.

“Mom. Clarke is my mom.”

Bellamy nodded. “Does anyone else live here?”

“Not till today,” she said. “Clarke thought it was you guys on that ship – we don’t know who they are.”

“We do,” Monty said quickly. “They’re bad news.”

“We’re getting close,” Madi said, reaching for her gun.

Bellamy stopped the rover in front of Diyoza and her people. “Madi, no,” he said. “Monty, get in the driver’s seat when I get out. When I signal, drive away, keep the kid safe.”

Madi looked like she wanted to protest.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to Clarke.”

Clarke blinked in the bright headlights of the rover. “Madi, no,” she whispered, but the figure that stepped out was not Madi – much too tall, but familiar.

“I’m unarmed, I just want to talk.”

The voice was as familiar as her own name and for a moment Clarke thought she was dreaming.

“Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand,” Diyoza said.

“How about I give you two-hundred and eighty-three.” Clarke still could hardly see him, just his silhouette, but there was no doubt in her mind about who it was. “That’s how many of your people are gonna die if you and I can’t make a deal.”

Diyoza shifted and Bellamy raised his arm, signalling the rover to back away. He knew he should be focusing on Diyoza and the various men with guns, but Clarke was right there. All the feelings that he had been trying to get over for the past seven years came rushing back – perhaps they had never left.

“Two-hundred and eighty-three lives for one. She must be pretty important to you.”

Bellamy looked at her, trying to keep his emotions at bay. “She is.”

Clarke was not dreaming, but a part of this still felt not real. Bellamy’s arms around her, Murphy and Raven’s voices on the radio, it all felt too good to be true.

The bunker was to be opened in the morning, so they had nothing to do for the night. Out of earshot of Diyoza’s people, Bellamy sat down beside her.

In the heaviness that settled in the air between them, Clarke knew what was coming next.

“I met Madi,” he said.

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, she’s with the others.” He stared at the wall in front of them and then glanced back at her. “Clarke, is she –?”

Clarke nodded. “Her full name is Madi Augusta Griffin-Blake.”

He smiled. “That’s a lot of name for a little kid.”

“Say’s the guy who named his baby sister Octavia,” Clarke said with a smile.

“Does she know?”

She nodded. “Mm-hm. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

Bellamy was quiet for a moment and then turned to Clarke, a hand on her knee. “You’re amazing, you know that? Raising her all on your own.”

“Well, she’s only seven, she isn’t fully raised yet,” Clarke said, putting her hand over his. “You’re not off the hook yet.”

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to be.”

Clarke smiled and leaned into him. “I’m so glad to have you back.”

It was a quiet afternoon – everyone was out and about, exploring the valley, but Bellamy found himself in Clarke and Madi’s house. It was cosy and very lived-in. On the table laid several sketchbooks. Bellamy smiled as he looked through Clarke’s drawings – of all their friends and family, of distinct scenes in their past. That was how Madi knew everything about them.

Not all the drawings were Clarke’s thought, many were Madi’s as well. He was looking at one – an imagined version of the Ark – when he heard the door open.

He turned to see Madi in the doorway. He smiled and held up the drawing. “So you’re an artist too, huh, just like your mom?”

She nodded, coming to stand beside him. “Drawing pictures of her stories made them more real.”

“They’re really good.”

Madi looked at him. “You’re just saying that cause you’re my dad.”

Bellamy shifted awkwardly. “We should probably talk about that.” He crouched so they could see eye to eye. “I know you don’t know me very well, but –”

“But I do,” she interrupted, grabbing one of Clarke’s sketchbooks, flipping through it. “I know about how you and Clarke didn’t like each other at first, and about you and Octavia, and ‘whatever the heck we want.’”

Bellamy smiled.

“And I know about the heart and the head.” She looked over at him. “And you’re my dad and it’s really nice to see you in real life.” She threw her arms around his neck and Bellamy was frozen for a moment before holding her tight.

From the doorway, Clarke smiled at the two of them. Bellamy saw her over Madi’s shoulder, and they shared a look; even after so many years apart, they understood each other. Clarke’s heart was close to bursting with happiness. Her only wish in the past few years had been to see them all together – and here it was right before her eyes.

“Lunch is ready,” she said finally.

Madi turned and smiled. She grabbed Bellamy’s hand, dragging him to the door.

“I’ve got an idea.” Bellamy crouched again. “Piggy-back ride?”

Madi’s face exploded into a beaming grin as she clambered onto his back. Bellamy rose carefully and Clarke rolled her eyes at him, smiling. He ducked under the door and took Clarke’s hand. The three of them walked out together.

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siswritesyanderes · 5 years

Note

you know what I need right now? tom with a mommy kink. like full on breastfeeding/lactation and wanting to fuck a couple of siblings into his "mother" (the reader). separating himself from merope who is unworthy of him in favor of the reader who he believes deserves that role instead. bonus points if he becomes so lost in his delusion he starts to believe reader actually is his mother

Alright, you got me; I’m intrigued. Buckle up; I’ve never done this before.

(N S F W - for the very first time) (TW: noncon) (Absolutely no one is underaged)

You were really only three years older than him.

Later, you would come to regret that your fourteen year old self had thought to protect a first year who was unlucky enough to enter Slytherin with a Muggle surname in the height of Grindelwald’s influence. Or…“protect” wasn’t really the right word. More, “support”. The boy had seemed far from helpless against the teasing of his peers, but you had backed him, and done so as a fourth year.

You weren’t sure why you had gone out of her way to defend some Muggle-born. Sure, you thought the whole blood purity concept was a load of self-congratulatory bosh, but actively intervening for some eleven-year-old you didn’t know? Was it just because he had looked so thin and tragic?

Of course, Tom was sure that he knew why you did it. It wasn’t anything so weak as kindness or pity; no, it was because early on, you had seen something in him. You had known right away that he was worth endearing yourself to, worth having in your debt.

You knew that he was special.

And for some reason, it was quite important to him that you know that you were right.

Of course, everyone was supposed to know that he was special; that was imperative. But you especially.

So, for that whole first term, he inserted himself into your tutoring sessions for the first years and second years and third years, to show off his understanding and how quickly he learned. He ravenously elicited praise from you, preening at every “Very good, Tom!” and “Exactly! That was clever, Tom.” He discovered that he hated it when other people received similar praise; he became fastidious about trying to catch any of the others being the slightest bit incorrect, although correcting their errors of nuance only earned him casual “Fair point, Tom” responses.

It wasn’t his only pursuit, in those early years. He still made a point to charm and impress everyone he came across and searched for any mention of his father among the Hogwarts records, hoping to bestow some pride upon the surname that had earned him such ridicule, before his classmates learned never to ridicule him. And if his search at times yielded to daydreams of giving you his surname, of you accepting it, honored to receive it…well, that was another thing to aspire to, wasn’t it? One day, the whole of the magical world would belong to him, and of course you were included.

In his second year, he had reached enough dead ends to come to terms with the fact that his father had never been to Hogwarts and likely never been a part of the wizarding world. He began to research, instead, the name “Marvolo”.It was in his third year that he discovered that he was the heir of Slytherin through his mother, and somehow what had once been a cold indifference toward the woman who had failed to stay alive for him inflamed into an almost desperate hatred.

The woman- Merope, her name had been, Merope Gaunt -had had every reason to be powerful…the most powerful. Or even just powerful enough to keep him from having to live in that place, with those people…

But she had failed him. Hadn’t even had the basic competence not to die.

A pathetic excuse for a witch. An utter waste. He knew so many witches who could have done better, especially Slytherin witches.

You were everything his mother ought to have been. Not spectacularly strong, but strong enough. Strong enough. You would never have left him at that place.

