#but like do I ACTUALLY think he should have been tortured for a century | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weirdmorefics · 2 months

Note

Hi! Can I send in a request for being another timelord who travels with the 9th doctor and Rose Tyler being like a sister figure to Y/N?

A/N- Yes yes yes!!! I have actually had an idea for something like this just hadn't written it yet.

Readers Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 3.9k

Summary- (BASED ON S1 E6) The Doctor and Rose find themselves in a bunker in Utah full of alien artifacts. They are shocked to find some of these artifacts are alive and not here of their own free will. You just so happen to be one of these artifacts.

The Slightly Behind Timelord

I used to keep track of how many days I'd been chained and experimented on but the days quickly turned into months and the months turned to years. I've long since lost hope of ever returning to Gallifrey. It was in shambles when I was last home, the war was constant. I was a coward and stole my parent's Tardis to escape from having to fight. A stupid coward who didn't check if it was in working condition to only have crashed and ended up imprisoned by a man who I know as Mr. Van Statten. I should have stayed and fought then at least I would have died with dignity.

I have refused to talk since my arrival. I may have betrayed Gallifrey by fleeing but I refuse to make things worse than they already are there. Nevertheless, Mr. Van Statten comes and talks to me every single day asking about about my ship. They have dissected the TARDIS piece by piece. I secretly hope it burns them alive. When Mr. Van Statten inevitably gets nothing out of me he sends in a man an orange suit to torture it out of me. It never works but they do not stop.

Today was different they had a new man with them, he was restrained and they strapped him to the walls like me. I wonder if this was a new torture strategy.

"Look here we got you a friend maybe now you will do some talking," Van Statten says cheerfully.

I look at the man with pity knowing they are going to torture him as well. Van Statten's men unchain me and drag me to the other side of the room. I don't even fight them anymore I don't have the energy to spare.

Van Statten powers up his inhumane X-ray and says, "Smile!"

The man screams in pain as the red beam scans him and Van Statten smiles in glee at the results.

"Two hearts! A binary vascular system! Here I thought you were special," he shouts a glare in my direction and the man chained up widens his eyes.

The man doesn't look at Van Statten but puts his focus on me, "Where are you from?"

"No point in talking to her she hasn't spoken since we tore her from the rubble of her ship. She put up quite the fight when we started dissembling her ship screaming you are killing her. Then not a single word," he sighs in disappointment shaking his head at me. "I would get rid of her now that I have you but I need more information about the ship."

I suck in a breath they kill without care here, I wonder if everyone on this planet is like that. The man chained is certainly not from here maybe he can get me out. However, he is looking at me like I am unreal so perhaps not.

If looks could kill Van Statten would certainly be dead from this man's fiery gaze, "You're not a collector you're a scavenger."

"This technology has been falling to earth for centuries I am simply just making use of it. Oh the advances I've made from alien junk you have no idea, Doctor," he grins but I quickly interrupt.

I gasp, "The Doctor! Has Gallifrey won the war! How are you here?"

Van Satten's grin turns to a full-blown smile, "First you make the Dalek talk now my longest surviving exhibit! You truly are something!"

"there- there is uh... a Dalek here," I whisper afraid to speak their name.

The Doctor looks at me eyes full of guilt and astonishment, he still looks at me as if I am not here.

"Thank you again Doctor so much for getting her to talk keep her talking for me why don't you? Since you all seem so scared of said Dalek, I think I will go back and try to have a word with it. I find fear is the best motivator to get people spending, " Van Statten is practically glowing with joy and I wish I could smack the joy right off.

The Doctor wrestles with his chains trying to break free, "You can't go in there with it! Now that it knows that I am here it will come looking for me! No one on this planet will be safe!"

His screams fill me with fear if I could throw up right now I would but they hardly ever feed me so there is nothing to throw up so I end up hyperventilating. Mr. Van Statten ends up shocking the Doctor and his angry words are replaced with painful screams.

I struggle against my chains screaming at the top of my lungs, "He tells the truth! You don't stand a chance against the Daleks! The war lasted centuries on Gallifrey here you will be lucky to last day!"

Van Statten looks at me in awe, "Wow full sentences maybe you will prove useful after all these years."

Nothing I say to this psychotic man will ever get into that thick skull of his, I would facepalm if my hands weren't shackled to the wall.

Alarms sound and angry red lights flash, my heart sinks, it's to late.

The Doctor's tone shifts from begging to demanding, "Release me if you want to live."

Van Statten quickly makes work of the chains holding the Doctor down and runs for the door.

The Doctor points to me, "Forgetting someone?"

Van Statten waves him off, "We haven't the time!"

"You need all the information you can get on Daleks, let her out now!" he shouts leaving no room for questions and Van Statten quickly does the command.

My legs feel like jelly as we run into the elevator I can't remember the last time I've walked unchained let alone run. I felt so out of place, especially in a ratty hospital gown.

"You have to keep it caged," he shouts to Van Statten's lackeys.

"Doctor it's all my fault," a blonde says apologetically on the screen.

A guard informs us that he has sealed off the exits and the lock as a million combos no way the thing's getting out. I shake my head at his idiocy I just hope this blonde girl is also a timelord, the more the better.

"Daleks are genius they can figure out a billion combinations in ten seconds flat." The Doctor informs.

The Dalek quickly figures out how to exit the moment I see it on the screen I cover my mouth in horror.

"Don't shoot I want it unharmed!" Van Statten shouts.

"Are you that dense! You would rather a whole planet die than lose a collection piece!" I shout at the man who held me captive for years and swing a punch at his face which earns me the pleasant crunch noise from his nose.

two guards pull me away from him as I smile for the first time in ages. The Doctor doesn't seem to notice the commotion shouting for the blonde whose name is apparently Rose to run.

I look back to the screen to see the Dalek destroying the screen connection. I feared the sucker would go right through the screen and appear before me like a Weeping Angel. I stumbled backward but the guards just tugged harder to keep me in place. I groaned in response to the uncomfortable position.

The Doctor's head whipped in the direction of the noise in high alert, "let her go! You are focused on the wrong alien here!"

The guards look to Van Statten for his approval, "She's got one hell of a right hook, I'll give her that... drop her.

The guards took this a little too literally and dropped me directly on my ass, as the others make their way to the computer.

"Oh my god, it's draining the whole power supply," the woman with us gasped.

"It's not just the energy it's the whole internet, it knows everything," The Doctor states.

"Cameras in the vault our down," the woman relays.

"It's going to absorb everything," I sigh

"We have to kill it now!" The Doctor shouts.

We watch soldiers die again and again through the surveillance cameras. It's Gallifrey all over again I can't escape it, but maybe I can help this time instead of running away.

"Tell them to stop shooting!" Van Statten says but I am seriously praying this is a very cruel joke.

"But it's killing them!" The woman shouted back.

"They're dispensable that Dalek is unique. I don't want a single scratch on it!" he shouts to the lifeless soldiers.

I clench my fists, "You are asking me to hurt you! You are putting lives over a killer," I shout getting in his face his guards instantly stand up preparing for me to strike him again which probably wasn't far off thinking.

"He's an idiot we need to focus," The Doctor interrupts and I return my gaze to the map as they discuss alien weapons.

"There has to be a way to keep it alive, maybe we trap it down there-"

The Doctor cuts him off, "Leaving everyone trapped with it? Rose is down there. I won't let that happen, have you got that?"

That seems to shut Van Statten up for once thank god.

"Who is Rose? Is she from Gallifrey? Did you two come here to stop the last Dalek? Does that mean Gallifrey is safe again?" I ramble many questions at once.

"Doesn't talk for years now you don't shut up," he glares at me like this whole situation is somehow my fault.

The Doctor frowns, "Leave her be Statten." He ignores my questions and tells them to arm all the soldiers with alien weapons it's the only way to beat it. Then he directs the soldiers on how to kill a Dalek always aim for the eye the soldiers shut him down.

"I can't help but think everyone on this planet is insanely dense," I sigh.

The doctor smirks, " There are some good humans out there, you wouldn't know being stuck here with these imbeciles."

Van Statten's glare burns into The Doctor I feel the heat of the glare just from the proximity.

"We have visuals again," the woman informs and all of our eyes dart to the computer.

"It wants us to see," The Doctor growled.

We all stare in shock as the Dalek uses the sprinklers to electrocute and kill all the soldiers at once.

"Perhaps we should consider a different strategy like abandoning the place," Van Statten nervously stumbles over his words. I had never seen him like this he always seemed confident when torturing me. If this were any other situation I would be overjoyed to see him like this. I wish I was the one to make him feel like this, not the Dalek.

The woman glares at him, "Except there's no power to the helipad, sir."

"You said we could seal the vault," The Doctor interrupts their glaring showdown.

"There's not enough power!" she shouts.

"There's emergency power we could redirect it to the bulkhead door," The Doctor defends.

"It would take a computer genius to get through the security codes!" The woman says frustrated.

"Good thing you got me," Mr. Van Statten smiles.

"You wanna help?" The Doctor asks shocked.

"No there is no way he wants to help! It is physically impossible he has no empathy. This has to be a trick!" I shout.

"It's not out of empathy, I don't want to die as simple as that. This could have been avoided if you talked in the first place. I would have known what it was capable of years ago." He shouts back at me.

The camera turns back on and the Dalek's voice fills the room, "I shall only speak to the doctor."

"You are gonna get rusty," he responds to the Dalek who still getting soaked by the sprinkler system.

"I don't think now is a great time for jokes Doctor," I whisper.

"I fed off the DNA of Rose Tyler. Extrapolating the biomass of a time-traveler regenerated me," the Dalek speaks.

"What's your next trick," the Doctor rolls his eyes.

"I have been searching for the Daleks," it responds.

"Yeah, I saw downloading the entire internet. What did you see?" He saunters around the table.

"I searched your radio signals and telescopes," it responds.

I anxiously pick at the scabs already forming from when I punched Satten. What will happen if this Dalek happens to find more Daleks? What if he isn't the last one.

The Doctor seems completely unphased, "and find anything?"

"Nothing, Where shall I get my order from now!" It screams loudly.

"Nothing but a solider without any commands," the Doctor teases.

I look at him in shock he can't possibly think it's a good thing to rile up at a Dalek more.

"Then I shall follow my primary order, the Dalek instinct to conquer and destroy," it responds.

"What for! What's the point!" The Doctor shouts his facade slipping. "Don't you see everything is gone, everything you stood for."

"Then what should I do?" The Dalek actually seemed to have an emotion other than hatred. Many emotions. I would have felt bad for it if not for all they have done against Gallifrey.

"Alright, then. If you want orders follow this one. Kill yourself," the doctor responds coldly.

I look up at him with wide eyes this is not the Doctor they spoke of on Gallifrey the mischievous one who was too smart for his own good. This Doctor was cold and harsh with his words.

"The Daleks must live on," the Dalek shouts in a familiar rage that all Daleks have.

"The Daleks have failed! Why don't you finish the job and make the Daleks extinct! Rid the universe of your filth! Why don't you just die, " The Doctor shouts back such cruel words that I am worried that the Dalek will retaliate immediately.

"You would make a good Dalek," it responds and I think I have officially heard the worst insult anyone could make toward a Gallifreyian.

I put my hand on the Doctor's arm, " I am so sorry."

The Doctor does not look at me he looks broken but yells to Statten, "Seal the vaults!"

"She's still down there," the woman whispers to the doctor.

He calls Rose on his phone to get updates on her location he cares so much about this Rose she has to be a Time Lady like me. I can't imagine the Doctor having much time to visit other planets after the war.

He relays to her that he can't stop the gate from closing she has to run. He waits as long as he can and apologizes before shutting the vault. He frantically asks if she made it but his face quickly sets into a deep frown.

He quickly pulls off his earpiece, "I killed her."

Van Statten says, "I'm sorry." I have never heard him say sorry before I haven't heard the word sorry in so long it sounds foreign.

"I was supposed to protect! She was only here because of me! And you're sorry? I could have killed that Dalek in its cell but you stopped me."

"It was the prize of my collection!" He defended.

I shook my head hard, "You valued your collection over life you are disgusting."

"Man goes to space to be part of something greater," the Doctor spits.

"Exactly! I wanted to touch the stars! That's why I kept her here!" he points to me. "If you think about it, it is all her fault none of this would have happened if she told me how her ship worked."

The Doctor shook his head, "You just wanted to drag the stars underground! Of course, she wouldn't talk you enslaved her and experimented on her! You are about as far from the stars as you can get!" His angry screams turned to sorrowful sighs, "And you took Rose down with you she was nineteen years old."

"She's so young can she not regenerate?" I ask sadly.

"She's human," he sighs.

I can't understand what a timelord is doing traveling with humans I understand now is not the time for questions.

The elevator doors open and the Doctor is quick to yell at the man for leaving his companion behind.

The monitor turns back on the Dalek holding its weapon to the back of the girl, "Open the vault or Rose Tyler dies."

The doctor gasps, "You're alive!"

"Can't get rid of me that easily," she teases.

"I thought you were dead," he shouts.

The Dalek interrupts, "Open the vault!"

"Don't" she begs.

"What use are emotions, if you will not save the woman you love," the Dalek states. Curious what does a Dalek know about love?

"I killed her once, I can't do it again," he states as he presses the button.

This is most certainly not the Doctor who was infamous in Gallifrey how long have I been missing. I hear Van Satten shouting but none of it really matters anymore. The Dalek will kill us and I have been missing so long that no one back home will know the difference. I am not going down without a fight. If my life didn't mean something hopefully my death can.

I adjust my posture to appear taller, "You collect all these dangerous aliens so where are your dangerous alien weapons?"

The woman shouts at me "All the weapons are in the vault!"

"Only the cataloged ones," Van Statten's employee smiles at me. I can't help the blush that appears on my face I can't remember the last time someone smiled at something I said.

The Doctor nods his head at me, "Good idea." He still looks at me like I'm a figment of his imagination and will disappear soon.

We left Van Statten and his assistant upstairs and went to the basement for weapons. The doctor tosses the weapons that are useless but finds a gun which relieves some of my anxiety.

"Stay here! I'll come back for you as soon as I handle the Dalek!" He demands

"You are out of your mind! I've been locked here for years and you're the first timelord I've seen here! If you think I am letting you fight a Dalek alone you're mental!" I shout back it feels strange screaming at anyone after refusing to speak for so long even weirder to scream at a war hero from my own planet.

He takes a deep breath trying to control his rage, "I don't have time for this! I can't have you dying while I am saving Rose!"

I shove him, hold my head high, and walk right by him, "I have more regenerations left than you old man."

He jogs to catch up to me, "No convincing you?"

"God you sound like my parents when I stole their Tardis," I groan as we jog up the stairs.

He smirks, "I stole a Tardis myself once."

"Now that's a story I have to hear," I grin wide.

"Another day," he sighs as we quietly enter the room with the Dalek and Rose.

The Doctor steps in front of me "Rose get out of the way now!"

"No, I won't let you do this," she frowns.

I stare wide-eyed at her she can't be saying this does she know of the war on Galifrey why wouldn't the Doctor have told her.