He was thirteen, and you were sixteen, and it burned him every time a classmate received a letter from their mother, and he longed to kill the young students you tutored. He wanted it so badly that he dreamed about it nearly every night, and he had rarely dreamed of anything before. You were not powerful enough to get rid of them yourself, but that was why people had sons, wasn’t it? Sons were meant to exceed their mothers’ power and do what they could not.

(He knew, or at least most of the time he knew, that you were not actually aware that he had chosen you to be his mother. He supposed he would surprise you.)

For that year and the following, he grew his power. The summer in-between only aggravated his obsession. Surrounded by Muggle inanity. Isolated. He sought his birthright; the devotion and allegiance of all of Slytherin house was easy enough to swing, while the Chamber of Secrets took another year to figure out.

He was fourteen, and you were seventeen, and he had finally become acquainted with his pet Basilisk, and it was your last year at school.

“Where will you go?” he asked. “After you finish school.” He wasn’t a first year anymore; he didn’t ask questions with innocent-seeming curiosity, but instead calmly and politely demanded answers. No one would deny him anything, after all. He was more than just the heir of Slytherin; he was a powerful entity by his own merits.

You had noticed the change, of course. You had noticed him growing, noticed the fear and reverence among his followers, noticed how he had only to circulate the idea that you were not to be touched and suddenly you sat alone and taught no one. (Even when Slughorn told Travers that he would fail Potions unless he sought your help, Travers did not dare approach you.) You had seen it all happen, and you remembered the intense little boy who had treated even being tutored as a competition.

You did not think you were afraid of Tom, but his attention was…worrying.

“I have a few apprenticeship offers,” you answered.

“Where will you live?”

You couldn’t help feeling that letting him know where to find you would be a mistake. “That depends on which apprenticeship I choose.”

His expression was still for several seconds. Then he smiled. “Well, I wish you the best.”

You didn’t think of Tom much once you left Hogwarts. At least, not regularly. Your second year out of school, you read that the Chamber of Secrets had opened, and that a Muggle-born girl had died, and that Rubeus Hagrid, whom you had tutored in Transfiguration once, at Dumbledore’s referral, had been expelled. And you tried not to think of Tom, who was sixteen now (to your nineteen) and whose followers had been calling him Slytherin’s heir when last you’d seen him.

You didn’t think about him, even though his followers were beginning to graduate, beginning to permeate your workplace and social circles. Grindelwald was defeated, and almost promptly the name “Lord Voldemort” started to cross the lips of people who had been partial to Grindelwald’s ideology. You didn’t think about him, but you were conscious of when his seventh year ended.

Conscious, but not afraid. Not really. Just…wary.

It was sometime the following summer when you answered your door and found him standing there, his expression pacific and almost expectant.

You were surprised. Not surprised to see him on your front step, as his followers were recruiting unsubtly enough that a door-to-door campaign really wouldn’t have been a shock. No, you were surprised that he had come alone. You weren’t sure whether or not to be relieved by it.

“Abraxas said you lived on this street,” was the first thing he said. “Apparently he couldn’t be troubled to give the correct house.” He donned his most charming smile. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

You did, stepping aside and allowing him into your foyer, albeit with a sarcastic, “I forgot that I had an appointment with you…my Lord.”

He looked backward at you, and his eyes were too bright. You worried, with some exasperation, that your light mockery had offended him, or worse: aroused him. You truly, truly did not want Thomas Riddle feeling strongly about you in any way. But he merely said, “That’s not what I want you to call me.” And then he continued on to your kitchen without elaboration.

He made tea, and the two of you chatted. Caught up. Discussed safe, impersonal topics. Tom seemed uncharacteristically directionless about the whole affair; he didn’t seem invested in influencing you to say or do anything, except sit with him and share some tea. You were on guard for any trickery, but none appeared to be forthcoming.

Until suddenly the teacup slipped from your hand, your grip having loosened outside of your control. Your other hand reflexively reached, in vain, for the falling object just before it shattered on the floor, and you blinked a few times, dazed by how your eyes had seemed unable to properly track the movement of your own hand.

“What did you give me?” you said immediately, your words slurring together. You hadn’t thought that Tom had had any opportunity to spike your drink, you had thought that you’d been watching him well enough, but the evidence no longer supported that assumption. You felt lightheaded, and sore. You tried to clamber to your feet, hoping perhaps to get to the lavatory and vomit whatever potion he had inflicted upon you, but you only staggered weakly for a few steps and then found yourself locked in Tom’s arms. “What did you give me?”

“Shhh.” He lifted you off of your feet, and despite your having been unable to walk anyway, losing contact with the floor felt like the definitive loss of power. “Mother needs a rest,” he said softly, and you were confused.

Tom didn’t have a mother.

You must have blinked out of consciousness for a brief time, because the next thing you were aware of was lying flat on your back. You were in your bed. The bedside lamp was on. Tom was sitting on your legs, with one hand beside your head, supporting himself, and the other hand moving down the front of your shirt, unbuttoning as it went. The whole thing was unfastened in under three seconds, as though he had been training in dexterity for just this occasion, and he gently pulled aside each half of the shirt front.

“No.” You were still slurring, and your limbs were too heavy to lift. “Stop.”Tom beheld your exposed flesh, slowly lowering his face until it nuzzled, with a blatantly out-of-character sort of tenderness, into your chest. He was mocking you, must have been. He must have been. He lifted his face again, after a moment.

With steady fingers, he pulled your brassiere aside- the strap first, then the cup, and you would have been certain that the slowness was a taunt, were it not for the way his eyes fastened on his task. His breath tickled against your bared skin.

“Tom,” you tried again.

He moved forward so that his lips grazed just under your jaw. “That’s what I want you to call me,” he whispered. “Only you. Now I have what they have. I have better than they have.”

And without further delay, he dropped his mouth down to your breast, and…

You let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a scream. It wasn’t just surprise that he was sucking milk from your body; it was pain. His teeth were involved, chewing at your skin while he sucked, as though desperate to maximize the amount of milk he got out of you. All tenderness was gone, replaced with…you couldn’t even name it. A sort of frantic thirst.

What had he given you, to make you produce milk? What had he given you? And why?

You managed to breathe, to stop whimpering in pain, so that the only sound in the room was the occasional creak of the bed and Tom’s near-constant enraptured moans.

“Tom,” you said, a bit too shrilly, “you’re hurting me.”

It took a few seconds, but he finally detached, pulling back with his lips still slightly parted. You nervously wondered if he meant to just latch on again, perhaps even harder than before, but he merely licked a bead of milk from your nipple and then eased his face into the crook of your neck.

“I was so hungry, Mother,” he said quietly, and your heart raced. “You shouldn’t let me get so hungry; I’m a growing boy.”

Breathe, you instructed yourself. “Why are you calling me that, Tom?”

His arms came around you tightly. “I like it better than ‘Mum’,” he said simply. “It’s…worthier.” He kissed you, gently, under your jaw, and he said something that you couldn’t understand- some long something, in some scraping, hissing language that made your blood run cold despite how softly he spoke it. So he really was the heir of Slytherin, then.

You tensed as he moved his midriff so that the region between his hips pressed against you. More than pressed; it moved against you. “Stop that, Tom.”

“You’re going to make your little boy feel so good, Mother. You’re going to make so many little brothers and sisters for me. I’ll help you make them.” His knee came up between your legs, nudging them apart. “We’ll continue Slytherin’s line together.” His hand slipped down into his pants, and his face moved toward the same sore breast as before.

“No!” you shouted.

He ignored you. “But only I can have your milk,” he said harshly. “Only I; none of those lesser heirs. We will have servants to nurse them, once this world submits to my rule. Mother’s milk is only for me.”