"That thing killed thousands of people!" He shouts.

"It's not the one pointing a gun at me," she snaps and I kind of want to throttle this girl.

"I've got to do this the Daleks destroyed my home! My people! I've got nothing left!" He shouts.

My head whips to face the Doctor, "What do you mean nothing." My voice shakes no matter how hard I try to remain calm. "We didn't win the war? How are you here then?"

I turn back to the Dalek, "Did they win?"

I stomp towards the Dalek and the doctor pleads with me to wait. Rose looks at me nervously I guess I can still look scary in a hospital gown and no weapon of my own. When she steps out of the way I freeze in my spot I've never seen a Dalek out of its exoskeleton.

"What is it doing?" This has to be a ploy, one they use to seem weaker then snap. Though a Dalek would never do that they need to feel superior or they are nothing.

"It's the sunlight that's all it wants," Rose defends the Dalek as it reaches its hand to the sun I back up. This is not normal behavior.

The Doctors' gaze follows, "But it can't..."

"It couldn't kill me or Van Statten it's changing!" Rose defends yet again. "And what about you Doctor what the hell are you changing into?"

I whip to Rose, "You have no right! You have no idea what these Daleks did to our home!"

"Our?" She questions.

"Why do we survive?" The Dalek asks. "I am the last of the Daleks."

"You're not even that, you absorbed Rose's DNA. You are mutating," the Doctor explains.

"Into what?" it responds.

"Something new," he replies.

I frown I am happy that there are no more Daleks but this is truly a Dalek's worst nightmare.

"I am sorry," The Doctor sighs.

"isn't that better?" Rose asks.

"Not for a Dalek," why am I feeling sorry for the Dalek they destroy everything it's their goal. I can't help but relate to it when we have been stuck in the same prison for years... I thought about burning this whole place down myself.

"So many ideas, so much darkness. Give me orders! Order me to die Rose," the Dalek says pained.

She shakes her head, "No I can't."

"This is not life! This is sickness. I shall not be like you. Order me to die. Obey! Obey! Obey!" The dalek screams and I can't help but step a few feet back the words reminding me of hearing the constant battlefield noises out my childhood window on Gallifrey.

"Do it," she says.

"Are you frightned Rose Tyler?"

"Yes"

"So am I, Exterminate." The Dalek floats up and prepares to self destruct as Rose and I run away from it.

I fall to the ground as I watch the Dalek explode all the adrenaline I once had fades out of me. I look up to the Doctor, "What do you mean you have no one?"

His pitiful gaze that he sent me when he first found out I was Timelord made sense now as he responds, There's no more Gallifrey... no more Daleks. The whole planet gone."

I can sob " I should have stayed home. I should have never ran away. If I stayed at least I would have gone with my family." I turn to the doctor but can barely see him through my tears. "Is there really no other Timelords?"

Rose quickly gets onto the floor and rubs my back, "hey you never know! The Doctor thought he was the only Timelord left but here you are! Plus you get to constantly prove the Doctor was wrong not many people get the oppurtunity."

I sniffle, "That's true, and I do love proving people wrong."

"There you go," she soothes. "We will get you a good cup of tea my Mum always says tea cure anything," She helps me to feet.

"You are really good at this comforting thing. Is she always this sweet?" I ask the Doctor.

The Doctor seems to have glossy eyes as well but hides his emotions well, "Yeah, that's why I keep her around."

"Hey!" she shoves him.

"The grief is very heavy right now but I am thankful to be surrounded by such light that could even turn a Dalek's cold heart warm.

#doctor who x reader #doctor who x you #doctor who x y/n #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfiction #9th doctor #9th doctor x reader #doctor who drabble #doctor who fic #doctor who fandom #rose tyler x reader #rose tyler x the doctor

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lovemyromance · 25 days

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SJM doesn't write her men as fuckbois, end of argument. This is romantasy, this is not real life situationships.

She writes her men as prideful beings, unwilling to kneel for anyone but their woman.

She writes her men as desperate for their female counterparts, willing to wait centuries to even earn a second glance.

So this concept of "Oh, Azriel & Elain don't actually want each other, they're just trying to blow off steam." Is ridiculous.

Regardless of their past, their background, the second they meet their love interest they fall in line and are head over heels for that ONE woman. It's not finicky love. It didn't just pass over the course of 2 pages.

SJM empowers the women more and gives them previous love interests. Feyre had Tamlin & Isaac Hale. Nesta had half of the seedy bar crowd in Velaris (no shade, go off city girl) & Tomas Mandray. Elain had Graysen.

You know what their past flings didn't get?

A POV.

We never got a POV from Tamlin, despite him being a main character and love interest in ACOTAR. We didn't get a POV from Tomas or random dude in Nesta's apartment. We didn't get a POV from Graysen.

You know which MMCs did get a POV?

Rhysand.

Cassian.

Azriel.

That in itself should be enough evidence that whatever happening between Elriel isn't just a fling, as the antis try to make it out to be.

Rhysand got a POV when he was endgame with Feyre. Cassian got a POV before he was endgame with Nesta. Now Azriel gets a POV, and there's only one sister left....

Why would SJM give Azriel a whole POV otherwise? Why not just tell it from Elain's POV?

And no it's not because that would reveal how much she apparently secretly loves Lucien while she's ready to drop her panties for Shadow Boy

That bonus chapter in ACOSF was not just SJM being in a silly goofy mood and deciding to write fuckboy Az as a new part of the story.

Also - all these people clamoring "wELL hAvE yOu rEaD tHe aZrIeL bOnUs cHaPtER?" They're just trynna use each other - Have YOU read the bonus chapter?

What part of that longing and tension and pining gave you lust and incel behavior? This man feels so undeserving of her, he thinks even touching her is to taint her goodness.

That shit poetic af.

He's out here being Azriel Allen Poe, describing her hair like dawn and begging on his knees to taste her and y'all are out here thinking "nah, they're just a fling."

Do you spout poetry and are tortured every waking moment with the love you hold for your situationship? If so - I don't think they're a situationship anymore bestie.

And Elain also wanted his hands on her. The antis trying to spin "oh she was indifferent to it, she could have been fine with or without him" is so ridiculous because literally she says yes. OFFER AND PERMISSION. She is aroused when he touches her NECK. Like come on, how down bad do you have to be for someone to get turned on when they touch your NECK. And, on top of that, she feels hurt when Azriel says this is a mistake.

Would someone only trynna get laid feel hurt over that? Would they avoid the other person after if they just wanted to blow off steam? No. She wanted Azriel just as badly. And anyone who tries to say otherwise, is just flat out not reading the words on the page.

When will Eluciens & Gwynriels quit trying to cheapen what is canon in order to make their ships work? SJM doesn't write fuckboi men. That's not up for debate.

And the fact that they'd rather have Az be using Elain (or I vice versa) for sex than actually hold feelings for her says a lot.

#elriel #azriel #elain archeron #pro elain #elain x azriel #acotar #elain #antielucien

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notebooks-and-laptops · 11 months

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in no way i mean to offend you but. my friend. your version of sebastian is just. i mean down to the last bit it's just leliana.

Hello! I'm actually glad you sent this because I've been thinking about their differences and similarities and would love the chance to talk about it.

So, heres the thing. I feel like its easy to model a Better Sebastian off Leliana. They are both people with awful pasts, who enjoy violence and try to rationalize it, and who find comfort in their faith. Also, I think it's easy to type cast a character as "religious" rather than exploring the personal links that person has to their faith and how it may differ from others.

But ultimately, my better version of Seb that lives in my head? He's still pretty chantry conservative compared to Leliana. And the violence thing is s l I g h t l y different. Leliana is a lot of things but I wouldn't say her main motivation is often revenge, whereas Sebs defo is.

1. Theology

Leliana, you'll recall has some WILD opinions about the maker. Her opinions remind me a little of Julian of Norwich, a fourteenth century anchoress who hints at universalisation, believes god spoke to her directly, and had intense views about the love of God (Leliana and Julian is a seperate post but god I'd love to chat about it someday). Leliana believes:

Members of the chantry should have sexual and romantic relationships including the Divine. These relationships are not only morally correct, they are gifts from the Maker and divine in themselves

God did not abandon creation but instead is in creation, everywhere

God can actively talk to individuals as God did to Leliana, usually in visions. He uses this to shape the world

Meanwhile, Sebastian is waaaaay more conservative. Like. St Anselm sorta vibes of the poor man running into the ditch and getting punished by God for it vibes. I mean. Think of all the changes Leliana makes if she becomes divine, even to scripture itself. Do you think Sebastian would uphold any of that?

And that's not necessarily a bad thing! I want Sebastian to think about what it means to be holy, but I don't think he should abandon basic chantry principles because he IS a conservative character. He's a member of the royal family! He has a lot to gain by sticking to tradition and will have been raised to do so.

So yeah, Seb should realise Anders and many others do more for the poor than the chantry. But also he should maintain basic principles of faith such as the maker has abandoned his children, people need to do penance before the maker to atone for their sins.

I mean, the REASON Seb is the way he is is that he thinks that a lot of what he wants/desires is sinful and that he should be punished for that. He's got the Catholic guilt that Leliana couldn't even dream of having.

Also I want Seb to be celebate for the right reasons (he thinks it's what the maker wants him to do rather than something he has to do to stay in the chantry) but that doesn't mean I don't want him to think that the maker wants him to do that. THE MAKER WANTS HIM TO DO THAT. It's how he remains close to the maker.

Basically, Sebs Theology aligns more with Cassandra than it EVER could with Leliana

Why did they turn to religion?

Leliana may have been a bad person before, but she hid in Lothering Chantry because she was already devout and religious. She had suffered tremendously, been tortured and her faith had steadied her through that.

Sebastian Vael? He's a prince and he was basically forced into this. He was an unruly third son so they bonked him in the chantry to try and make him well behaved.

And that's SUCH a difference between the two? Sebastian will ALWAYS feel that struggle between who he was and who is he now, and the fact that he was cohersed into the chantry even if he approves of it now. Leliana wasn't cohersed into anything and found a way to reconcile both her love of violence and her job with the chantry. Speaking of...

What is their violence used for?

Also. Another thing is. Seb doesn't use violence FOR the chantry. The closest he comes is invading Kirkwall for harbouring Anders, but again, that's more personal revenge than violence for the chantry itself to further the chantrys aims. Sebastian instead draws this VERY neat line between violence which is "more fun than the chantry" and the chantry itself which is a life of prayer and devotion.

For Leliana, by Inquisition, she is using violence FOR the chantry. Leliana believes that she is skilled at violence and enjoys using it, but it's not about revenge narratives for her, it's about furthering the cause that she deems right (which is why imo hardened divine Leliana is the most dangerous, because like. Hmm. That is a woman who could VERY easily start a crusade and feel it was justified). While her killing Marjolenne if you go down that route is revenge, it's also...practical? Lelianas violence is strategic, it's thought out, it's done for specific aims and reasons. Marjolenne could VERY easily become a threat again and stop Leliana entering Orlesian society once more. Her death frees Leliana in a very practical way. And most of Lelianas other violence we see in inquisition, the books or DA2 just. Isn't for revenge at all.

What motivates their violence?

For Leliana I think it comes down to the fact that she's good at it, that it's fun, and that it gets her where she needs to be. It's both entertainment and practical. She uses it FOR other people and herself, to further the aims of her in-group be it the chantry or her lover or the inquisition. Violence is mediated before it's enacted and it's enacted to get the correct outcome.

Violence for Leliana is also not really...personal? She can kill and hurt with such coldness and detachment as she shows throughout inquisition. She can even do so with old friends.

For Sebastian, violence is intrinsically linked to revenge and so is ALWAYS personal. Revenge is at the core of Sebastian's character. Every act reminds us of that. Leliana is, in her way, merciful particularly softened and I think that's her natural inclination. Seb? He's revenge driven. He can't see Mercy without a strong religious hand to make him. Kill those who hurt you and the ones you care for is basically his motto. He doesn't know how to exist outside of this paradigm of revenge and shows he hasn't learnt by the end based on his decision to invade Kirkwall because Hawke didn't kill Anders. And he doesn't ever really think about the outcome of these things? Like. Annexing Kirkwall?? Seriously?? That's gonna have huge political implications but Sebastian can't care because Elthina is dead and that's PERSONAL.

So yeah. Big picture Leliana vs. personal small picture Seb in terms of how they operate with violence.

How well do they know themselves?

I think Leliana is VERY honest with herself and very self reflective. Even in inquisition when she "nearly lost herself" she still thinks hard about how to get what she wants. She KNOWS she's an instrument of violence and she knows she's good at it and is going to use it self conciously to further the inquisitions aims. Otherwise she wouldn't be as good as she is at it! She clocks exactly why she might have made a mistake and if her emotions got involved. ("I was being sentimental" about pulling back her scouts)

Sebastian is deceptive. He's deceptive from himself. He wants to be the good guy and he pretends he is, but he's actually a shadow of revenge sneaking about. When he wants something he tries to justify it over and over even if it isn't logical to the rest of his belief system because hes the good chantry boy and he needs people to believe that because HE needs to believe it because otherwise he's a bad person and he wants to be good SO bad.

Leliana is okay being religiously a bit of a weird one and so doesn't need to conform to some ideal standard. Hell she LIKES being seen as a bit odd as the gauntlet for the sacred ashes reveals. She likes being unique. Seb doesn't want to be unique he wants to be the perfect religious choir boy....he just also wants all this other stuff that's counter to that so he has to be self deceptive about it.

To conclude

In my head, Seb and Leliana are distinctly different characters. They may have some surface level similarity and they are arguably two of the most overtly religious companions in the games, but Seb is personal, vengeance driven and conservative and Leliana sees the bigger picture, is self conscious and very liberal in her theological thinking.

#leliana #Sebastian Vael #ask #thanks for prompting this!!#there are other things #but its 11:30 and i gotta be at work early tomorrow rip me #any thoughts from anyone else about this?

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bohemian-nights · 1 month

Note

No this fandom is actually insane

Do people think it’s ok to write “he was teaching her how to bathe”?????? I’m honestly scared to go read the post that they were talking about. The lengths that these people will go to just to prove that dettles never happened

Read at your own risk.

The person who wrote that is actually Black(or so they claim), but is willing to throw Black characters and Black fans under the bus and promote negative stereotypes about us for their mostly (racist) followers in defense of a racist characters desirability.

Sir/ma’am, if you are reading this, get some self respect. I’m actually embarrassed for you cause this shit is actually pathetic. You’re better than this.

Case in point they wrote this crap a while back with 100% sincerity:

(I should also note that I actually had a run in with them about a year and some change ago and they threatened to block me after I asked them if Corlys bathing with Rhaenyra would be normal father daughter figure bonding time so I blocked them first😊).

Like you don’t have to like Dettles, but when you are pushing harmful ideology and stereotypes (Black people are so stupid/dirty that we need the white mans help to civilize us) as a way to discredit them and make those who ship it look like angry Black women jealous of the poor helpless white woman and her stans, you’ve gone too far.