Tom’s mouth dropped to drink from you again, and it hurt so much that you thought you’d be sick, but instead you blinked out of consciousness again.

When you resurface, his lips were close to your ear, whispering “Yes, yes, yes, yes…” and he was…he was inside…invading, stretching you…

Your terror must have caused you to blink out again, because next you were opening your eyes to find that Tom was calmly dabbing at your skin with a damp cloth. It felt good; cool enough to soothe what was aching, and not too wet to wipe away the moisture that was covering you.

“Tom,” you exhaled, and found that you were out of breath.

“Shh.” He bent down and kissed your lips. “You should rest. The potion kept you from suffering too much, but you’ve still been through a lot this night.” A grin spread on his face. “What we did was glorious.”

“Get out of my house,” you said.

“It’s our house, Mother. Everything that’s yours is mine.”

“Get off of me.”

“In fact, that reminds me; I brought you a gift.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a thin, gold chain, at the end of which was a golden locket. “It belonged…It belongs to my mother.” He latched it around your neck. “You won’t take it off, because that would upset me.” He brought his lips to your ear again. “And you don’t want your little boy to be upset.”

You made the choice not to answer. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Get some sleep,” he advised. “I won’t be here when you wake up, but I’ll come back tomorrow night; you can make me dinner. If we do this enough times, you should be pregnant very soon.” Once more, he bent to whisper something in your ear, and once more it was in that language of snakes.

Then he rose and left you there.

The next morning, you would find that the locket he had given you tightened threateningly whenever you tried to reach for the clasp and whenever you tried to leave your house, but for that moment, you succumbed to sleep.

#yandere tom riddle #yandere voldemort #lactation #possessive #obsession #lemon

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Dark Stars {Part 6}

*Loki x OFC*

Part: 6/10

Words: 6.2k

Warnings: language, violence, death... Pretty much all except for smut 😂

Summary: ~Loki could just let her die here and now. His problems would be solved and he could go back to his usual ways. But then he would forever be left with an unsolved mystery and he hated the prospect of that even more than the fear of what would happen if she lived.~

A story of what happens when Loki stumbles upon someone who is like him in every way. Only better. Oh, and they just happen save Asgard too.

A.N.: To celebrate over 1000 people following me (how insane is that?!), I decided to share the newly edited version of the very first Loki fanfiction I ever wrote! Enjoy the mischief 💚

All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!

________________________________

Once they stood in the middle of the marketplace, Ivy realized that she needed to be more careful this time. She couldn't let something like yesterday happen again and she knew now that she was not worth the damage. Not her body, not her soul. She needed to use her own kind of magic carefully and wisely before it came bursting out like it had before. But she couldn't deny that after all this time it had felt… good... to use her own magic once again. Not the pure and shallow one Loki or the queen used.

Ivy sighed. They would be fine, she told herself. Then she simply started walking off, leaving Loki to follow her.

"No disguise? Nothing to keep the guards from recognizing you?" Loki finally asked, having himself appear as a random ginger man.

"Nah, boring… I'm up for a little excitement." Ivy commented and she knew that Loki wouldn't be able to resist a challenge. Deep down, her reasons were of a different nature nonetheless. Indeed she was right about Loki though, as he changed back into himself.

"Alright, but this is your responsibility. You want to prove to yourself that you can very well handle a situation like this, and I respect that. But keep in mind that you will have to be responsible for me as well." He smirked, enjoying the whole situation more than he should. Somehow it was rather exciting to have her in charge, so he held himself back and merely observed.

Ivy for her part grabbed Loki's hand to not lose him in the crowd and walked through the streets, which were still dominated by the day crowd; families, children and women with baskets instead of drunk adults who were looking for amusement. She preferred the way it was now. After a few minutes of casual strolling around, she finally noticed how many people were staring at Loki. He seemed at ease with it on the outside, but she could see in his eyes how uncomfortable he was with all those gazes on him.

There were stares of all kind: surprised, disgusted, longing… But everyone seemed to immediately recognize him. Of course they did… He was his very own kind of gorgeous and certainly not ordinary in his looks. Some people also stared at Ivy as she came to realize. After all, she was dragging Loki through the streets by his hand. Undoubtedly no one had ever seen somebody actually touching the raven prince without dying a painful death seconds later. It made her a little proud that she was still alive and a whole lot proud that he allowed her to touch him. On the other hand she could see the judgement in people's eyes; they probably deemed her insane for being with Loki. Well, screw them.

Shaking the feeling off, she finally reached a small shop selling beverages of all kinds. She gently dropped Loki's hand once she realized that she was still holding it tightly even though they had stopped moving. He only let out a huff in response.

"I'm surprised you didn't cut my hand right off…" Ivy teased him as she went to check what type of wine she wanted, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Don't tempt me…" He smirked and crossed his arms behind his back, patiently waiting for Ivy to finish whatever she was doing. "Must I remind you that soon the guards will be here?" He asked after a while, as Ivy still looked at the various bottles in search of something that would do.

"Oh hush! I know what I'm doing!" She answered, though not looking at him. Soon they heard shouting in the distance, and multiple people running.

"Ivy…" Loki growled, growing increasingly nervous, but she ignored him and smiled to herself.

A few moments later a dozen guards hurriedly entered the street, coming running towards the shop. Loki turned to face them, already starting to go over things to say to them in his mind. When the guards were only a few feet away, Loki moved to say something, but suddenly a hand pressed against his mouth from behind him. His eyes widened and he didn't dare to move while the guards were now standing right in front of him, looking around searchingly.

"They came this way!" One shouted.

"Maybe they are gone already…" Another sighed. "Why do we have to search for them?"

"What did they do anyway?" A third asked.

"That woman killed a troop of guards! Some of them were my friends… That little bitch ended them." The first answered angrily, and Loki rose an eyebrow.

"And what did he do this time?" A guard further to the back asked as they went to walk along the street, away from the place where Loki and Ivy were standing.

"Pff… Who cares. He always does something that upsets the allfather. Maybe he screwed the girl and taught her how to kill. Only two things he's good for…" They all laughed, nodding in agreement. "Y'all know what, if he didn't screw her, I definitely will!" One laughed, elbowing one of his fellows playfully. "She may have killed a couple people, alright, but she certainly knows how to pleasure a man! I can see that in a woman!"

"You wouldn't even fuck a woman if she fell into your bed! I tell you what I would do if she ever came to stumble into my chambers; I will make her scream my name so loud that the whole palace would know just how hard I took that dirty little minx!" They laughed once again, and soon ventured out of hearing range.

Loki felt the well known rage return to his body in an unreal second, filling his blood with a blazing energy that was forcing him to act.

"Don't…" Ivy's soft voice said from directly behind him as she removed her hand from his mouth. He closed his eyes for a second and turned around to her slowly, his eyes dark and full of pure hatred and disgust. Ivy prepared for the worst, but then he took a deep breath and his features softened once more. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"They didn't see us…" Loki remarked quietly, for now pushing the hatred back into the darkest part of his mind.

"No… They would have been able to hear us though, which is why I simply had to make sure you shut up. Sorry if that was a bit… inappropriate." Her voice was just as quiet, feeling highly uncomfortable after the guards' conversation.

"It's alright, considering I did want to say something… I'm just surprised. You didn't tell me you could do that... making us invisible to their eyes…" He leaned his head to the side and watched her blush for the very first time since they had met. It was completely and utterly adorable, and it made him forget about the guards for a precious moment.

"I did the same thing in the palace, you know… When we were walking to Sif's room." She bit her bottom lip, searching for any signs of mockery in his eyes. But there were none, he only seemed intrigued and honestly surprised for once.