Let’s keep in mind that this poor helpless white woman was actively trying to kill a Black girl for a crime she claims she didn’t commit and that despite claiming that Nettles definitely didn’t sleep with Daemon her stans spazz out everytime you mention her name and actively want her cut from the show.

Or how about the fact that these same stans actively stalk and harass Dettles shippers whose only crime has been pointing out y’all’s bullshit.

Let’s keep in mind all of this shall we:

So who is actually jealous of who here? Who in this scenario wants racial revenge?* Who is the problem in this hellhole of a fandom?

Is it the people merely pointing out Nettles importance to the Dance and Daemon’s arc or the people who hurl racial insults and stereotypes? The people who want her erased from the narrative in its entirety cause she disrupts the status quo?

(The fact that someone would even fix their mouth to say that when Black people have been beaten, raped, enslaved, terrorized, tortured, disenfranchised, abused, subjected, and not even given common decency and respect for centuries by these people. If we wanted racial revenge it damn sure wouldn’t be off the back of a fucking fictional character).

The fact that they can’t see Nettles value and only see her as some irrelevant Black girl and reduce people liking her down to a gotcha/“woke” moment is fandom misogynoir in action.

They forget that she comes from nothing, claims a dragon, has a prince willing to give his life for her(six men or sixty remember that since y’all claim to be capable of reading🙃), survives the Dance and becomes a firewitch worshipped by a group of people, because they don’t want to acknowledge her importance.

It makes them uncomfortable to do so because she doesn’t look like them, but people like I’m not like those other Negros cover up for them so that when they are called out for it they can go see this n-I mean this Black person agrees with me.

Imagine being this butt hurt about a fictional character that you can’t even leave your racism or tap dancing at the door for five seconds.

Nettles doesn’t fit the mold, but that’s the point of her story.

They can recognize maester propaganda and scream about feminism when it comes to their white faves, but when it comes to the Black girl who is actively being stereotyped and maligned for her gender, race, and social standing in the source material they believe it no questions asked?

Again, what does it say about you that you are so willing to believe that a Black girl who was clever enough to claim a wild dragon doesn’t know how to bathe herself? What does it say about you that you think Daemon would never touch her with a ten foot pole just because she’s Black?

What does it say about you don’t want her on the show because of her race? What does it say about you that a fictional character who just so happens to be Black has you worked up into a tizzy.

Y’all claim to be for women(real or fictional), but in reality you only care about the women who look like you and shit on women you see as beneath you. Women who you think are a threat to the status quo. You’re no better than the men who oppress you.

#bnask #bnasks #this is longer than I wanted but black people and black characters aren’t the problem here #nettles #anti daemyra stans #anti rhaenyra stans #full of bullshit #hotd fandom misogynoir #hotd fandom bs

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

Text

Spy General Wintersolider context warnings, nothing too extreme. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 1 3765 words Fluff, barely angst. 18+ MDNI Steve hadn't meant to spy on you and Barnes. Not exactly, anyway.

“So are you going to do anything?”

Steve chews his lower lip, eyes flicking between the view of the room, and Natasha, who is clearly waiting for his response.

He paws at his jaw when she sighs, nodding towards the scene they’ve both been watching for a good ten minutes.

Bucky is perched on the edge of the couch, anxiously wringing his flesh hand in his metal one, gaze focused intently on the floor.

“Like what?” he asks at last, “He-”

“You’re his friend” she replies, “He’s clearly not doin’ well-”

“so how do I help him, Nat? I’m open to suggestions here”

There’s a strained desperation in his tone. It pairs well with the helpless look on his face.

The woman decides to pity him with a smile before she shrugs.

“I don’t know” she says honestly, “I don’t really know him- but, I can tell you a bit about normal behaviour, Cap’ and that—“

She nods over to where the man remains unnervingly still in the adjacent room,

“-That, isn’t it.”

Steve knows that, so he nods, gritting his teeth as he tries to decide what, if any, action to take.

Barnes struggling is something that everyone has expected. It’s been less than two months since they’d gotten him away from HYDRA, and he’d been there for the better part of a century, so really, him having problems adjusting to a life where he’s not being tortured 24/7 is more than understandable.

That doesn’t make witnessing with it any easier, though.

The former soldier has kept to himself, for the most part. He’s still a fraction too close to being a cornered stray for majority of the towers inhabitants to risk interacting with him too heavily, and with how strained things still are with Tony, even Steve has been staying away from him.

Although, saying that, it had been Tony who had quietly taken Steve aside at lunch, to tell him about the way that his oldest friend was acting strangely in the common room.

“I’m goin’ out for the night anyway” he’d said, disinterested, “but you might want to check in on the kid. He doesn’t look right.”

A quick “Thanks, Tony” had been all he’d offered in response.

“Maybe we should just give him some space” Natasha suggests, “He’s not actually doin’ anything-”

“Exactly, Nat” Steve says, “I don’t think he’s even blinked in the past five minutes.”

She turns back to the small, remotely activated two way mirror they’ve been watching through, leaving the man by her side to stew in his concern.

“Hey, Buck!” a cheery voice says suddenly, making both the viewers heads snap up, “You doin’ alright?”

“Is that Y/N?” Steve asks urgently, as the side door to the room swings shut.“Jesus christ-”

Natasha hushes him, watching the interaction curiously;

“Nat-“ he insists, “She’s great, y’know I think she’s great, but she’s— she’s a little, lively— she’s Tony’s sister, and we both know tact ain’t a Stark trait—“

“Shut up” she hisses, nodding back towards where the young brunette is now pacing round to where Barnes is still staring straight a head, “I’m tryin’ to listen”

He exhales, frustrated, but then, just before he can start talking again, Y/N does something that silences him instantly.

She crouches, a few feet away from Bucky’s legs, and reaches out, placing a tentative hand over both of his.

To Steve’s enormous surprise, all the man does in response, is blink at her.

“Hey” Y/N soothes, tone much softer than it had been before, “You feelin’ okay?”

There’s a beat of silence, where the former solider seems to register her presence for the first time.

He tilts his head, eyes staying trained on her face now, as his vibranium fingers curl into a fist, and his flesh ones, turn over, to hold onto the hand she’s offered him;

“My…my head hurts..” he admits, so quietly that Steve and Natasha both have to strain themselves to hear it, “I was lookin’ for you, I— I didn’t know where you’d be”

Steve’s jaw goes slack as Y/N brings her free palm up, to press it against the other mans brow.

“I was in the labs, sweetheart” she replies, “FRIDAY could’ve told ya’ that, if you’d have asked.”

She brings his knuckles up, pecking a kiss against the skin as she lowers her other hand from his head, to his lap.

“‘m sorry” he replies, “I-I didn’t- I… I guess I forgot..”

The nervous waiver in his tone is enough to make Steve swell protectively. He hasn’t seen the man this vulnerable since they were children, and he doesn’t know enough about Y/N to trust her intentions—

“It’s alright” she soothes, smiling, “just, try and remember next time, okay? if you want to find anybody, you can just ask, she’s real good at that”

He nods in response, although it looks like the action pains him.

Y/N notices that, too. She lowers their tangled fingers back to his legs, releasing him, before reaching up to stroke her thumb across his temple.

The action is so gentle, that Steve feels his eyes flicking over to Natasha, he’s only half surprised to see her still watching, totally unfazed by the affectionate display.

“Is it just your head botherin’ you?”

Bucky looks at her for a moment, before dropping his gaze.

“No” he tells her quietly, “I…I feel like shit, doll.”

She laughs at that, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against the corner of his lips.

“Why don’t you get settled on there?” she suggests, standing, “I’ll make us some drinks, grab a blanket, you look like you could do with a few hours sleep”

Steve notes how Bucky is moving for the first time since he’s been watching. He’s tilting his head up, clearly tracking the way Y/N is moving, pacing around the furniture, towards the small kitchenette that’s nestled in the corner of the suite.

“D-don’t you have to meet your brother, or-”

“Tony’s got a date with some shareholders tonight” she replies, flicking on a machine that starts to fill the two waiting mugs with steaming liquid, “I was supposed to go, too- but he offered to take one for the team, as long as I promised to use my night off wisely.”

She’s ducked out of view, now. And Steve is blinking wildly, pulse racing as he tries to make sense of everything he’s watching unfold.

“I think curlin’ up with a handsome super-soldier definitely counts as wise.”

Bucky even manages a scoff at that. He tries to smile, too, as she reappears in front of him, holding a thick blanket she’s grabbed from a chest that’s disguised as a bench beneath the bay window.

“You don’t look very comfortable” she notes, passing him the cover, “Lie down, sweetheart”

He flushes scarlet, before reaching out for her hand, again.

The action is so hopeful, so innocent and gentle that she can’t help but sigh, ignoring the waiting drinks to refocus all of her attention on the man now clutching her fingers.

“I’ll be right back” she promises, “How longs it been since you’ve gotten any rest, huh?”

When Bucky looks back up, eyes wide behind his hair, Steve thinks he’s looks an awful lot like he did as a child, when they’d both gotten caught doing something wrong and he’d known that he was about to be scolded. It hurts his heart, especially when he thinks about how much time has past between then and now, and how much more scared he looks now, even though he’s a fully grown man.

“I’m not sure” he confesses, “I— I try, doll I- I swear-”

She nods, cutting him off.

“Have you eaten anythin’ today?” she asks next, voice soft and non-judgemental.

He shakes his head a fraction, not bothering to explain his lack of appetite. He knows she already knows.

“That’ll be why you feel so awful” she says, “You’re human, serum or not, you can’t just run off adrenaline indefinitely.”

He doesn’t argue. He stays quiet as she kisses his hand, again, before nodding towards the couch he’s sitting on.

“Lie down, sweetheart” she repeats, “I’ll get the drinks, and then I’ll be right back. I promise.”

It takes him a second, but eventually, he does what she’s asked him to.

As she lets his hand go, Steve finds himself squinting in disbelief.

Natasha looks intrigued, more than anything else, he thinks that’s fair, since spying on people is something he’s sure she’s had more practice at than him.

“Here” they hear Y/N say, “It’s hot, Buck— be careful.”

“It’s good” the other man counters, budging up so that she can slip in against his flank, “Thank you, doll— for- for all this, I— I don’t know what I’d do without ya”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout that” she replies calmly, “I’m not goin’ anywhere”

There’s a strange weight in her words that takes both Natasha and Steve by surprise. For the first time since Y/N’s arrival in the room, the red-heads expression has shifted from interested to genuinely shocked.

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t seem taken aback by the love behind her tone, infact, all they see him do, is snuggle closer into her side, and then, press a kiss against her brow.

Y/N laughs at that, before reaching up with the hand not holding her mug, to guide his face down, so that she can press their lips together.

Steve is blushing then. It strikes him instantly how wrong it is to be watching the pair this way, when they clearly think they’re being given the luxury of privacy.

It feels horrible. Guilt is well and truly settled in his core, he nudges Natasha and mouths out ‘let’s go” so obviously that she roles her eyes at him.

She doesn’t fight though. With one last glance at where the couple are now cuddled up on the couch, between a thick blanket, kissing and laughing like teenagers, she follows him out into the hallway.

“Jesus christ” Steve says, the second they stop, “what was that?”

“I think” The woman chuckles, “That’s proof that even after being brainwashed for the last hundred years, your old pal, still has more game than you-”

“Very funny, Nat” Steve mutters, “I’m being serious-”

“-So am I-” she counters, “-I think it’s pretty obvious what that was”

“But they-”

“-are both consenting adults, Steve” she says, “and since Y/N will probably try and kill us if she finds out we’ve spent the past 10 minutes watching her through this mirror, I’d say we forget all about what we saw”

He gawks at her for a minute, before realising that she’s right. Y/N has a temper to rival her brothers, and, despite the fact that their intentions had been pure, the invasion of privacy isn’t something he’s likely be able to talk his way out of.

Eventually, he nods.

“Yeah…” he agrees, “Yeah, you’re right, Nat but.. this, this is Bucky, I mean- he, he nearly put himself through a wall when I pat him on the back the other day, and now he’s-”

“Curling up with Tony’s little sister like a lap dog” she says bluntly.

That sounds so ridiculous that Steve finds himself sighing. It only takes him half a heart-beat for Tony to enter his mind.

Suddenly, he’s panicked.

“Oh, oh god, Tony”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“He tried to kill him— He’s still-”

“-in his defence, Barnes did assassinate his pare-”

“Nat” Steve bursts, not caring for the humour in her tone, “if he finds out-”

“Y/N will deal with it” the red head says calmly, “I for one, am not going to get in-between any family drama those two could cook up”

That sounds fair, it’s not settling his nerves, though.

Eventually the woman takes pity on him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder

“Look” she exhales, “I’ve known Y/N a long time, she’s good, she’s really, good— okay? and from what you say, Barnes is a pretty okay guy, too?”

He nods, barely looking at her.

“So” she says, “I say, we leave them alone. If this becomes anythin’ that Tony finds out about, then we’ll deal with it, but until that happens, there’s no sense in interfering, not when they’re clearly trying to keep things quiet.”

She meets his eyes until he folds, gulping and nodding again.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

With another brief exchange, they part ways. Both agreeing to meet up later that night to go through some paper work for a job they’d be working on that weekend.

It’s dark when they both perch themselves at a desk in one of the studies, and it’s even darker when they sign the final document, having gone through every sentence, making sure it lines up with the tactical plans they’d drawn up that morning.

They’re about to split, and turn in for the night, when they hear a door opening down the hall.

Their eyes meet, and Steve knows she’s come to the same, split second conclusion as he has.

“Tony’s back” he says, hoping, praying, that he’s wrong about where the sound has come from.

Instead of a verbal reply, Natasha walks quickly in the direction of the mirror they’d been spying through earlier.

“Maybe they’ve moved?” he says following her, “or maybe that’s not-”

“Shit” she hisses, nodding to where the couple are still curled up together across the couch, “He’s-“

Steve’s about to cut her off in a panic, when they see the billionaire enter the room through the same door that Y/N had used the last time they were watching.

There’s a horrible silence as both of them survey the scene, weighing up what they should do.

It feels awfully like they’re about to see something terrible unfold. Steve is about to launch himself through the hidden entrance, when Tony does something that makes him have to hold onto the wall for support.

The man looks at where his sister, and Barnes are sleeping, before reaching down, to grab the blanket that has slipped to around their waists, and then, he pulls it up, silently tucking it in around both of their bodies.

Natasha is slack-jawed as they watch him leave, without as much as a word to anybody.

Minutes pass, and Steve is still just blinking dumbly.

“Well shit” Nat says, almost laughing, “Guess we don’t have to worry ‘bout Tony.”

The next day, Steve is partially convinced that everything he’d witnessed had been some kind of strange dream.

Infact, if it hadn’t been for Natasha sniggering at his vacant expression from behind her coffee, he’d have sworn it had been a delusion.

They’re both sat at the kitchen bar when Y/N comes in, wearing clean work-out clothes, hair tied back into a pony tail.

She beams at Nat, and then at Steve before making a bee-line for the espresso machine behind them.

“Mornin’ ” Romanoff greets, “Sleep well?”