"And I thought you were just insane. I must say, I'm impressed. I did not see the magic you worked right there and that definitely tells something about its qualities."

Ivy laughed. "How very humble of you." She said sarcastically. "But what would be the purpose of using magic to hide us, only for the magic itself to be seen?"

"Touche." He smiled. "You will have to teach me how to do that one day."

Ivy blushed even more, which made Loki chuckle. He liked making her blush, but it happened so rarely. And as quick as it came, the red tint disappeared from her cheeks.

"I hardly doubt you'd be able to do the things I do… My magic… it's different." She smiled sadly at him and shoved a bottle of wine into the bag she had brought. After a moment of thinking she shoved another one in.

"I hardly doubt that you have a different magic from mine... I might not quite know how you did that thing yesterday, but that doesn't mean..."

Ivy huffed in annoyance at his words, his unwillingness to believe her, and grabbed Loki's wrist once more, pulling him back into the streets. "C'mon, I'm gonna show you some of the other magic I am very well practiced in."

This time, they hurried through the streets without being seen. Loki smirked at Ivy's determination while she dragged him down the streets relentlessly, not even bothering to properly take his hand this time.

"Why exactly didn't you hide us right after we got to the marketplace?" He asked out of curiosity, once they had reached a particularly busy street, and he could be sure that no one would hear them over the loud noises of the other pedestrians.

"Wouldn't have been nearly as impressive once you found out that I could do that at all. And less fun, too." She smiled, but didn't slow down just yet. "And despite that, I maybe just a little bit enjoyed showing off that I get to drag you around at my pleasing."

He chuckled deeply, but more to himself. "You're such a tease… I love it."

"What did you say?" Ivy asked over the noise, but she had heard him very well indeed. She only prefered not to acknowledge it, since it would have done no good for the blush she tried to keep away from her cheeks so desperately.

Finally, she slowed down. "Watch this…" She winked, and before crossing another corner, she put a finger to her lips, ordering him to be silent. He immediately saw why, as the guards from before came headed towards them from the end of the street they now stood in as well. No one else was around, and Loki wondered what Ivy had planned, so he leaned against a wall and watched the ongoings with great amusement.

Ivy stood still in the middle of the street as the guards approached her, laughing and talking as they had before. Her eyes were solemnly fixed on them, intently and almost scarily as she didn't move at all. Suddenly one of the guards started scratching his neck, slowly at first, then more desperately. Then he scratched his face and his hands and his arms in the same vain desperation. The others laughed at him, until snakes came slithering from another's amor, crawling and winding all over his body. He let out a scared yell and danced frantically through the street in an attempt to shake them off, but it was of no use. A third one's legs turned to jelly and he dropped to the ground with a small cry, vainly trying to make use of his softened limbs. The fourth guard's armor disappeared altogether and he stood in the street completely naked, as he tried to cover up as much as he really didn't have to show.

Ivy laughed first at the spectacle in front of her, then looking over at Loki with pure joy at getting her revenge for the untasteful comments made about both Loki and herself. After a short moment, a fifth guard lost all his hair all of a sudden, grabbing onto empty air as he inspected his bald head with horror.

It was very funny to watch indeed, and Loki chuckled at the sight, bemused by Ivy's mischievous skills as much as they impressed him. It was all fun and games.

Until the sixth guard dropped to his knees, screaming in agony without reason.

The bemusement in Loki's face faltered, being replaced with genuine interest and also the first signs of alert. Then another guard dropped down, screaming in even more agony than the first. They all followed the example one by one, until all 12 men were all lying in coils on the dusty ground, writhing and crying in pain. The sounds echoed through the small alley, mimicking those of a battlefield.

Loki looked around himself, towards the main street, but no one besides him and Ivy seemed to hear their cries of agony, or to see their torture.

When his eyes fell upon Ivy's face however, he almost gasped. Her eyes were dark, distant and hazed, and they held the same expression in them that he had seen the day before already. It made his skin tingle in an oddly uncomfortable manner, and his body freeze and burn at the same time. But foremost it made all air leave his lungs while he couldn't move an inch, unable to stop staring at Ivy in shock.

Suddenly the guards were lifted off the ground, simply hanging in the air a few feet above the ground, still screaming and moving around in seek of relief from this internal kind of torture. A second later their bodies were brutally smashed against the walls of the street-framing buildings, again and again, bones breaking and skin tearing.

In an instant Loki stepped between Ivy and the guards, finally urging his body to obey his own mind once more instead of the trance she had put him under, be it intentional or not. The white of her eyes had almost completely disappeared and she was merely staring right through him, with empty eyes of the deepest black.

"Ivy, stop!" He called to her, forcefully and maybe even a little desperate. She jumped at his harsh voice, but didn't stop what she was doing, eyes still clouded over by whatever force seemed to have taken a hold of her.

"Ivy, please, stop this madness!" He begged, intently, shaking her by her almost frail shoulders.

She let out a gasp that sounded simply otherworldly, and only then the color returned to her face, to her eyes, and in an instant she looked a him with terror filled gaze. Behind his back, Loki heard the guards' armors clash on the ground, but no more screams, no more sounds at all.

Ivy stood there, breathing hard as she only stared into Loki's concerned eyes with the same confusion he had felt moments ago.

"What happened?" She breathed. "I just wanted… It was some innocent fun only, and then…"

"Come, we should leave…" He said, before gently placing a hand on her shoulder yet again. Then he brought them back to the opening without further explanation.

_______________

Ivy couldn't remember, couldn't understand how it could have happened again. She had meant to tease the guards, scare them a little and make fun of them as a punishment for what they said. Maybe even to show off that she wasn't as dull as Loki seemed to believe. But then… things had gotten out of control yet again, and yet again it had been up to him to pick up the pieces.

She sat down on the blanket, tightly hugging her legs to her chest as all she could think was how completely STUPID she had been. Stupid and reckless and inane in absolutely every fucking way. How, by the gods, had she believed that going back to the city was a good idea?!

Loki sat down next to her in silence, while his head tried to put sense to what had just happened, and his emotions were busy figuring out if he was scared, impressed, or anything in between. Neither dared to address the gruesome thing that had just happened for the longest time, and they simply sat next to each other, both silently glad for the other's company.

"Why do I have to be such a freak…" Ivy finally breathed to herself, closing her eyes in anger directed at solemnly herself. Loki gently placed a hand on the small of her back, trying to give her some sort of comfort, in any way he could. He wasn't good, or rather wasn't practiced in these kind of things.

"Don't touch me! Please…" She almost whined, and he pulled his hand back immediately. "Just leave me alone…"

He didn't know what to do, now… most certainly he would not leave her alone! But how should he comfort her, after something like this? After understanding so very little about it…

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked quietly, hoping she would open up to him, but honestly doubting it. "I do believe you, now… Your magic is something very different from mine. I'm sorry."

Ivy on the other hand grabbed one of the wine bottles out of her bag and began to empty it at a concerning speed. "I only want to forget." She finally said, lips red from the dark liquid.

"I could make you forget… would be better than drinking yourself into oblivion." He said without thinking, only feeling pained by her self-destructive tendencies.

"Would you do that? If you even care for me in the slightest, please, do it..." Her eyes shot up to meet his, a pleading expression so obvious within them that Loki felt a painful sting in his heart yet again.

"Because I care for you, I won't." He said quietly, cursing himself for bringing it up in the first place. Great, now he was being an arse again… but at least she had less energy to spend on hating herself if she hated him, and that was good enough for a start.

She looked away once more, in disappointment and pain. "You're a jerk, Loki."

"I'm sorry…" He breathed, barely notably, averting his gaze both in remorse and equal pain. The whole situation was so strangely familiar to him… only that usually he was the one needing comfort, and he would find it in the darkness within him. But he wouldn't let her go there, he wouldn't let her delve into the dark places he had been in so often. Had she been there before?

Loki sighed inwardly at the realization that he knew practically nothing about Ivy, but her name and favorite color. He didn't know what made her happy, nor what gave her comfort.

Just then, he had an idea. A truly stupid, ridiculous and puny idea, but it was the only one he had, and it would have to do. It wouldn't solve any of their problems, but maybe it might make Ivy feel better, and that prospect was enough to try. So he grabbed Ivy's bag, earning an angry glare from her which he kindly ignored. After a short while of digging through the pockets, he finally found what he was looking for.

He unlocked the ipod and chose a song he knew Thor had listened to when things between him and Jane had been… kinda dark. Just like things were currently for him and Ivy. He made it sound aloud all over the opening, then rose to his feet and held a hand out towards her. "Dance with me?"

Ivy only huffed and looked away, shaking her head to herself.

"Oh, come on, you said yourself that dancing makes one feel better!" He smiled at her the best he could. "Please, Ivy. Do it for me. I've had a rather rough week as well."

With a sigh, she unwrapped her arms from around her knees and placed a hand in his. "If you insist…" She still didn't look at him.

"Indeed I do!" He smiled as he gently pulled her towards him and into his arms. Of course he didn't really enjoy dancing all that much, but surprisingly enough, Ivy would dance for his sake rather than for her own. The thought that maybe she cared about his well-being more than about her own made his heart pick up speed, and his stomach do backflips… nobody had ever cared about him that way.

Thus, almost happily, Loki pulled her closer and they started moving with the flow of the music.

_____

The song was actually quite nice, and soon Ivy found her sadness and despair shrinking. Why was it that they only ever danced late at night? Dancing with Loki felt nice.

_____

For Loki's taste the song was a bit too sappy, but maybe that was just what Ivy needed right now, and he would gladly go along with absolutely anything that made her happy. He just felt beyond relieved that she was actually allowing him to touch her again. It was hard to comfort someone with only your words, when all you have ever done was to lie. Eventually, no one believed in your sincerity anymore. So Loki just held her close in contentment, and moved with her to the soft music.

_____

Eventually Ivy leaned her head against his chest, just not caring about appropriateness anymore. Should he behead her if he felt like it. But Loki actually found it alright… pleasant, even. What had been intended to give Ivy comfort now did the very same for him, and he found himself enjoying the dancing less than he enjoyed her body pressed against his own. They stayed just like that until the song ended at last.

And only then Ivy finally looked up at Loki, meeting his eyes in wordless questions he didn't know how to answer. They stood perfectly still in the middle of the opening, as Loki refused to let go of her. This time, he wouldn't run.

_____

"Loki?" She asked quietly, still entangled in his arms. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

"My dear, if you had seen what I have seen, you wouldn't even need to ask."

She frowned up at him, her eyes piercing his soul in a way that made him shiver. "You're evading the question."

He let out a huff, but it was rather born of desperation than of real annoyance. "Do you want to see a real monster?" His voice was so low it brought goosebumps to Ivy's skin. But she wanted to see. Anything he could show her, anything he would allow her to see… she was ready for it.

"Show me." She replied quietly, but with determination, and so he closed his eyes as she felt hers fluttering shut as well.

Images started flooding into her mind, images of war, of tragedy, of death. Pain beyond measure, deaths too horrible to describe and betrayal most brutally close. But also images of trust that was lost, a family without love and a home without comfort. Sometimes the pain those images, those millions of stories, caused her to feel was just too much for her to handle, but before she could scream, it had already shifted to the next. Those memories consisted of sounds, smells, tastes, feelings and knowledge of all and any kind. They all had one thing in common: they were part of Loki's life. Everything he had seen, had felt throughout his entire life was on display for Ivy to see, and to feel in return.

Yet, after a moment when it was all over, she opened her eyes once more for a wave of hot, salty tears to run down her face, and to drip off her slightly parted lips.

"What was that!?" She breathed, searching for his eyes, but he merely looked down, avoiding her gaze.

"Me." He replied calmly, but unable to keep the sadness out of his voice. "You wanted a monster, and I gave you all of me."

For a moment Ivy honestly didn't know what to reply. There had been such an incredible amount of sadness and injustice, not only inflicted by Loki, but also done to him… What was she to say? 'I know what it's like?' or maybe even 'it's not that bad'? She couldn't lie to him. Not right now and probably never again. So she did the only thing that felt right.

"Close your eyes." She commanded quietly, waiting for him to do as he was told, which he –surprisingly enough– did without question. Then she closed hers as well and did something she had always been afraid of. She let him in.

_______________

Loki saw pictures of a family, of a little girl… it was the same thing he had seen when they had met in the palace gardens not so long ago. But this time, it was clearer, unguarded, and it stayed. He watched how the little girl was beaten up and abused in the most devious ways… He saw her getting older, looking more and more like the Ivy he knew now.

He watched her being given away at a young age, to a much older man who mistreated her and did unspeakable things to her mind and body. He watched how the man taught her a peculiar kind of magic, watched her magic developing into something strong and dark and lethal… it made Loki shudder. The things they had made her do, despicable things, using her and her magic for the most wretched things… No one had taught her how to handle the power she held. Then, one day, Loki saw her running away, still a teen probably, even though she had suffered more already than anyone should throughout their whole life. He saw her becoming older, more independent, and wiser in her decisions. She had tried to make a living by working hard, but eventually the darkness within her would always get back the upper hand, leading her to destroy everything and everyone around her. Soon, she had been, she was feared all over the lands. No one would allow her to come near, and thus she had started to learn to use her magic not to destroy, but also to create. She had fought her way through life, until suddenly, there was a sharp cut in the things Loki saw. The pictures started back up when she was in the city of Asgard, trying to lead a normal life, enjoying every moment until the darkness would surface and she had been alone once more. That's how it always had been, and that's how it always would be. The darkness looming, patiently waiting until the time came to destroy her and everything she loved.

The last picture Loki saw was one of himself, dancing with Ivy in their little hideout in the forest. And upon that last picture he felt the crushing weight, the pain, the misery from before flood away and turn into something very close to happiness. Then everything went black, and he opened his eyes after a moment of hesitation.

He was at a loss for words, just like Ivy had been.

"You're not alone." She finally said, with a sad half smile. "I'm just as fucked up as you are."

Loki let out a sincere laugh at her words, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Yeah, it really seems like it."

Then Ivy laughed too, and they both laughed loudly and desperately because there was nothing else they could do. Loki let himself drop to the ground, laughing like mad as Ivy followed his example mere seconds later. After a few minutes, when they had calmed down, they lay next to each other, out of breath once again.

"Seems like we always end up on the floor…" Ivy snorted, turning her head towards Loki, who laid so close to her that their shoulders touched. "Maybe that's just where we belong."

"Nonsense. We belong wherever we want to belong. We can choose our home to be wherever or whoever we want it to be." He also turned to look at her, with a curious expression on his face.

"I think I might just have chosen mine…" Ivy said quietly and hoped he would not get all weird again at her slip of emotion. But he only smiled at her, so brightly, so beautifully, that she felt like melting away into the night right there.

"I'll be yours if you are mine." He said lowly, and it was the sweetest thing Ivy had ever heard, the deepest she had ever felt for someone. She smiled at him, then turned her head back up to face the stars. Maybe she would let herself love one more time…. maybe, she would allow herself to love Loki. But she wouldn't risk to scare him away by admitting any of it just yet.

"Loki?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there's wine left?" She grinned at him, and sat up a moment later.