Steve widens his eyes, as the younger woman nods, making a quiet noise in the base of her throat.

“Well enough” she replies, flicking some switches and arranging her mug, “You?”

Natasha nods pleasantly as Bucky wonders into the room.

He looks good, Steve notes. He looks much better than he has for the rest of the week.

“Coffee, Buck?” Y/N asks, already turning away from him, to grab an extra cup.

“Please, darlin’…” he says, coming to a slow stop by Steve’s side, “..Black -“

“-two sugars” she finishes with a scoff, “It’s the same every day, I think I’ve got it memorised.”

He doesn’t reply, but Steve tilts his head as he catches him grinning at the counter.

“Thank you” he mumbles, as she passes him his mug, before turning to finish making her own.

“You’re quiet today, Cap?” she notes, when she’s done, “you feelin’ alright?”

Steve feels his cheeks burning red as all eyes land on him.

Even Bucky is watching him curiously.

“Fine” he says, aiming for calm, “Just, thinkin’-”

“Don’t do that” Y/N mock scolds, “you might hurt yourself.”

The laughter he hears at his side makes his jaw drop open.

Bucky’s genuine chuckling is something that is so familiar that it takes him a minute to remember why it’s surprising to him at all.

Y/N just smiles, turning away again as Tony walks in.

He’s apparently ignorant to the way the atmosphere changes when he appears, he paws at his goatie before pressing a kiss against his sister’s head, and nudging her out of the way of the coffee.

“How was dinner?” she asks absentmindedly, “Get the answer you wanted?”

“The answer we wanted”

“The answer we wanted” she agrees.

“Sure I did” Tony chirps, merrily adding milk to his coffee, “What about you, did you have a successful night in?”

Steve feels his breath catching in his throat in the beat it takes Y/N to answer.

“Sure I did” she says, rummaging around by the stove.

“Did you get up to much?” Natasha asks, tone almost smug.

Steve thinks about kicking her under the bar, but he decides that’s probably more noticeable than the line of questioning she’s pursuing.

Plus, she’d definitely break his nose.

“No” Y/N admits, cracking eggs into a bowl, “I said it was successful, not productive.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though the sound is significantly more tempered than it had been before Tony’s entrance.

Natasha turns to stare at him for a moment, and Steve can’t help but clear his throat.

“To be honest” The younger Stark sighs, whisking her mix now, “I turned in pretty early, but I guess I was tireder than I’d thought”

“You’ve been burnin’ yourself out in the labs” Tony agrees, tone softer than before, “I keep tellin’ ya-”

“You can’t say shit about spendin’ too much time in the labs” she cuts in, “Do ya’ll want blueberries in these?”

Steve blinks confused as she gestures to the food she’s preparing.

“Pancakes?” Natasha asks, “Or muffins?”

“ Pancakes, Nat- it’s nine thirty in the morning.”

“Like that matters” Tony mutters dryly, before ducking away from the wooden spoon she goes to swat him with, “Okay-O- Okay!”

“Okay, what?” she laughs, easing up “am I adding the berries or not?”

“Yeah” Nat answers before Tony opens his mouth, “Blueberry sounds good”

Satisfied, Y/N turns her back on the others, and sets about preparing the food.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know” Steve says, “Cook for us, I mean”

“I know” she chirps pleasantly, still not facing him.

“She’s practicing her house wife skills, aren’t ya’, Stark?” Natasha teases, flicking him a glance that he takes to mean she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“I think that’d be called ‘home making’” Y/N replies, cool as ever, arranging a pan, “and, what, would make ya’ think I need practice?”

Her gaze is almost smug as she turns it onto the redhead. Who suddenly looks as though she’s been caught.

“You’re going to burn those, for a start” Tony interjects, nudging her out of the way to fuss over the stove, “why do I even bother, huh? I keep the refrigerator stocked with pre-made, over-processed junk specifically so we don’t need to coo-”

“I don’t think eatin’ the chemicals in that stuff all the time is a good-”

“I don’t think” he chuckles, “that we can say anythin’ about the damage chemicals can do to someone”

She flicks the two super soliders a courteous look, before laughing along with her brother, shaking her head and passing him a spatula.

“We” she says, “had nothin’ to do with that. I for one would’ve drawn the line at human experimentation.”

Tony shrugs.

“I’d have probably drawn the line at the flyin’ car”

She laughs again, and Steve can’t help but notice the way even Bucky is grinning at the siblings interaction.

“Either way” Y/N agrees, “I don’t want to consume something with that many E numbers in more than 8 times per week, thank you very much.”

“8?” Nat asks, “Why draw the line that far down?”

She shrugs, pulling out a bottle of syrup, and grabbing the plates, seemingly pleased with the way that her brother has taken over the responsibility of cooking.

“Because even though it’s bad for me, I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy it.”

Tony snorts, and she tilts her head at the way Steve is watching her.

He suddenly feels the need to get to know her better. He’d never payed her much attention, really, outside of the fact that she was a genius, with an arrogance to rival her brothers, her working for SHEILD as an agent had never filled him with a desire to interact with her much, even though she was nothing but outwardly pleasant towards him.

“He’s thinking” Y/N says, in response to Tony questioning the blonde man’s gawking, “He’s been doin’ a lot of it this mornin’”

“You wanna be careful with that” he says, “You might-”

“Hurt myself.” Steve cuts in, rolling his eyes, “I’ve heard.”

The duo laugh together again, before returning their joint attention to the breakfast they’re preparing.

It all seems strangely domestic, especially with the playful bickering and the way that Tony keeps nudging his sisters’ side.

Even Bucky seems relatively settled, even if he does shift uncomfortably in his seat when Y/N passes him a plate.

“I’m eatin’ in the lab” Tony announces, when he clicks onto the man’s reluctance.

Barnes’ cheeks are very red. He looks as though he might object, but before he gets the chance, the older Stark meets his eyes;

“You’re fine.” he says, in a tone that brokers no discussion.

Y/N pecks her brothers cheek, before either he can continue or Bucky could think of a way to respond.

The affectionate act seems to snap the awkwardness of the atmosphere. Tony, paws at his goatie, beaming at the woman, before telling her that he’ll be ready to go over their plans by noon.

She agrees, eagerly, before sitting herself at the bar, opposite the others, directly across from the former solider, who still looks more than a little uncertain.

“Eat” she murmurs, before grabbing her mug, “anyone doin’ anythin’ fun today?”

Her question draws a scoff from Natasha, who reminds her about the briefing she is also supposed to be attending.

“We went over the papers last night.” Steve tells her, “We, uh— didn’t make any tactical changes-”

“Did you get all this done before, or after you decided to spy on us?”

Bucky swallows. Looking at her, before averting his attention very deliberately back on his meal.

[ x ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ]

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier x you #fluff #x reader #drabble #series #BBspy

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why-what-no · 2 years

Text

Safe At Last

Part 2

Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reincarnated!Reader

Warnings: Death

Summary: Morpheus is stuck falling in love with different incarnations the same girl throughout the centuries, a girl who each time dies tragically. However, once he’s free from prison and has his powers back, he meets her again and might just be able to fix their story

Requested by: @writing-fanics

While Morpheus wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone, he had felt trapped even before he had been locked up by Roderick Burgess. He was trapped by fate. Trapped by the universe playing cruel tricks on him.

Throughout his time on this earth, there had been a women. There had been many, actually, but this one always reappeared. Always pulled in his attention and broke his heart.

He had met her centuries ago, falling fast and hard before she died long before she should have. And then he had met her half a century later, reincarnated as one of her ancestors. Completely the same except for her memories.

He had thought he had a chance. Thought they could have been together that time. But she died again.

And he met her again, and she died again.

And again.

And then he was imprisoned. Although he loathed every moment of it, he was at least safe from getting hurt from this woman. The woman who seemed to unknowingly been created just to torture him.

When he got out, he was too busy to think of her. Morpheus had his tools to find, and then he had his new path to figure out.

But as he walked away from his meeting with Hob, he realized that she was on the street across from him.

The reoccurring ache in his chest returned, memories of their times together clouding his mind. He had hoped his time away had been long enough to be freed from her but…

In his shock, (Y/N) stepped onto the crosswalk. She hadn’t noticed him, probably wouldn’t recognize him if she did. But he recognized her, recognized that she was in danger.

A car sped across the street, obviously too fast to stop. And he knew that her fate would be continued.

Unless…

***

(Y/N) froze like a deer in headlights at the sound of the car horn in front of her. Terror seized her, knowing she could die.

But a hand gripped her arm, pulling her away and against the hand’s owner. He was a tall man, dark and stunning. Staring at her with concern and relief.

He looked so familiar.

“Do I know you?” She asked, unable to take her eyes off him. “You look…”

“No, you don’t. Not like this.” She couldn’t understand his words, but somehow they made sense. There was something tickling her brain, something trying to make itself known

“I… what?”

“Are you alright?”

She nodded in reply, brushing off her clothes. “Yeah, thank you. I should really watch where I’m going.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Morpheus reassured her. “It was whoever was driving that car.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “How’d you even get there that fast anyhow?”

He looked at her, suddenly having an idea. “I can show you, if you’d like?” He held out his hand to her.

She wasn’t safe on Earth, he knew that. But if he could convince her to come back with his to the Dreaming. He could protect her there.

“What would that include?” She was cautious, he appreciated that.

“I want to show you somewhere safe.” (Y/N) wanted to ask more, wanted to question the man. But when looking at his offered hand, she felt a peculiar feeling of trust for this man. Of familiarity.

She took his hand, sand swirling around them.

***

Desire wasn’t in an entirely good mood. Their centuries long trick with the girl had just been ruined, knowing they couldn’t do anything when she was in Morpheus’s realm.

“What about when she leaves?” Despair had asked, sensing her twin’s irritation.

“No.” Desire shook their head. “It never took long for her to love him, not with how much he loves her. The only way to get her to leave him would be to kill her. And that’s not possible anymore.”

They knew that (Y/N) was defended now, the days of playing with her life and Morpheus’s feelings were over. She was his now, completely.

Well at least I still have Rose Walker, was the thought that reassured Desire.

Their troublemaking wasn’t over quite yet.

#the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #my fics

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

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The Night Nurse ~ Chapter 10

A John Wick x Helen Fic

Masterlist / Chapter Map

Author's note: It's been a minute since I posted on this fic, I'm so sorry!! I lost a good chunk of this chapter to an untimely computer update (fuck you very much Windows) and I was so frustrated I just had to let it sit for a while. BUT I finally managed to re-write it, so here we are! I hope you enjoy! 💗💗💗 (Oh and the illustrations here are from the turn of the century version of Afanasyev's Russian Fairy Tales, the book John hid his marker in, in JW3...you'll see why.😉)

Times gets tough

Oh, they get tougher

Hold on to me

I got you, darling…

-I’ll be your man, The Black Keys

The walls of his library were lined with built-in bookshelves, filled to the brim with antique and vintage books. A single leather reading chair sat in the corner with a lamp and a small table. A larger table took up the center of the room with a proper book cradle. Helen breathed in, reveling in the magical smell of old books. She realized that this must be where John gets some of that intoxicating scent of his, bottom notes of leather and parchment paper. The chair in the corner looked well-worn, and she imagined him spending hours of his downtime just sitting and reading away the day.

For the umpteenth time, it squeezed her heart to the point of pain.

Throughout the course of the tour, they did not let go of each other once. John didn’t seem to mind handling books with one mitt of a hand, the fingers of his left laced tightly with Helen’s.

“Do you still have your book of Russian fairy tales?”

“Yes.” Gingerly he pulled it from a shelf, resting it in the cradle on the table.

They perused the book together, Helen leaning against his shoulder. He was warm, and solid as a tree, and for a heady moment it was difficult to concentrate on the antique tome, no matter how beautiful. The illustrations were utterly gorgeous, and she mentally kicked herself into focusing. She thought about a young John toting this beloved book around the world with him like a Lost Boy with his teddy bear, and the thought succeeded in tying her up in inextricable knots.

John turned to a page of an illustration of a lovely peasant woman in the woods, holding a torch made of a glowing human skull. “Oh, who’s that?” asked Helen.

“That’s Vasilisa the Beautiful,” answered John.

She hovered her finger over the first line of Cyrillic, careful not to touch the paper. “What does it say?”

John read it aloud, his voice low and all for her, and she sighed a little, not understanding a syllable. For some reason hearing him speak another language so easily, and something about the lilting cadence of the language in his deep voice, the soft shh and musical ya sounds of the Russian words inspired a curl of lust in her belly, a small thrill zipping down her spine. She shuddered lightly, and prayed he hadn’t noticed.

He absolutely noticed, his pupils blowing wide with desire. Doggedly, he kept them fixed upon the page below.

“Is that, ‘Once upon a time’…in Russian?”

“Something like that. This is a Cinderella story about a young woman who outsmarts her wicked stepmother and the Baba Yaga with her determination and the help of her magical doll. It’s one of my favorites.”

He’d seen a bit of himself in Vasilisa as a young man, straining under the yoke of his unforgiving masters. He turned the page to reveal a witchy old woman riding in what looked like an upright log. Helen couldn’t suppress a grin. “Oh look, it’s you, Baba Yaga.”

John snorted at that. “I still don’t know what idiot started that damned nickname,” he groused.

Actually, he suspected it was Marcus, but he’d never found out for certain.

“It sounds fierce, at least.”

His lips twisted in a smirk, and he couldn’t help himself from turning to look at her, then. Their faces were torturously close. “Think I should get some flaming skull torches for out front?”

“Yes, I think the neighbors would love that,” she deadpanned, and more felt than heard John’s responding chuckle.

He turned the page to a new illustration of a strapping knight on a black horse. “Oh hello, handsome. Who’s this guy?”

John narrowly resisted the urge to ask if she had a thing for men in black, even as that telling warmth clouded his brain.

“That’s…Night.”

“The night Knight?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Her lips twisted in a cheeky smile. “Nice. I like him.”

“You would.”

“I have excellent taste, John.”

He found himself looking at her mouth again, thinking her taste would be excellent. For the umpteenth time, he managed not to kiss her by the skin of his teeth. By the way she was looking at him...maybe he didn't need to be exercising such restraint. But maybe that was the excellent wine talking

Maybe he really was an idiot.

“So...in reward for being clever Baba Yaga gives Vasilisa one of the skull torches. She takes it back to her house, and when she lights the candles her wicked step mother and awful step sisters burn up.”

“Oooh. And she lives happily ever after?”

“Well...she marries the tsar, for what that's worth.”

Helen wrinkled up her nose, communicating her opinion on that. “Overall, I give it a nine out of ten.”

John couldn’t help it then. He actually grinned, showing teeth. “Glad you liked it.”

“Thanks for sharing with me.”

“My pleasure.”

She was still leaning on his shoulder, and was it him, or had she somehow sidled even closer, her body pressed to his side? Her eyes traveled leisurely from him to the book to the chair in the corner. It was then that she noticed that the bookmarked novel on the side table was a mass-market paperback she recognized quite well.