He rolled his eyes, but together they went back to sit on the blankets. Ivy took a sip from the bottle she had started on earlier, smiling in new found contentment. Then, she looked at Loki with a small frown.

"...yes?" He asked once he noticed her eyes on him.

"Can I ask you something about your family?" She surprised him with the question, making him feel slightly uncomfortable, but he had no reason to actually hide something from her. She had seen his life and felt his pain, condensed into mere minutes, but not any less raw, or any less complete.

"You can always ask… but I don't know if I'll answer." He finally said, leaning his arms on his knees. "I have never talked to anyone about them. At least not honestly." He chuckled lightly.

"So… What's up with you and Thor?"

Loki rolled his eyes. Of course she would ask about his brother… "You saw everything that happened between him and me." He answered rather stiffly.

"Yes, and yet I saw that you care for him. Very much so indeed." She placed a hand on his arm on instinct, and he took the chance to take her hand in his, squeezing it gently before intertwining their fingers, before his mind would come up with any reason not to. The sensation made Ivy's skin tingle immediately... she adored his touch very much and appreciated every moment they could enjoy like this.

"I don't care for a lot of people, Ivy, and I like even less of them. Sometimes, one has no say in who we care about and who not."

"But you care about me."

"Obviously."

"And you care about yourself."

"Nah, I wouldn't say that by general means... I have a strong interest in guiding things into paths that bears the best outcome for myself. For both of us, as of recently... But there have been plenty of times I didn't care whether I die or not… didn't care what would become of me."

"I know the feeling..." She sighed sadly. "I have been there."

"I know…" He caressed her hand with his thumb. "I wish you hadn't."

"Maybe just tell me this one thing… Do you trust Thor?" She asked after a moment of silence.

"Why would you ask that?" He frowned.

"Because I'm starving and I need someone in the palace to set the table for me." She winked at him, nudging him in the side with her shoulder.

Loki smiled in return. "Yeah, a meal would be nice…" Then however he thought for a while about her question, before answering at last. "I really don't trust anyone but myself. Sometimes not even that. But I think I do trust Thor, in my own kind of way. He is very keen on obeying Odin's wishes, while I'm very keen on doing the opposite of what he wishes."

That made Ivy chuckle. "You did trust me though. I could see every secret, every thought and every feeling of yours. That's probably the most one can trust another being."

"Yeah, and it was by far the scariest thing I have ever done. But it made you feel better, and that made it worth it."

"It did…" Ivy breathed, slightly flustered at how far he would go to make her feel better, before she finally emptied the wine. "On to the next one!"

"Oh no, you've had enough, my dear. I want some as well!" Loki protested with a laugh and opened the second bottle, taking a large sip before Ivy could pull it from his hands.

"Geez, that stuff is so sweet!" He squeezed his eyes shut, and stuck his tongue out in exaggerated disgust. Then he quickly took another gulp and shook his head in even more disgust.

"C'mon, it's not even sweet wine! Stop acting as if it was disgust!" She pushed him lightly in the shoulder, chuckling.

"What?! It's horribly sweet… and I'm not even exaggerating." He frowned at her for real now.

Ivy took the bottle from him and smelled the indeed disgustingly sweet liquid. "Wow, it does smell sweet! Like berries… odd berries! But I'm sure I picked two bottles of the same kind…"

Then she watched Loki's eyes widen for a second, before he closed them in pure annoyance, or maybe anger, Ivy couldn't really tell.

"Don't drink it." Loki said sternly. "Put that down, now."

"What?" Ivy laughed, incredulous at his sudden change of mood. But still, she closed the bottle anyway and set it down as he had asked.

"Now listen carefully, this is very important." He said, grabbing her shoulders and looking deeply into her eyes with a seriousness that surprised Ivy. "I will most likely pass out in very few moments. There was a substance in the wine… It's called Atropa Belladonna. It's a Midgardian plant that can kill mortals in a small dose even, but I highly assume that a higher dose will kill me just the same. Anyway, what you will need to do now is to search my memory for a remedy spell. Or get rid of my body. Depends on your timing." His voice was too high pitched while he sounded breathless at the same time, and his face was starting to get really red and blotchy.

Ivy only stared at him in confusion and shock for a few long seconds, until at last she found her voice again. "If that's some kind of joke, I will kill you myself…" She said wearily, holding onto his arms on her shoulders.

Loki rolled his eyes and his fingers dug even deeper into her soft skin. "Ivy, please. You can let me die if you'd prefer that, but I would highly suggest you to do something to prevent it. It's in your hands now… I won't be any help."

"But I can't!" Her voice was now too high pitched as well, desperate even, and her eyes started to water involuntarily. "I… My magic can only kill and destroy! I couldn't possibly save you."

"I believe in you, my sweet." Loki managed to smile sadly, before his face gained a bluish tint and he coughed, laying down on the blanket beneath him as his strength gave out at last.

"Why the heck do you even know so much about poisonous Midgardian plants?!" Ivy asked in her confused state, not knowing what else to say.

"I read a lot." He tried to wink at her, but his body didn't obey him any longer and he let out a small pained noise that twisted the sinews of her heart painfully. Then his body began to shake and his muscles twitched, before finally he fell silent and his eyes closed completely.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god… Ivy didn't know what to do, what to think even! In all honesty, she was very g ood at hurting people, but healing them wasn't something she's ever had to do to anyone but herself. Fuck.

First thing, she checked his pulse. His heart was beating way too fast, but at least it was still beating at all. His body was losing heat rapidly, which seemed rather ironic due to the fact that he was indeed a creature of the cold. She covered his body with the blanket she had been sitting on anyway, and also took off her jacked and placed it under his head as a pillow. But now? She didn't know how to read his mind… Maybe she should've mentioned that before he had passed out. Fuck.

She then tried a normal healing process on him, her hands on his chest right over his heart, but it showed no effect at all. Slowly she started to panic even more.

Why hadn't he just healed himself when he still had been able to?? It would've spared her the agony of watching him die solemnly because of her inability to do anything about it.

Damn him. Damn wine.

Ivy promised herself in that very moment to find whoever was running around the city, merrily poisoning people, and to end them in the most gruesome way imaginable, whether Loki lived or not.

She looked down at Loki in her lap… he looked like he was only sleeping, his face now peaceful, but still a little blue.

No, she couldn't just sit around while he died in her arms. He had said that he reads a lot… and Ivy remembered the incredible amount of book he stored in his room. Maybe one of those would give her a clue on how to save Loki, a vague direction at least, but she couldn't possibly go through them all and still be back with him in time. She needed a plan, and she needed help. And she quite possibly knew just where to look for it.

________________________________

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Hope you enjoy lovelies! 😊💚✨ I'm so grateful for everyone who reads and comments on this story!!! You guys make me so happy 🥰

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arysafics · 5 years

Text

Break a Few Eggs

Summary: Raven dares Clarke to egg a random stranger's house. Only it turns out it's not a random stranger's house at all, but Bellamy Blake's.

anon asked for: im egging your house for a dare but your parent is a cop and they’re yelling at me so i told them that you were my ex and you wronged me and now you’re coming outside and please go along with this i don’t want to go to jail’ au

Rated T, ~1,600 words

Somehow, whenever Clarke stays over at Raven’s, no matter how much Clarke protests, they always end up at truth or dare. Clarke hates it. She hates the things Raven makes her do, because Clarke hates doing stupid things that could get her into trouble for no reason, which of course means Raven loves daring her to do them.

Which is why she’s currently standing on the street outside a house two streets away from Raven’s, in the middle of the night, a carton of eggs in her hand.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“You could always pick truth.”

“No.”