He’d taken her recommendation on the Codename Villanelle spy thrillers, despite teasing her about her taste in books, what felt like a lifetime ago that fateful night in the subway. The fact that he was on the second one touched her to no end, and she squeezed his arm.

“Aww, you’re reading about Eve and Villanelle,” she purred. “You like them?”

“Yes. You were right, they are fun.”

“Taking notes from Villanelle?” The Russian spy was wickedly clever at finding ways to kill her targets.

“Maybe. That poison hair stick was something. Think I could pull it off?” Helen reached up to curl a lock of his dark hair around her finger with a smile, and John couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of her touching his hair.

He was hopeless.

“Oh, definitely. You could so rock the man-bun.”

John rolled his eyes at that, reluctant to admit that he often did when training.

Helen looked back to the book, now with what John was learning to recognize as a sly glint in her eye. “I’m on practically the same spot in that book,” she noted. “Want to read me a chapter?”

John looked at his reading chair, the comfortable old soldier that it was. It was also the only place to sit in the room, and he went a little cross-eyed at the thought of Helen curled up in his lap in it.

There would be zero reading done, of that he was certain. He would debauch her for the first time in that chair, and maybe again on the table for good measure.

A virulent heat licked at his collar as he imagined it. Fuck him, but she was making him blush.

“Sure. Let’s take it to the living room,” he proposed, ignoring her lips pursed in a theatrical pout.

Minx. She knew exactly what she was doing to him—and he was increasingly unsure why he wasn’t just letting her have her way.

He scooped up the paperback book, her hand still firmly clasped in his other while he led them back to the recessed living room. He set the book down on the couch. “Want another glass of wine? I’m going to clear these dishes.”

He needed to clear his head, and he felt Helen look at him with some disappointment that felt a little bit like being stabbed.

“Can I help you?”

“No, this is your night off. Sit, relax. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She seated herself on the couch with only the book for company.

She watched John practically flee into the kitchen, and wondered if she’d done something wrong.

Regaled by the sound of clinking dishes and the faucet running, Helen looked around at John’s shelves. They were rather bare, though she noticed he had a bit of a CD collection on display. It plucked at her nostalgia for the days before everything could be so easily accessed via the hand-held computers known as phones but so rarely used for actually talking.

Standing, she decided to be nosy and thumb through them. He seemed to favor classics, from classical music, to rock and blues. There was very little on the shelf dating from past the 90s, and that made her smile for some reason.

“See anything you like?”

She turned to find John with two freshly-filled wine glasses in tow. He set them on the coffee table, before joining her at the built-in cd tower.

“Some good stuff here,” she agreed with a Chili Peppers cd in her hand. The fiery pool with the ocean in the background on the cover tickled the nostalgia center in her brain for sure. “Who are these guys?” She pulled out a black and white album with a high contrast photo of a guy with glasses, and a bearded dude.

“Never heard of the Black Keys?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, honey.”

She chuckled. “Ok, do not pull the my taste in music is better than yours card. I will leave.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he defended with a sly close-lipped smile. “I reserve that card only for books.”

She snorted in answer, and found herself gravitating closer to him, even just standing there looking at his music. She just couldn’t help it.

That really was some good wine he served with dinner.

She watched as he popped open the jewel case, feeding the CD into the slot of his player. He hit a couple buttons, and the speakers erupted with a very bluesy distorted guitar riff. It was loud, and John laughed a little as she jumped—conveniently, into his arms.

“Sorry.” He turned down the volume slightly, his arms circling her waist almost of their own volition. It felt so easy, being with her. Maybe from the very moment they’d met, it just felt like she should be in his arms, and acting on it made something loud and uneasy always clamoring in the back of his brain to go quiet. She swayed her head and shoulders a little to the beat; it was impossible not to.

“John?” she asked from beneath his chin, brushing the soft scruff of his beard with her nose. It filled him with a tingling warmth, in the very marrow of his bones, a pleasure in this closeness that just seemed too good to be true. It was like a drug, better than cocaine or heroin or anything else he’d ever tried, and he didn’t know how he would ever let her go.

“Yeah?”

“They made you learn ballet at your…school, but do you like to dance?”

He’d spent so much time in night clubs, hunting, and acting as backup muscle for Tarasov while he closed business deals, but it wasn’t a setting he really enjoyed. He wasn’t sure he really classified the writhing and arm waving one engaged in at the club as dancing. He was familiar with other dance forms, but they didn’t come up often in his life.

“I feel like you’re actually asking me a different question,” he teased, leaning into her to reach out to skip to a different track.

“I am?”

“You’re asking if I want to dance with you?”

The first metallic notes of Dan Auerbach’s guitar rang out, and John swayed to the beat, a hand on her svelte waist pinning her close. With a smile she moved with him, her other hand finding his.

“Do you?”

He looked down at her with a glint of mischief in those shining dark eyes, and so much warmth that a flood of heat washed through her from her hair follicles all the way to her toes. This man. She really would follow him anywhere. Maybe the wine they’d drank lubricated this thought process, but she knew that didn’t make it any less true.

John knew that his answer to any question that involved an activity with her would be a resounding yes. Groceries? Yes. The dentist? Fine. Just hold his hand. He was broken for her.

“Of course I do.” He lifted his arm to guide her in a turn before pulling her close again, and she simply couldn’t help it. The joy in her heart soared.

Then the vocals in the song began, and Helen couldn’t help the fuzzy warmth that spread in her chest. Need a new love? I’m ready. Want my time? I’m willing.

There wasn’t a huge amount of open space in the living room, but John was very good at making do, leading her in steps to the beat, throwing in fun checks and turns and behind-the-back maneuvers that made her giggle. She knew she sounded drunk. It was on him though, far more than the wine. He made her happier than any one had in a very long time. Maybe ever, if she was being honest with herself.

To make things even worse, the chorus of the song rang loud in her ears with the infectious guitar riff: I’ll be your man. Mmm, I’ll be your man. She didn’t know if he picked this song on purpose for the lyrics, or the intoxicating rhythm, but she felt it in her bones, and in her heart, and every cell of her being; she was so attuned to this man.

She almost tripped when he attempted to twist her up like a pretzel in a figure-eight step, but he caught her, laughing with her as he held her close.

“I’m not that good,” she apologized, clinging to him more than she really needed to. He was just…so solid, and if she was being honest all she really wanted to do was climb him like a fucking tree.

His arm around her waist was like a warm band of iron, and he smiled gently down at her. She felt herself melting like chocolate in the sun, her knees gone weak beneath her.

“That’s ok. I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped from her throat. Because, she knew it was true, and not just here being silly dancing in his living room. She realized she trusted him not to drop her no matter what they were doing, or what they were facing. That kind of faith in another person, much less a man, was a rare and precious thing.

“John…” she said softly, looking up into his warm dark eyes from so very close. She wasn’t sure if she was asking a question, or if she just needed to cite his name like a prayer, invoke him like a saint in her personal pantheon. Maybe it was madness, but wrapped up in his arms like this, he felt like something to believe in.

Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, those full lips she’d coveted since the moment they’d met, if she was telling the truth.

This was the moment that John’s will to fight it broke at last. He felt it inside, not like a hard snap, but a definite release, like a boat coming unmoored, being swept down a swift stream. There was no more resisting. He was lost to her.

Pulled like a magnet, he finally leaned in that fraction of distance to press his lips to hers. His kiss was like a sunrise in her heart; warm and bursting, soft and sweet. She couldn’t stop herself from standing on tiptoe with a low moan, looping her arms around his neck as she pressed her body against his. It won her something like a deep growl that thrilled her to her toes, and greedily she wanted more.

She teased the seam of his mouth with her tongue, begging entrance he gladly granted. She felt the tremor in his arms as he held her, so tightly that he nearly lifted her from the floor. He kissed her like a starving man offered a life-giving meal, and her fingers fisted in his hair at the back of his head, holding him to her, holding on.

His heartbeat a thundering timpani in his ears, John felt like Helen’s lips on his was the answer to a question his heart had been asking his whole adult life. She was the air he breathed, the sustenance necessary to live, and the desire to drink her down, to eat her up, was a dogged, insistent demand from the darkest depths of his soul.

He never wanted to let her go.

With a ragged breath he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, his fingers digging into her sides. She might have bruises later.

She didn’t mind.

She wanted his hands, rough or gentle.

She wanted all of him, and if he didn’t return his mouth to hers she was going to scream.

“Helen,” he panted. “I—”

The tinny electronic sound of his phone ringing in his pocket interrupted what might have been a foolish—or a life changing—confession. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, knowing he had to answer it. That was the deal with the devil he’d signed, when he didn’t really have any better choice. He was on call all the time.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She nodded, but did not extricate herself, leaning on his shoulder while he pulled the device from his pocket. It was Viggo Tarasov, and his heart dropped like a stone. It was rare that the boss Himself called. He absolutely had to answer it, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what his pakhan had to say.

With a heavy heart he lifted the phone to his ear, his other arm still wrapped possessively around Helen.

“Da?”

“Good evening, John.”

John fought to keep the impatient snarl out of his tone, but feared he failed royally. “Evening, Viggo.”

“I’ve just heard some interesting things about your latest adventures about town. I think we need to talk.”

That was probably the understatement of the century.

“When?”

“Now.”

Of fucking course.

“I can be there in an hour.”

“Good.”

Viggo hung up, and John clenched the phone in his fist, fighting not to throw it across the room. He knew Helen heard every word for the way she sighed with disappointment, snuggling into the bend of his neck. The sensation of her front molded to his was heaven, and he didn’t know how to let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized with lips to her forehead. “I have to go.”

“I understand.” There was some consolation, in that she sounded as devastated as he was.

“You’ll be ok here? My house is your house. Help yourself to anything you want.”

She made a kittenish little sound that sent all his blood straight to his groin. “What I want is leaving,” she informed him with a pouting lip, tugging on the front of his shirt.

He couldn’t stop himself then from stealing another kiss, a deep and probing thing that left her breathless and starry-eyed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told her.

“Promise?”

“Yes.” John wondered what Viggo had in store. If he was in trouble, or if his boss would send him out to teach the Medvedev boys a lesson tonight. He didn’t want to go hunting that night. Everything he truly wanted in the world, he realized, was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with melted toffee eyes. He cupped her cheek, memorizing every detail of her all over again.

He realized with a startling clarity that he could never get enough of her.

The intensity of his stare sent a thrill jetting down her spine. “John…” He worried her a little, when he got like this. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly—but some little intuition in the back of her brain sang out that something bad might happen.

“It’ll be alright,” he told her, sensing her unease. “I have to change.” He kissed her forehead again, and disappeared up the stairs to his room.

Helen plopped down on the couch with a sigh, crushed with disappointment but knowing this was how it was, and she understood more than ever now that it wasn’t his fault or his choice. She picked up the Villanelle book, No Tomorrow, stroking her thumb over the cover, but not cracking it open.

When John stalked down the stairs he was wearing one of his slim-fit all black suits again, his hair slicked back from his face. He looked beautiful, and predatory, sleek as a panther stalking in the jungle, and fierce attraction warred with dread in Helen’s breast. She had a feeling that someone might die tonight, and it was so strange to think in those terms with such a sense of acceptance.

At least she knew John’s prey would be no one innocent.

“Don’t forget you owe me a chapter,” she said in a sing song tone as he approached, waving the book, trying to lighten the pall that had fallen upon the room.

The smile he paid her was filled with melancholy; she felt it like a knife between the ribs. “I won’t,” he assured her, taking her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. He paused, looking down at this beautiful woman seated on his couch, with her legs that went on forever and the warmth in her eyes all for him. There was nothing he wanted more, than to stay there with her. To lay her down and kiss every inch of her perfect flesh. He probably should have told her that, but he just sighed, and let her go.

“I’m going to leave this here, just in case,” he said, all business as he showed her a blocky black automatic pistol. “There’s one in the chamber. All you have to do is pull the trigger. It has a long trigger pull but please do not touch it unless you need it, and be very careful.” He stashed the Glock in a drawer beside the couch. “I’ll leave the alarm on. If it goes off I’ll get an alert on my phone.”

With wide eyes she nodded. “Do you…think the Medvedevs will come here?”

“No, or I wouldn’t leave you here alone.” He honestly thought this was the safest place for her. “But…” One never knows.

“Okay.” He could tell that he managed to scare her a little, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m being paranoid,” he tried to assure her. He dared add, “Because you’re precious to me.” She softened then, and stood to wrap her arms around his neck once more. Embracing her was as intoxicating as kissing her, and again John warred with himself as to how he was going to leave.

“Come back to me,” she demanded softly, kissing the soft scruff of his cheek.

“Always,” he answered without allowing himself to think about it, pressing his lips to hers in a long, gentle kiss filled with all the yearning in his heart.

Reluctantly, he slipped from her grasp, and didn’t look back.

She watched him go, admiring his tall dark form even as he was leaving her.

She heard the roar of the Mustang starting in the garage, and the trail of its growl as it prowled across the driveway, disappearing down the street into the night. She couldn’t help but feel like her heart sped away with it.

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick x helen #helen wick #john wick the night nurse #keanu reeves

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 1 year

Text

🗒️ Vandal 🗒️

Word Count: 16,000+ (And nobody asked for any of it!)

Summary: A quiet high school student looks a little too closely at the tragic events afflicting their hometown. Can you uncover the truth while keeping your own secrets hidden? Or will a lapse in judgment expose you to a world of hurt? || Kol x disabled!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

Warnings: Some language, references to blood and gore, Kol being a psycho, and some dubious consent but nothing violent or graphic. This turned out a little more Yandere than I intended. Just expect ya gal's general tomfoolery.

A/N: Howdy-doo, this is your captain speaking. I know I promised a lot of you that I would have the sequel to Run for Your Life finished last week, but it's still not done and I'm really sorry. I wrote this instead. Please forgive me. I hate letting y'all down but inspiration has been really low as of late and, as some of you know, I've been facing some very serious struggles with people in my life. My sense of self-worth has been suffering, but writing this fic has been my best escape. So again, I'm really sorry to those who were expecting the Klaus fic, but I hope you like this one nonetheless.

🗒️ Story Begins Below 🗒️

When Niklaus Mikaelson confined himself to his studio, it was common knowledge among all parties of blood relation to the original hybrid that any sibling who valued their breathing privileges should promptly vacate the premises until such a time as that tortured artist ceased muttering his internal monologue aloud.

Kol, for one, was quite fond of his breathing privileges, thank you very much.

Ugh, breathing.

The one thing he’d never thought would require adjusting to through the centuries was now yet another factor among a dozen others that required getting used to.

The air of this new age he’d found himself in was thick and hazy with chemicals and other nonsense he didn’t care to think about. Drawing the filthy mixture into his lungs required significantly more effort from him than it used to. He wondered vaguely how the humans surrounding his seat at the bar of this stodgy town’s only decent restaurant did it with such ease. It must’ve been tiring. Perhaps that was why so many of the patrons around him seemed content to spend their morning religiously devoted to quaffing down as much of that - oh, what had Mary-Alice called it? - caffeine stuff as they could possibly contain.

Though the name would suggest otherwise, Kol figured the only way the Mystic Grill, as the place was called, could remain in business was to serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. Hence why the place was packed with half-conscious teenagers at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, stopping off for something to eat on their way to school. How did Rebekah enjoy this? Though she’d accompanied him to the grill, Kol’s sister had been quick to grab her coffee and ditch him. She wanted to arrive to school early so she could “talk”. (The notion tempted Kol to impale himself on a billiard cue.)

Rebekah was also rather upset with him, or more specifically, his newfound enrollment in her high school. There was nothing he could do about that, however. If it was up to him, Kol would choose to spend his time literally any place else. Unfortunately for him, after that little incident with Rebekah’s date, mother dearest had been contemplating ways to keep him in line. High school was evidently what she’d come up with. It was Finn’s idea actually. Kol’s eldest brother - dull lout that he was - had suggested that perhaps attending high school with his sister would provide a convenient way for Kol to catch up on recent history, as well as assist him in developing some control over his appetite seeing as each family member had given their word not to shed the blood of any locals. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Esther had done more than just readily agree. She’d also cast a tracking spell on him. If he strayed beyond the town’s limits, she would know.

Rest assured, he would find a way to weasel out of it - that was certain. But for now, Kol was stumped. This resurrected version of his mother wasn’t quite so dismissive of him as she’d been in Kol’s human life. He should have liked that - should have reveled in it. Yet, having her attention this time around came with a cold harshness he wasn’t so fond of. For now though, he would have to endure his punishment. Thanks to Klaus, he couldn’t even skip out.

Thus Kol found himself in an overly crowded restaurant, at six in the morning on his first day of school, surrounded by teenagers.

Kol desperately wished he could eat one or two of them.

They were so rowdy and obnoxious. The whole world it seemed had grown significantly louder since he’d been daggered in nineteen fourteen. So much information assaulting his senses constantly. It was maddening. Being surrounded by thirty or so warm bodies didn’t exactly help. The chorus of their heartbeats fell on his sensitive ears like the cresting of ocean waves and like a riptide, he would surely be carried away if he allowed himself to listen much longer.

The boy’s throat burned. He was hungry. Always hungry. He could practically taste the relief on his tongue. The high he could get from just one little cheerleader…

Kol got up from his seat, grabbed his bag, and shoved his way out the door, cursing Finn’s name to Hel and back. He reached the end of the street and stopped. Raking his fingers through his hair, Kol rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Wrong move.

A gentle autumn breeze swept past and carried with it a hint of something sweet. No, that was too tame. That scent on the air was like pure sugar and spring water, something like berries and roses and cotton candy all rolled into one supremely tempting aroma so overpowering he nearly choked. White hot pain shot through him and his mouth watered. He was standing in the midst of town square before he even realized he’d moved.

There, kneeling hunched over on the ground, all alone in the early morning, was a young woman who looked about the same age as he did. Any view of her face was obscured by the curtain of her hair as it fell around her in something of an untamed mess. Her clothes, nothing fancier than a t-shirt and shorts, were rumpled and irreparably stained with just about every color one could imagine as she focused intently on whatever she was doing. Scattered all around her were about a dozen cans of paint and at least a hundred individual sticks of chalk in a variety of shades. She was decorating the walkways, Kol realized as he watched her dip her hand directly into one of the cans of paint before slathering the color over the flagstones she was working on. Once satisfied that the area was evenly covered, she sat up.

The girl paused to wipe her hand on a wet rag before shuffling back around to a different section where the paint looked a little drier.

Kol had just enough time to register the pattern of scrapes that decorated her hands and knees before that delicious scent washed over him again. It was stronger now that he was so close and like a punch to the gut, just a whiff of it knocked the wind out of him. His throat seared and his fangs ached. She was right there in front of him, trickles of blood seeping from her hands and knees - rivers of temptation. Whatever ichor was rushing through that girl’s veins would certainly be divine. Kol wanted it. He wanted to taste her warm human skin - wanted to lick the scarlet from those teasing little scrapes she’d made. No one was around. He could have that sweet, sweet crimson ambrosia all to himself.

There was just one problem. This girl was a local. Her residence was clear from the tags dangling from her backpack which she’d tossed a few feet away. Kol couldn’t eat any of the locals, he’d given his word on it.

Unfortunately for him, that boy’s sense of honor apparently wasn’t enough to keep his legs from moving. He was standing over her shoulder in a matter of seconds. His looming shadow must have caught her attention because the girl paused her work (she was rubbing lines of chalk into the paint now) and twisted around to look up at him, squinting against the rising sun at his back. Her cheeks were twinged with a delicious shade of pink, likely due to the warm, humid morning, and she smiled in a friendly, albeit slightly confused way.

“Hey!” She greeted - voice practically a chirp. The girl lifted a hand to her face in an effort to further block out the sun, but the offensive light couldn’t dampen her smile. Kol fought the urge to roll his eyes at her sunny disposition.

“Good morning, darling.” He flashed her a grin - the crooked one that made girls like her faint. Kol gestured to the swirling mix of hues currently stinging his eyes. “What’s this going to be?”

The girl blinked and tilted her head. “Could you say that a little louder?” She asked. Her voice was soft but rich with a delicate, wispy quality to it like a warm caramel stretched apart. He supposed it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to listen to.

“Are you painting something specific or is it more abstract?” He wondered, raising his voice a little. Abstract was certainly the most polite term for eyesore, he thought.

“Oh, uh, yeah! It’s Mystic Falls,” She said brightly. Then she paused. Her face scrunched up a bit and even Kol could admit it was a little endearing. “Um, I mean, not the town, but like, the falls as in the waterfalls… yeah.” Her voice tapered off into a whisper at the end and she cast her eyes away.

Kol hummed. “I see.” He didn't actually care, however. He’d seen enough. This girl, tantalizing as her blood might be, wasn’t worth his time - nor his mother’s wrath should he break his oath. There was no thrill in chasing someone like that, girls like her gave in too easily.

Without warning, the little artist stiffened and whipped her head back up to face him, drawing Kol from his thoughts.

“Say, what’s the time?” She wondered, biting her lip anxiously. Her lips looked rather tasty when she did that.

Kol raised a brow and checked his watch. “Ten to seven,” He answered.

She cocked her head again. “Sorry, what?”

“Ten to seven,” He repeated a little louder.

“Huh?”

“Bloody hell!” The boy huffed. “It’s six-fifty! Are you Deaf?”

She snorted. “Uh, huh. Yeah.” Kol’s eyes narrowed but the girl only turned her head, shoving a lock of hair back to reveal some technological array perched over her ear. The artist shrugged and faced him again. “It’s the accent, I think. Plus, it ain’t my fault you mumble. What time did you say it was again? I forgot.”

It wasn’t the disability that annoyed him, he wasn’t that shallow. It was her attitude he couldn’t stand.

“Six. Fifty. One,” He ground out through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened. “CRAP!”

The annoying little artist sprang to her feet, scooped her bag from where she’d flung it, and dashed off just like that. He huffed at her lack of tact - not so much as a word of thanks. It was probably best for both of them if they never saw each other again. That mouth-watering ray of sunshine was unlikely to survive another encounter with him.

As he debated whether or not to just wander around aimlessly for the remainder of the day, Kol caught sight of an object that must have tumbled out of the artist’s bag. Only the slightest bit curious, he bent down to pick it up. Upon taking a closer look at it, Kol raised a brow. Well worn and faded, the sketchbook in his hands was nothing special - almost every artist had one, that was no surprise. What caught his attention, however, was the design on the cover, or more accurately, what had been made of it. Whereas the front of the sketchbook had once depicted a quaint scene from what he recognized to be the story Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with little Alice looking up at the Cheshire Cat perched lazily in a tree, the girl had turned it into something far more sinister.

For one thing, she’d given Alice a broadsword. Her dress had been redecorated with dirt stains and blood. As for the Cheshire Cat, the artist had transformed the feline into a marionette with blood-stained teeth and dreadful claws. The background had been scribbled out with a black marker. All save for a grinning silhouette, tugging at the strings of its Cheshire Cat puppet, and a line of bold, bloody letters spelling out the phrase: “We’re All Mad Here.”

It was a delightfully grotesque perversion of a story Kol had rather enjoyed reading when it was first published. Perhaps that girl wasn’t quite so boring after all.

Kol smirked and slipped the sketchbook into his own school bag. Serves her right for being so disrespectful. Besides, the book was steeped in that exquisite aroma of hers, and if he couldn’t devour the poor thing then keeping a little memento was his next best option. If she wanted it back, she’d simply have to prove herself deserving of it. Until then, that little book of horrors was all his.

Who knows what he might do with it?

No matter what, this was bound to be… entertaining.

***

You’d never liked cheerleaders. They’d always seemed so shallowly chipper - the sort of nice that giggles behind a person’s back. Most people said you were just jealous, wishing you could have their beauty, body, or popularity. They were wrong, of course, cheerleading simply wasn’t your thing. As for appearances, at least you were confident enough in your looks that you didn’t require validation from fellow minors. You never corrected the masses though. You let them think whatever they want. (After all, you had other, more important things on your mind.)

All feelings about cheerleaders aside, they were excellent subjects for drawing poses. It was them or the football team and you couldn’t be paid enough to go anywhere near them. Besides, you had already obtained permission from the members of the cheer squad to sit in on their practices. They figured you must have been lonely and seeking their approval. You didn’t correct them either. The girls on the squad were nice enough, though you didn’t know any of them very well. Just some first names.

Caroline, Bonnie, Amber, Laura, Rebekah.

Now that Rebekah was an odd one. She sort of unnerved you. Like the rest, the British blonde was nice enough, but something about her wasn’t quite right. She’d just dropped off the map for a month and a half and then showed up today as if she’d never been gone. Then there was her relationship with the other cheerleaders. Half of them avoided her like the plague and the other half worshiped the ground she walked on. It wasn’t normal.

Life isn’t like the drama shows all over tv. Kids in the real world don’t act that way.

You hadn’t grown up in Mystic Falls. Your parents moved your family into town one year ago. Though you were just a sophomore then, you knew enough to understand that something about this whole town and everything that had been happening within the last year just wasn’t right. Within your sophomore and junior years alone, no less than twenty-six kids were reported missing. At least six were later confirmed dead.

Was it really any wonder you kept to yourself?

You were fine with being alone. It didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was that you had somehow lost track of your sketchbook. That bundle of pages hardly ever left your person. You never went anywhere without it, and yet when you had sat on the bleachers and reached into your backpack to pull it out, lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found. Who knew what small-town hic had gotten their grubby little hands on it?

Alright, that was mean. You just wanted your book back. The idea of someone else flipping through your sketches irked you to no end.

“Well hello again, darling!” A semi-familiar voice rang out from behind you on the bleachers and you twisted around to face him. Had that kid been up there all this time? The boy grinned down at you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You offered him a tight smile.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Fancy that.”

The boy was pretty, that was for sure. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong brow, and a sharp jawline. Not to mention that smile, you’d sooner light yourself on fire than call it “dazzling” but you would like to draw it sometime. All in all, he was probably the closest thing to masculine perfection you would ever lay eyes upon. But you weren’t dumb enough to judge a person off of looks alone.

Though you had nothing to go off of aside from your brief meeting that morning, you didn’t quite like that kid. On the surface, he seemed alright. A little impatient but still pretty normal. It was the way he looked at you… it reminded you of the feeling you got back in your old town whenever you noticed that your best friend's pet boa constrictor was watching you from inside its tank - how its eyes would follow you no matter what you did. It wasn’t an exactly pleasant sensation. Those onyx eyes of his - when you looked into them, you couldn’t see much of a person looking back. His eyes sparkled when he smiled but behind them… behind them there was nothing. A charming grin without a person inside.

The boy’s odd smile only broadened.

“You know, I-I didn’t take you for the cheerleading type,” He said. You tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear, squinting against the sun in your eyes. Did he always have to position himself so you had to blind yourself to look at him?

“I’m… not.”

He chuckled. “Obviously.” Climbing to his feet, the boy hopped up onto the seat in front of him and walked gracefully down to your level - at least, as gracefully as one can while walking on bleachers. You should probably warn him about the-

“Careful, that next one wobbles,” You spoke up. Your voice never seemed to come out as loud as you intended, yet he didn’t seem to have a problem catching it.

“Ah-” He tested the next row with his foot and stepped over it lightly. “Thank you very much.” He grinned again as he jumped down beside you.

The boy was much too close for your liking.

“You’re welcome,” You mumbled, shuffling away slightly. He only leaned in closer.

“So, if you’re with the cheerleaders, but you’re not one of them, then what does that make you?” He wondered, oblivious or insensitive to your discomfort. You couldn’t tell which. “Unrequited lover or wannabe?”

He raised a brow, smirking in a way that appeared bemused but you could sense its condescending edge. You just shrugged. He could think whatever he wanted.

He was baiting you, that you were sure of. The dark-haired senior wanted you to answer. He waited for you to answer. But his was a lure you weren't going to bite. You just kept on drawing - filling in lines, and fine-tuning expressions. You were sure he would give up eventually, kids like him always did.

“Are those your chemistry notes?” He asked finally.

You hummed and nodded. You’d never been too much of a talker. It had nothing to do with your hearing loss, or maybe it did. That was just who you were either way.

“And you’re sketching in them?”

You shrugged. “Lost my sketchbook.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” At least he had the decency to sound sympathetic. “Did you have it this morning?” You nodded. This boy was persistent, you would give him that. He kept talking. “I see… Well, I'm sorry to hear that, darling. I would have loved to see it,” He said.

Your lips twitched up in a smile. You wouldn’t have shown him anyway, but that didn’t matter.

“Thanks,” You whispered.

"You never answered my question," He pointed out. He was trying to get to you - get closer to you - and while any other girl would do backflips for the attention of a boy like him, you weren't any other girl. If he wanted to know you, then you couldn't let that happen. If you did, he might figure out your secret. Then you could lose everything - your education, your clean record, and the only money-making opportunity you were likely to get in this tiny, provincial town.

"I know." You sighed and closed your substitute sketchbook, just a little fed up. Maybe it was time to let the sunny, shy-girl facade drop. Perhaps a quick glimpse of who you really were would deter him. "But you're here too. So which are you? Unrequited lover or wannabe?"

The boy threw his head back and laughed, loud and clear. His laugh sounded like a stone splashing into a calm pond. Sudden and unique - one of a kind. When his gaze returned to you, he seemed to look you over as if reevaluating his previous judgment of your character. After a moment, he gave a slight nod and shrugged.

"That's a fair point you make there, darling. I'll have to disappoint you, however, as I am merely here to pick up my sister." He gestured to the girls practicing on the field and then shot you a smirk. The boy held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, darling. I'm Kol, Kol Mikaelson.”

Your eyes flicked to his outstretched hand, weary.

"I…"

Glancing up, you met the endless black pits that were his eyes. Your stomach felt queasy. Better to be safe than sorry.

You pushed his hand away. "I… don't particularly care."

Without another word, you packed up your things and skipped down the bleachers. Exiting left of the football field.

Perhaps you'd left him stunned. You didn't bother looking back to check.