If there is anything Clarke hates more than Raven’s dares, it’s Raven’s probing questions. It’s not that Clarke isn’t honest with her friend, it’s just that there are some things she’d rather keep to herself.

“Come on,” Raven says. “I know you don’t want to do this. If you change to truth, I won’t make you go through with it.”

“What would you ask me?”

“Have you ever masturbated to the thought of anyone in our English class?”

“I’m doing the dare.”

She opens the gate, which is thankfully silent, and walks down the path towards the front door. Raven remains on the street.

“Good luck!” Raven calls in an exaggerated whisper. Clarke rolls her eyes.

As she reaches the steps, the security light comes on. She stops, heart pounding. She tells herself to relax. The rest of the house is dark, which means either everybody is asleep, or not home. She opens the carton of eggs. Eggs Raven bought specially for this occasion, Clarke has no doubt.

She takes a deep breath, and picks up an egg, then hurls it at the front door, where it breaks with a satisfying crack. She grabs another egg and throws that too. She would never admit it to Raven, but there’s something about throwing eggs at a stranger’s door that brings her some much-needed release. She throws another egg.

“Yes!” Raven yells. “It feels good, right?”

Clarke smiles to herself, but she doesn’t respond. She picks up another egg. Just as she throws it, the door swings open, and it smashes square in the chest of Marcus Kane, chief of police, covering his nice white t-shirt in golden yolk.

“What the hell is going on out here?” he yells. Clarke stands frozen in place, eyes wide, heart racing.

“Oh fuck,” Raven yells. “Run, Clarke!”

Clarke knows it’s already too late for that. Even if Kane hadn’t already seen her face, Raven gave the game away when she yelled her name. It’s not like there are any other girls named Clarke in this town.

Clarke glances around, and Raven is already gone. Clarke is going to kill her. She has absolutely no doubt Raven knew this was Bellamy Blake’s house. The same Bellamy Blake that Clarke argues with every English class, whom Clarke is starting to suspect Raven knows about her huge crush on.

Clarke can only be relieved it’s Bellamy’s step-father who came to the door, and not Bellamy himself. Though it’s not a lot better, seeing as how Kane could probably arrest her for this. Or worse, tell her mom about it.

“Clarke Griffin,” Kane frowns. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I—” Clarke stammers, at a loss for words, searching for some excuse that might get her out of this.

“Well?” Kane prompts. “Is there a reason you’re throwing eggs at my house in the middle of the night? Or is just some fun little prank? I’m not going to let you off lightly just because I’m friends with your mother.”

“It’s Bellamy,” Clarke says quickly. “He—he cheated on me. And I was just so mad I had to do something about it. I guess I wasn’t really thinking.”

Kane looks thoughtful. “He cheated on you, did he?”

A light goes on somewhere inside, and then Bellamy appears beside Kane, hair unkempt and shirtless. Clarke wants to die.

“Who cheated on who?” he says, squinting at her. “Clarke?”

“Clarke says you cheated on her, and that’s why she felt the need to egg our house in the middle of the night. I didn’t even know you two were together.”

Clarke looks to Bellamy, silently praying for him to go along with this. She really doesn’t want to go to jail. Bellamy is smirking at her, like he finds the whole situation hilarious. She probably would too, if the roles were reversed.

“I didn’t cheat on her,” Bellamy says slowly. Clarke glares at him, hoping the daggers she’s sending accurately portray the severity of the fuck you she wants to tell him. “We were on a break,” he grins.

“We were on a break? Really?” Clarke huffs. “You fucking jerk.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you needed some space. Must have missed the footnote that stated I still had to be faithful to a girl who wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I hate you so much!” Clarke growls. She’s only half acting.

“Yeah, well I hate you too, princess!”

One glance at Kane shows her that he’s feeling supremely uncomfortable right now. He clears his throat. “I think I’ll just leave you kids to sort this out. And one of you better clean this door.”

Kane walks back inside, and both Clarke and Bellamy watch him go. As soon as he’s gone, Bellamy turns back to Clarke. He’s grinning as he comes outside, shutting the door behind him.

“We were on a break?” Clarke hisses, as Bellamy walks down the steps. “You couldn’t have just gone along with you cheating on me?”

He stops in front of her. “Sorry,” he says, still grinning. “I was watching Friends earlier. And it was more fun this way. For the record, if we were together, I would never cheat on you.”

“You’re a jerk,” Clarke says, mostly in the hopes of him not noticing how red her face is after that comment. She reminds herself he’s just clarifying that he’s not a cheater, he’s not saying he wants to be with her.

“You’re the one egging my house,” he reminds her. “Didn’t realise me disagreeing with you in class bothered you that much.”

“It doesn’t,” Clarke huffs. “Raven dared me to do it. I didn’t even know it was your house.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says. He almost looks—disappointed?

“Do you want it to bother me?” Clarke asks. “Is that why you do it?”

“No,” Bellamy says. He glances at down at his hands, where he’s nervously twisting his fingers together. “I guess—I guess I just hoped you were thinking about me.”

The security light goes off, and they’re plunged into darkness.

“Why?” Clarke says quietly, feeling the need to whisper now that it’s dark. Bellamy steps closer. So close she could sway forward slightly and be pressed against his bare chest.

“I don’t know,” he whispers back. “All I know is I want to be the only thing you think about. That’s why I disagree with you.”

“You want to annoy me into thinking about you all the time?” Clarke asks. She feels dizzy from his proximity, and her heart is pounding like crazy.

“Is that so wrong?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that though,” she says, dropping her voice even lower. She can’t look at him.

“I don’t?”

She shakes her head again. She manages to look up at him. “I’m pretty much thinking about you all the time anyway.”

There’s a charged silence between them, just for a moment, while Bellamy licks his lips. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

The word is barely out of her mouth before he’s kissing her, soft and slow and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll break her. Warmth blooms in her chest, and her skin tingles all over. He pulls his lips away, and rests his forehead against hers.

“I’ve thought about that a lot,” Bellamy admits. “All I’m thinking about when I’m arguing with you in class is how I want to kiss you.”

“Is that why your arguments make no sense?”

Bellamy laughs. “I’m never going to win with you, am I?”

“Is kissing me not a win?”

“No, it definitely is,” he says. Clarke smiles, ducking her head.

“I should go,” she says. “I have to go and kill Raven.”

“And I have to clean my front door apparently.”

“Don’t,” Clarke says. “I’ll come over in the morning and help you clean it.”

“Okay,” Bellamy agrees. “It’s a date.”

“Kind of a shitty first date,” Clarke says, smiling wryly.

“Maybe if you’d just told me you like me instead of throwing eggs at my house, I’d take you on a proper date.”

“Says the person who argues with me as a form of flirting.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Okay, you win. Again.”

Clarke laughs. “Maybe one day I’ll let you win.”

“I hope you never do,” Bellamy grins. “Go get some sleep, Clarke. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning,” Clarke agrees. She can’t keep the goofy smile from her face as she walks back to Raven’s. She makes sure it’s gone by the time she’s back in Raven’s bedroom.

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Raven says. “What happened? Was Bellamy there?”

“Never you mind,” Clarke says, grabbing her pyjamas.

“Are you punishing me for leaving you? I’m sorry, okay? I need to know. Come on.”

“Goodnight, Raven!” Clarke says. “If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll tell you in the morning.”

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

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traitorwhoyoulove · 5 years

Text

beautiful creatures (beautiful liars)

For the post-6x02 prompt courtesy of @lilhemmo: ‘For the prompt: WHAT IF CLARKE IS THE ONE TO PATCH UP BELLAMYS THIGH STAB WOUND AND EVERYTHING UNRAVELS AND THEY FINALLY HASH THINGS OUT but someone will interrupt of course but hey’

Thank you for letting me write this!