You started seeing Kol quite often after that, which wouldn't have been weird had he not been a year above you. If it wasn't coincidence that saw you sharing both lunch period and study hall with him, then you didn't want to think about what it was. He kept his distance, which you appreciated. Kol didn't approach you for a while, but whenever you were in the same room with him you couldn't seem to shake a feeling that you were being watched. Closely.

The day that pattern changed was the day you walked down the hall and found yourself greeted by photocopies of your art taped to every locker. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes landed on that first row of metal doors. The papers fluttered in the wind generated by passing students but you would recognize your art anywhere.

It was one of the pages from your sketchbook - one of the sketches no one was supposed to see.

This one depicted the football team, gathered on the field for practice. The sky above was dark and they had their helmets off. Each player's complexion was ghostly pale and their glowing red eyes all stared soullessly at the viewer. Their expressions displayed no emotion, but together they stood in a threatening formation. You had taken inspiration from both classic zombie movies and The Matrix for that sketch. In the top left corner, you had etched the title. You called it "The Hive."

The only problem was, you hadn't exactly obtained the team's permission to draw it.

To make matters worse, someone had added an inscription to the image that read: "Members of The Hive possess no individual thought or personality. Furthermore, they acknowledge only other facets of their collective consciousness." The words were scrawled across a crumpled sticky note attached to the top right-hand corner of the page. You hadn't written those words, but it sure looked like your handwriting. Your name was even signed at the bottom.

Someone had stolen and altered your sketchbook, and now they were using it against you.

Panic and paranoia welled up inside you. Clutching your books to your chest, you quickened your pace, catching glimpses of more and more hallways decorated with your sketch. Whispers followed you as you rushed down the hall to your locker, hoping to escape and find solace in your first class of the day, but you had no such luck. Reaching your destination, you gasped at the sight before you, recoiling in shame and confusion. It was like a shot taken straight from a television drama. This thief - whoever they were - had covered your locker with copies of that picture.

Who would do something like this? You had only been in town a year - you wouldn't have thought that long enough to garner this degree of animosity from anyone.

"What the actual hell, Y/N?" A student exclaimed from down the hall.

Your mouth hung, gaping in shock and you floundered for something - anything to say. There was nothing. No defense.

"Yeah, Y/L/N! What did Matt and the team ever do to you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?" You shook your head, blinking rapidly as you tried to explain, but your voice refused to rise over the commotion, accusations, and judgment. "N-no, they didn't. I mean, I wasn't trying to-to…"

"You realize how sick this is, right?" Another kid demanded, closer to you this time. "Like, seriously. Judgy much?"

"No, it's not like that," You insisted. It felt like your whole world had been tossed upside down. "I-I just-" You stammered, hapless. For once, it was the people around you who couldn't seem to hear.

"What a creep," Muttered someone else as they passed close enough for your hearing aids to register. Was that what everyone thought of you?

"No! Y-you don't understand! I-I didn't mean it like that. I-" Your heart sank. Shame overwhelmed you and you buried your face in your hands, sliding down the wall to the floor.

Your heart felt like a voodoo doll, impaled with all sorts of pins. You'd never felt impressed to explain yourself to anyone. You had never cared what anyone else thought of you. But when you had imagined all the ways your life might fall apart, this wasn't one of the ways you had envisioned. That drawing and the dozens of others like it - they were yours.

You wished you'd never made them in the first place.

Shaking your head, you switched off your hearing aids and hugged your arms around yourself, perfectly content to stew in your own misery. A dull roar met your ears as students passed by. None stopped to address you. A few of them tossed crumpled-up photocopies of your sketch at your head but you ignored them.

Then a hand settled itself on your knee.

Startled, you peeked between your fingers, expecting someone like the assistant principal or guidance counselor to be kneeling in front of you. Instead, you were met with the concerned countenance of none other than Kol Mikaelson.

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes.

He proffered a gentle smile and said something, but his words were lost to the prattling hum that encompassed your world without hearing aids. You preferred it this way. It was your natural state. You saw instead of listened, it was what made you such a good artist. Or so you'd thought.

You shook your head at him weakly, pointing to your ears, and mouthed, "I can't hear you."

Why was he here? Was he just going to tease you as he had a few weeks ago on the football stands?

Kol nodded. "I know," He signed. His movements were small and lax - nonthreatening.

Unsure how to interpret his sudden kindness and understanding, you shifted to sit up a little straighter, eyeing him. Kol's lips pressed into a thin line that tried to look like a smile. Without warning, he removed the textbooks resting in your lap and stood.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" He sighed, offering you his hand. Hesitantly, you reached out and took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You stiffened as the boy let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you swiftly against his side, shielding you from the view of others in the hallway as he hastily but gently herded you down crowded hallways and out the heavy steel front doors.

Just outside the school, there were picnic tables set up where students could sit to study or eat lunch. Those were deserted by now as first period was speedily approaching. Kol guided you to one of them and dropped your books on the table, gesturing for you to sit. You weren't overly fond of being told what to do, but you figured this was probably Kol's best effort to be nice so you obliged. He sat down in front of you and cupped your jaw in his hand. With his brows furrowed and expression drawn the boy seemed to be inspecting your face, though for what you couldn't be sure.

Absently, you noticed that his hands were very warm despite the changing season. (Why that thought made your stomach queasy was a question for another time.)

Kol's thumb brushed over your cheek and you wanted to look away to hide the flare of heat that consumed your cheeks, but he wouldn't let you.

"Well, you're not panicking," He observed after what felt like an eternity. "That's good."

His words were muffled without your hearing aids but now, away from the commotion of the bustling hallways, you could understand him well enough.

You gave a small nod and, refusing to meet his eyes, focused instead on the grass beneath your feet.

"I'm fine," You whispered. Your voice was a little hoarse but he didn't know you well enough to recognize that.

"Are you sure?"

The question was inevitable, yet you found yourself scowling anyway.

Of course you were fine. You were always fine.

You wanted to tell him that you didn't want his pity, that you weren't some distressing damsel and that he needed to mind his own business. You weren't some charity case he could use to prove to all the senior girls that he could be a sensitive boyfriend. (You'd been there once. You weren't going through it again.) But, as always, the boldness in your head could never seem to leave your lips.

"It's not your responsibility to take care of me," You told him instead. In your lap, your hands fiddled and tugged on the too-long sleeves of your sweater. You'd gotten chalk on your jeans again.

He let his hand drop and the swirling autumn winds cooled your cheeks. You sort of missed the warmth.

"I know that." Kol's concern morphed into a smirk. This was it. You prepared for the incoming ridicule. It never came. "You don't like anyone getting close, do you?" He guessed, casually leaning back as though he already knew the answer. (And respected it.) "Makes you uncomfortable, I'd imagine."

You shrugged and picked at the loose threads on your sleeve. Honestly, he was right - you were just a bucket of trust issues in a Technicolor wrapper. But was that any of his business? No.

"Why are you here?" You wondered in lieu of an answer.

Kol raised a brow. "Apologies, darling. I was unaware that it's illegal for a bloke to be a good friend 'this side of the pond."

"It's not illegal," You said. Your eyes narrowed. "But we're not friends."

You'd made a handful of friends since moving to this town. None of them had come to your aid. Then again, none of them knew about your sketchbook.

Kol smirked. "Consider this an application then!" He surmised, eyes glinting. Those unnerving tar pits seemed a little less dead today than they had before. What changed? He chuckled, amused at your loss for words, and continued. "Besides, I get the feeling I'm just about the only one who knows that sketchbook of yours was stolen from you. The only thing I want to know is, what made you draw that picture?"

Maybe… if you told him the truth about the sketches, he wouldn't look any closer.

"I don't like Stefan Salvatore," Came your quiet answer.

That didn't seem to be what he was expecting, but he didn't look disappointed. Kol's lips twitched and he wet his lips in a way that betrayed a certain excitement.

"Go on."

You took a breath.

"He and I were the only two new kids last year," You began. If you said this, you were going to sound like a lunatic, that was why you'd always opted to draw it out instead. "Strange things happen in this town, and they happen around him. No town has as many "animal attacks" as this one and those only started when he showed up. People started going missing. Some were found dead. Mr. Saltzman is our history teacher because the guy before him got ripped up right over there in the parking lot just before Stefan's first game as part of team. The police said it was a mountain lion, but I was there; I saw the body and there were no scratches. Then there's the way some of his friends a-and Mr. Saltzman look at him sometimes - I've seen them do it - like he's about to murder everyone in the room and they don't know how to stop him."

Kol stared at you. His expression had grown increasingly weary the longer you kept on rambling. When you finally closed your mouth, he nodded slowly, brows furrowed. You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

"That is…" He trailed off. To your great surprise, however, he nodded as if he actually believed you. "Deeply disturbing, darling." Kol's eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer. "You say you saw your teacher's corpse?" He asked.

You nodded. "The "bite" on his neck looked a lot more like buck-shot to me."

His eyes widened. "You think someone killed him?" He hissed.

"And the police covered it up."

"So why draw the football team?"

You hugged your arms around yourself. "Because Matt Donovan is in on it. It's him, Tyler Lockwood, and Stefan Salvatore - they've been acting so weird. Two months ago, Tyler and Stefan started acting really mean all of a sudden and the rest of the football team just started acting like zombies, doing anything they said. It was really freaky."

"And you drew it so you wouldn't have to be afraid." Kol nodded, smiling softly. "Put all the horrors in a little book and out of your head."

This kid had you dead to rights.

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater. "I never meant to hurt anyone," You sighed.

"I know," He said. "For the record, I quite liked your little interpretation."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I'm not sure yet," The dark-haired boy admitted with a shrug. "Honestly, I've never known another town to have as many functions as this one."

"Right?!" You exclaimed. Finally, someone else saw it! "Smells like organized crime to me…"

"Or cult activity."

"Or that."

"Or maybe you're just a little paranoid," Kol surmised. "But if that's the case, then who am I to judge?"

For the first time in a while, your shoulders shook with a genuine laugh.

"Thanks Kol."

"Anytime, love."

And that boy lived up to his word. Over the span of the next several weeks, more of your sketches were spread about the school. It wasn't long before your so-called friends had all cut contact. Kol became the only person in town willing to talk to you. Every time a drawing was leaked, no matter how dark, twisted, or gruesome the image, Kol was always there to comfort you and compliment your art style.

Each drawing that circulated the school was more damaging to your reputation than the last. Anyone you thought was in on the secret of Mystic Falls' suspicious deaths, you turned into a monster in the pages of your sketchbook.

Jeremy Gilbert became a tortured Voodoo doll.

("Well, there's an odd comparison," Kol commented idly, inspecting the array of pages that had overtaken your locker. "I quite like it."

A student shoved past you on their way to class, ramming painfully into your shoulder. You winced, aware that the action was purposeful, but you didn't say anything. Kol, however, glared at the kid - a cold, chilling sort of glare.

You shrugged, readjusting your backpack.

"He just always seems so pained lately. 'Looks at everyone like they're gonna kill 'em.")

Elena, his sister, you portrayed as a prim, psychotic puppet master.

("I'm sorry, but have I done something to you?" The popular and gorgeous former cheerleader asked when she confronted you about the sketch she clutched in her hand. Seniors Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donovan stood with their arms crossed, flanking her on both sides. The sight only served to reinforce the role your imagination had given her - the girl wore her ex's around her like accessories. They were always there to cover for her strange behavior.

"N-no, it's not like that. I-I-I swear!" You stammered, eyes flicking between her broad-shouldered bodyguards. You swallowed thickly.

"Look, Y/N," Elena sighed. "I'm not mad at you, but whatever is going on in your life, you can't take it out on me. Or anyone else."

"That's not what I'm doing," You mumbled, shuffling your feet. She didn't seem to hear you.

"You know, if there's something bothering you, then you need to tell someone about it," Elena said. You were only a few months younger than her, yet she talked down to you as though you were a toddler. You wished the anger that flared and frothed inside you, didn't look like shame as it stained your cheeks. "I know we're not close, but you can always tell me if something's happening, okay?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"Y/N, it's okay to let someone in." The girl pressed.

You gritted your teeth, wishing she would just go. "I-"

"Pretty sure she doesn't have to tell you anything, sweetheart," A melodiously snide voice hummed from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Kol a relieved smile. He dropped a quick wink in return before focusing on his fellow seniors. Elena and her posse seemed to tense up around him for some reason.

"What's it to you, Kol?" Stefan demanded.

"Oh, I dunno. Basic human decency? Nothing much," He replied. The dark-haired senior shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked, smug as a bug.

"How 'bout you mind your own damn business for a change," Matt snapped. He almost made a move toward your friend but Elena stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Kol snorted at their reactions. "Why so defensive? 'Weren't expecting this lovely young lady to have some back-up?" He slung an arm around your shoulder and began twisting a lock of your hair around and around his finger. You sort of liked him tugging on it the way he did.

"We were just a little concerned," Elena claimed.

"Right." Kol smiled thinly. Releasing his fingers from your hair, he took a threatening step forward. You hadn't realized before just how tall that boy was. "Well, as Y/N said, she doesn't need your concern. So why don't you run along and take your puppets with you."

The three seniors reluctantly surrendered under the force of Kol's steely glare and you watched them go, hugging your arms around yourself and shivering. Kol turned back to you. His hands found their way to your shoulders and he stopped down a little to look you in the eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked. His eyes were still dark, but not the pits of tar they'd been before. They were more like soft dirt now, holding the promise of future life.

Kol gently smoothed his hands over your arms, spreading a gooey, molten warmth everywhere his skin touched. There was something bubbly in your lungs and the shudder that ran down your spine this time wasn't from nerves.

You took a breath and tried to ignore how his touch made you want to melt.

"I'm fine," You lied. You were fine. You were always fine.

The boy smiled as though he didn't quite believe you. "That's good." He tilted his head in the direction Elena and the others had disappeared to. "You were right about them, though. There's definitely something strange going on there."

You nodded. "Thanks."

"Of course, darling.")

Bonnie Bennett, by the grace of your overactive imagination, had been transformed into a wicked witch. Ancient runes glowed in the air, surrounding her dark ritual. Oddly enough, the thief had changed a few of them, though you weren't sure why.

("If I might ask, why a witch for that one?" Kol asked as the girl herself scowled venomously at you from the other side of the gym.

He sat with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, leaning in close so you would hear him though he spoke softly, having stayed a little longer after school to help you with your chemistry homework now that no one else would. You could smell cinnamon and something tangy on his breath as his lips brushed over your ear and you tried not to shiver. The whole school probably thought you were a couple, but you knew that wasn't the case.

"There's some weird looking stuff in that girl's locker," You whispered back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the daggers she was glaring at your head. If you didn't know better, you would have sworn the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. "At the fundraiser we had last year, there was this car that just caught fire outta nowhere. The thing wasn't even running and it just exploded. Everybody was freaking out and running but Bonnie just stood there, staring at it like she was possessed."

Kol glanced up at the Bennett girl again. "You know what?" He decided, tilting his head. "I can see it." He sent Bonnie a little wave and turned back to your homework. "I loved the runes you included in that drawing, though," The boy added.