Every moment we spend turning from friends to enemies and fighting to hold on to each other, every second we fall to the fire below, it’s so beautiful.

The chaos that follows the arrival of the Alpha planet children is a blur to Bellamy. Abby and Raven rake their eyes over the veins that cover Murphy’s chest like wolves. Octavia eyes him warily from a distance while Clarke tries to get some information out of the kids. There are so many people, and he can feel the last of the eclipse draining from his veins, and why is Diyoza awake, and where the hell are all of the adults on this planet, and Jesus fuck his leg hurts.

“We have to get him to medical,” Abby growls from her perch next to Murphy. She turns to the kids. “Do any of you kids know where the doctors are?”

A blonde girl with frizzy curls ringed in sunlight shakes her head. “They won’t be back for another couple of hours probably.”

Raven huffs and places a hand on Murphy’s chest.

“Do you know where the doctors take people that are sick?” Abby asks, and the little girl nods. “Okay, good. Do you think you can take me there so we can help our friend?”

The girl looks at the kids around her, hesitating, and then she nods.

It takes three of them, Abby, Jordan, and Octavia, to get Murphy to his feet, though his weight rests solely on their shoulders. They cart him off hastily, following a few of the children. Bellamy stands and tries to follow, but the shift of his weight onto his injured leg makes him grunt with exertion.

“No, no, no,” Clarke says, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “Someone needs to take a look at your leg.”

“I’m fine, Clarke. Murphy—”

“Murphy isn’t going anywhere, and you can’t help him if you’re dead from blood loss.”

She glares at him, her brow quirked as if daring him to argue. He knows that look. Arguing is pointless.

“Fine,” he bites out. “Where’s Jackson?”

She stoops to grab her pack and swing it over her shoulder, then meets his gaze and gives him a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Still out of commission,” she says. “You’re stuck with me.” She loops his arm around her shoulder before he can respond, taking the brunt of his weight as he hobbles to a patio of a house nearby. “You um—”

He sees the flush creep up her neck. She gestures at the torn fabric of the leg of his pants that seeps with blood and swallows hard.

“Oh,” he says, and the break in his voice makes him want to beat his head against the wall next to him. “Shit, yeah okay.”

He works at the buckle of his belt with shaky fingers, and he doesn’t allow himself to wonder why a lump has appeared in his throat.

Clarke’s a medic for god’s sake, this is nothing she hasn’t seen before. A tense silence fills the air between them as he drops his pants to the ground. Clarke clears her throat and extends a hand to steady him as he gently sits on the bench. Bellamy’s struck by the warmth of her palms as she gingerly lifts his bare leg to extend to his side. She doesn’t meet his eyes, just kneels next to him and begins to prod at the open wound. He hisses when she touches a particularly painful spot.

“Sorry,” she says. He brushes it off.

She rummages through her pack until she pulls out her med kit, rifling through its contents and pulling out a suture kit. The silence that hangs between them as she preps the tools is awkward, if he’s being honest, and he finds himself desperate to fill it.

“What the hell was that?” he asks. “The veins on Murphy’s chest.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know, honestly. It looked like some sort of weird blood poisoning.” He can feel the fear that lingers between them and chills his skin. Clarke squares her shoulders and clears her throat. “I’m sure my mom will figure it out. Especially once the doctors from Alpha get back.”

He tries to pretend he doesn’t hear the doubt in her voice.

“You were right,” he tells her. “We have no idea how to survive down here.”

Her grip on his thigh tightens, and he clenches his jaw against the sting of the needle in his skin. It’s not the first time he’s been stitched up without anesthetic, and god knows it probably won’t be the last.

She clears her throat again, and as she pushes a curl behind her ear, he sees the angry purple bruises that have started to bloom beneath the skin of her neck. His stomach flips.

“Christ,” he hisses. “Clarke, I am so sorry.”

She shakes her head, but she doesn’t look at him.

“It’s okay,” she says. “The eclipse—”

“God, I can’t believe I could ever do that to you. How—”

She cuts him off with a nod to the wound in his thigh.

“I think we’re even,” she says.

It shuts him up, but it doesn’t remove the guilt from his chest. He watches as she works, the way her fingers move across his skin with practiced ease. The idea that any part of him could ever want Clarke dead is—it’s unfathomable. What kind of place was this, that could turn him into a monster who could kill someone he loves?

It’s a moment before she says, “Do you ever wonder why they chose us?” She must see the confusion on his face. “Monty and Harper, I mean. Why did they wake us up first? Not Kane, not my mom, not the others. Why us?”

If he’s honest, he had thought about it, and he wanted to keep pretending he didn’t know the answer. Of course, they’d woken Bellamy and Clarke up first. The ones who managed to keep a hundred kids alive when they had no idea what the fuck they were doing. Who convinced Kane and Abby that they could survive down here. Who sacrificed their youth and their souls for their people, for each other.

Bellamy swallows hard.

“I guess at the end of the day, it’s always been you and me, huh?”

She finally meets his eye then, and the corner of her mouth tips upward. Her face turns sad for a moment before she looks back at his leg.

“I am sorry, Bellamy,” she says softly. “About leaving you in Polis, about leaving after Mount Weather.” She takes a deep breath, and he can see her shoulders shake with it. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever hurt you. I’ve never wanted that. Ever.”

“I know,” he says without, and honestly it surprises him when he realizes it’s the truth.

“But you were right, even back then. People do die when I’m in charge.”

Despite himself, Bellamy scoffs.

“Yeah, you’re right, Clarke. People die when you’re in charge,” he says. “But a hell of a lot more people live.” She snaps her eyes to his, soft with hope and something else he can’t bring himself to read too much into. “You’ve always been the one to make the calls others weren’t brave enough to make, but that had to be made, nonetheless. And you took that burden on willingly so that no one else had to.”

He watches her lashes flutter as she looks down at his leg, her hands working diligently and with more focus than he thinks the task probably requires.

“I’ve done so many terrible things, Bellamy.”

“Haven’t we all?” He reaches a hand out and squeezes her shoulder. “You’re not the bad guy, Clarke. You never have been. You’re just the one who makes the call others can’t bear to make, and when things go to shit and people need to point fingers at someone, for some reason that always seems to be you. But it’s never fair.” He grabs her forearm and waits for her to look at him before he continues. “You’ve saved our asses over and over again. No one would be alive without you. And that debt is so heavy on everyone’s shoulders that they don’t know what to do with it. But they know, Clarke. We all know.”

She rests a hand on his knee, and the gentle squeeze she gives it is enough to tell him he’s said the right thing. He looks at the relief in her frame, at the lines at the corners of her eyes that have finally started to soften, and for the millionth time he wishes he could take some of that burden from her. Wishes she would let him.

“I gave you my key for a reason, Clarke.” He says it so softly he can’t decide if he even meant to say it out loud. “Even after everything, we still trust each other.” She heaves a sigh. “So please, trust me enough to let me share this with you again. I know it’s been a long time, and I know things are different, but you and me…we need each other.”

When she looks at him, he can see the tears that brim below her lashes.

“I have always needed you, Clarke.”

It’s enough to make them fall to her cheeks, a quiet trail of everything he knows she’s been holding back for six years. They sit in a comfortable silence, and for once he doesn’t feel the weight of so many things unspoken between them. He lets himself revel in it.

It won’t last for long, of course. He knows any minute someone will be here with a new crisis to be solved. There will be other arguments, more politics, an entirely new fucking planet to survive on. But for right now, this tentative peace between them and the rediscovery of an understanding he thought they’d lost a long time ago—for now, it’s enough.

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