"Yeah?" You couldn't help but smile.

"Absolutely. Most of them were even correct," He shot you a crooked grin. "It was impressive."

You raised a brow. "Can you… read Runic?"

"Mmhm," He hummed, checking off another problem on your homework. "Remind me and I'll teach you sometime."

You were about to ask where and when he would have learned something like that, but the question was plucked from your brain before you got the chance.

You drew in a sharp breath as his hand, which had previously rested like a ghost's on your hip, slipped deftly under your shirt. Unsure whether you liked it or not, you couldn't decide as your brain had simply quit functioning properly. All you could seem to register was that Kol was touching you and it wasn't a "just friends" sort of touch. Your cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as you glanced up at him, blinking owlishly, only to find that he was already watching you with an unexpectedly sweet smile. He studied your expression, waiting for you to protest - to say no.

When you remained silent, that sweet smile twisted into a smirk. Leaning down, you felt a soft, tender kiss to your cheek just as Kol pressed his fingers firmly into your skin, wasting no time before he began to explore. His hand was warm, gentle, and soft as he stroked and petted your stomach. Something warm and jittery built up in your chest. It climbed up your throat, threatening to spill out. You whimpered quietly, unable to hold it back. Yet, that only seemed to encourage him. Kol hummed and slid his hand lower with another kiss to your cheek. What was that boy doing to you? Your whole body burned as he continued to fondle and caress you shamelessly. Shuddering, you bit back a moan and curled yourself closer to him, fisting his jacket as though he could hide you from the world. Kol just smirked and continued going over your homework.

He didn't let go of you - didn't stop touching you - until the bell rang. Then he just got up, shot you a wink, and left without another word.)

Slowly, that boy earned your trust because, though you didn't know exactly how to define your relationship with him, he was always there for you. It was nice to have someone who knew why you had drawn those pictures. Not because you were self-righteous and judgemental, but because there was something very real and very disturbing going on and you needed a way to purge the constant fear from your mind.

Kol believed you. There was something wrong with this town. You weren't crazy.

But no one else could see that.

The day a sketch of Sheriff Forbes - Caroline's mother - made its way around the student body was the day you were called to the principal's office. The picture displayed Sheriff Forbes as a creature like the Other Mother from Coraline, dutifully sewing shut the mouths of townspeople and stitching buttons over their eyes. The Sheriff was a kind woman. She didn't deserve to be depicted that way. But at the same time, you knew she was hiding something.

So there you sat on the wrong side of the principal's desk, eyes locked firmly on your lap as the graying woman watched you with a disappointed frown.

"Y/N, this is not acceptable," She said, tight-lipped with tired eyes.

"I know," You mumbled.

"Then why did you draw these pictures in the first place?" The woman demanded.

You shrugged haplessly. She wouldn't believe you if you told the truth. She'd probably recommend you to a mental health institution.

The principal sighed. "Y/N, it's not my business what you do in your free time, but this has to stop. You need to stop."

"It's not me!" You protested. "Someone stole my sketchbook."

"Well, then you had better find a way to get it back, and once you do I highly recommend you burn it. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to suspend you," She said, folding her hands atop the desk. "The mayor has also been made aware of these sketches and she asked me to warn you that, should another one of these offensive images appear, you can consider her commission canceled."

Your heart stuttered and sank.

You wanted to scream and cry and tell the world it was all so unfair but all that came out of your mouth was, "Okay."

The principal nodded. "Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N."

That was your cue to leave.

You exited her office and shut the door behind you, letting go of a long sigh. Kol was sitting outside, waiting for you. He was always there for you. Upon seeing your distraught expression, the boy got up and wound his arms around you, holding you close. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut and grinding your teeth as you buried your face in his chest.

Kol pressed a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked, just as he always did.

You took a deep breath-

(You were fine. You were always fine.)

-and let out a string of cuss words so foul they’d make a sailor blush.

He hissed in sympathy and hugged you tighter. “I take it that’s a no.”

Kol was a good friend. True, his words sometimes carried a sting to them and some of his touches lingered a little too long to be just friendly. But he was good. The two of you had come a long way since you'd first met him. When he pulled away, he probably should have rested his hands on your waist but Kol grabbed you by your hips instead. His hands were very warm and you found yourself blushing. But if you were being honest, you liked the way he was touching you - the way he had been for a while now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, hesitantly watching your face though you refused to meet his eyes.

"No," You answered.

Kol offered you a strained smile and tugged you back into that tight hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He said, gently.

Kol had been such a good friend to you. The least you could do was show him some trust.

"I'd rather show you."

***

Her hand slid down his arm to his hand which Kol reluctantly lifted off her hip. Then, without another word - because she didn’t talk all that much - she led him off down the hallway. He allowed her to pull him along, amused (and two other things he was trying really hard to ignore.)

There was this funny feeling he got when he looked at that girl sometimes, with her chalk and paint-stained clothes, messy hair, and tired eyes. It was warm and pleasant and it reminded him of how he felt after a really big feed, except not like that at all. He felt satisfied, content… full, but there was nothing sinister about it. Kol found himself unsure how to label that sensation seeing has he’d so rarely felt it and when he had it was fleeting - gone before he could enjoy it.

This time, however, when it came, that feeling lingered.

And not because he’d killed anyone recently! Kol Mikaelson had not rubbed out a single soul in that miserable little town. (A surprise to all, certainly.) That odd feeling stayed with him day to day, and he tried to ignore how pleasant it was because surly it would disappear any day now… But it never did. Kol knew it had something to do with his little artist but, honestly, that just confused him further. More baffling still was the notion that, over the past few weeks, he hadn’t found himself craving the high that exacting death always afforded him. Sure, he felt a little… hungry (that didn’t seem like the right term) on the weekends, but then he’d see her in the hallways and he felt content again. It wasn’t the sort of satisfaction he took from any of his games either.

That’s what this whole thing had started as - what it was. (Just that he had to remind himself of that fact was unsettling.) It was just a game. He’d played it hundreds of times before with hundreds of girls like her. It was the game where he came into their lives from out of the blue, stripped away every single thing they cared about - robbed them of their friends, their reputation, their comforts, their dreams - and did that all while making them love him for it. Then, once he got them into his bed, he shattered their illusions right before he killed them.

He was so close to winning this one too. Her friends had all abandoned her, half the town was convinced she was schizophrenic, and her dreams were one little sketchbook page away from being crushed. There was just one problem.

This time, he didn’t want the game to end.

This time, he felt an uncomfortable stabbing sensation in his chest (not unlike the point of a dagger) every time she flinched. Every time she switched off her hearing aids, every time she hugged herself and sighed, every time she pursed her lips on the verge of tears - Kol felt something he hadn’t felt in well over nine hundred years. Guilt. Because he was the one spreading that girl’s naughty little pictures through the halls just so she would want him around.

Kol simply didn’t understand what made her different. She was human. She wasn’t strong or powerful or even witty. The girl was shy, she hardly said a word to anyone but him, and when some kid shouted abuse in her face she just stood there and took it. She was so plain and boring that Kol often found himself wondering why he hadn’t eaten her yet.

Sometimes though, she surprised him.

She surprised him when she shoved her way though the front doors in the middle of the school day. Previously, Kol was convinced that girl had never broken a rule in her life.

She surprised him when she cussed like a sailor and didn’t apologize one bit. Was a girl like that even allowed to say those words? Legally?

But most of all, she surprised him when she tugged him along by the hand in the drizzling rain through the backwoods of Virginia, off the hiking trails, and down into a ravine where she only stopped in front of a looming chain-link fence. That fence had a big, red “No Trespassing” sign attached to it.

She suprised him when she was always fine. That girl accepted his hugs, his touch, his comfort - but she didn’t need it.

Thus, Kol was well and truly floored when his tiny sweet, delicious little artist dropped his hand and scrambled up and over that fence like a monkey scales a tree. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She had absolutely, positively, and without a doubt just broken a law. That couldn’t be right. She was too shy to break the law. This was the same girl that apologized when she broke her bloody pencil.

"You coming or not?" She challenged. And then... Then, she smiled.

The sight of it took Kol's breath away.

That smile. He didn't understand it. Y/N was no witch - he knew that for certain. But somehow there was something magical about that smile.

There were moments - only a handful of them - like the one he was in right then. Those times were so rare but when they occurred, Kol's tiny, sweet, piquant little artist would look back at him, usually over her shoulder, and send him this... this smile. The twist of her lips he'd seen her wear when he'd first met her, the one she passed out to her so-called friends, was a fake he came to realize.

This real one was so much prettier.

Words had so rarely failed him, but there was no language Kol knew that could quite describe just what that smile looked like - what it made him feel or why. That smile of her's was just so real - so deeply heartfelt - that it always made him want to smile back. Her's was never never a silly or obnoxious grin that she gave to him. It was this tiny quirk of her lips that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow a subtle, appetizing pink. Her beauty wasn't like that of the models in those magazines Bekah liked - she wasn't spectacularly eye-catching. That girl's smile didn't light up a room, but it lit a fire in his chest the likes of which he'd never known. It twisted his stomach and Kol felt so hungry every time he got to witness that smile. Except that hunger wasn't the sinister kind he was so familiar with. When she smiled at him, he didn't want to hurt that girl.

He just wanted to pin her against a tree and kiss those beautifully curled lips until the taste of his extraordinary artist was seared into his infallible mind for all eternity.

It wasn't just lust either. It was more than that. Kol didn't want her just because she had a pretty smile. He needed her because that smile only appeared for him - no one else. Kol could make that girl smile and it had nothing to do with his physical appearance. His little artist's smile was reserved just for him simply because he was there to see it. She smiled because he existed and that idea was one he couldn't help but revel in. After all, when was the last time he got something all to himself without having to fight tooth and nail for it?

“Say, love, are we getting close to the bridge?” He wondered. It was the bridge or the falls, but he couldn’t be sure. Y/N didn’t reply. Her lovely, perfect, scrumptious little laugh was all he got in response. After a few more minutes of walking in silence - which he found he liked better than all the other girls he’d ever played with who always felt a need to fill the gap with meaningless prattle - they reached their destination.

So, Kol grinned. That was his real smile too. Only she could bring it out. "Of couse, darling."

He jumped and scaled the fence with the same ease as his quiet companion who took off again as soon as his feet hit the ground. It wasn't long before his enhanced hearing caught the sound of water rushing nearby.

Once free of the tree line, Kol glimpsed the dreary silhouette of Wickery Bridge breaking through the haze of rain and gloom. His little artist glanced back at him with something wild and ferocious gleaming in her eyes. For a moment, he was taken aback by the sight. But that moment was swiftly overtaken by sheer, lucidious excitement. He returned her smile and she bounded off down toward the water. He followed, enraptured and curious as she came to a stop underneath the bridge.

“Alright, my sweet, I think I’ve let you go on long enough,” He said upon catching up with her, not that doing so was any struggle. “What’s so important that you brought me all the way out here?”

The girl didn’t say anything. Instead, she began climbing up the mess of rocks and driftwood that had collected on the banks of the river, making her way up to the crevice where the bridge split from the shoreline. As she did, her hand slipped on one of the rocks and she spat out another string of cuss words that would peel the scales off a snake. Normally, Kol would have been impressed; however, he was a little too busy focusing on the minuscule part of him that didn’t want to rip out her throat.

She’d cut her hand on those rocks and it wasn’t just a little scrape, like the ones he’d grown accustomed to. This was a long, jagged slit across her palm and her all-too-tempting blood was spilling down her arm in beautiful crimson rivers.

And terrible, awful, horrid reality came crashing back in on him.

For a while there, Kol had almost forgotten the two of them weren’t the same. Somehow he’d felt full enough - full of something, full of her - for long enough that he’d forgotten he wasn’t who and what he was pretending to be. He’d forgotten about what he was doing and why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing with her. He’d forgotten that he was the predator and she was the prey.

He was there solely to charm her into surrendering her blood and her body. That was it.

THAT. WAS. IT.

Kol hurt people. That was what he did. He screwed up, and he hurt people, and he laughed about it.

So why did the thought of sinking his teeth into that artist’s pretty little neck seem to tear his lungs to shreds? No - not his lungs - that thing between them. That thing he ignored. That thing he didn’t have. Most people call it a heart.

What was that about? Kol was a monster. He hadn’t felt anything in years, aside from rage, hunger, and the occasional apathy. One thousand years of never giving a damn about the value of human life. And now what? His heart suddenly decided to garner affection for one lonely, miserable, pathetic, perfect, baffling, innocent, gorgeous, plush, soft, disillusioned little artist? Now?

Why now? Why her?

(It had been so long. And he’d had no one.)

She was the only one who ever smiled just for him. The only one who ever trusted him enough to let him see how terrified she truly was. She was scared, so scared all the time that something would spring from the shadows that lurked around every corner to snuff out her soul. She should be, he knew. She was right to be scared. Because Kol was right next to her and he was the only person not in her sketchbook. Sure, she’d never had the chance to put him in there but he’d asked her once what he would look like if she were to draw him like she did everyone else, and his tantalizing little artist had told him she didn’t see Kol that way - that he was her friend. She didn’t know it, and he didn’t want her to know it, but she should be scared of him.

Kol wanted to kill her - needed to kill her. He craved so desperately to ravish that appetizing girl right where they stood. Bloody hell, she should be terrified!

Yet, he didn’t want to scare her - didn’t mean to. He was just hungry - that was all. No one was around. No one could stop him. She didn’t need to be afraid. He could make her feel good. She might like it. Kol was just hungry - he didn’t want to hurt her. One taste wouldn’t hurt her so bad, would it? She would forgive him. One bite would be enough and then he’d stop. Except he wouldn’t and Kol knew that. He would drain every last drop of scarlet from her body and he knew she would be the most exhilarating high he’d ever get. But he didn’t have to feel bad about it. He could dump her body in the river and he’d never see her again.

Oh.

That was it.

He’d never see her again.

No. No, he wanted to see her smile again. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to listen to all of her secrets and wanted that girl to let him touch her for real. No. No, no, no, nonononononononononono.

And all this ran through his head before his artist had even finished cussing.

Y/N waved her hand in the air, displaying her cut. “God hates me!” She called down to him cheerfully. That sunny demeanor that had once annoyed him so now brought him a laugh.

“That’s on you, darling. Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is that you’re trying to achieve, I might be able to assist,” He pointed out, still chuckling to himself. The girl shrugged and reached into the crevice, feeling around for something. “If you get bit by a snake, I’m going to laugh,” Kol mused. She twisted her other hand around and flipped him the bird. After another moment of watching her grope around in a dark hole, his little artist let out an exclamation of success and retrieved her arm which was now attached to a large, black duffle bag. Carefully, she climbed down and tossed the bag on the ground.

“Ta da!” She grinned at him. It was an odd expression - like her face didn’t quite know how to express her current joy to another being.

Kol raised a brow. “Wow,” He deadpanned. “Color me impressed.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“The council just finished renovating this bridge,” She said as though that explained everything.

“And?”

Instead of answering, she simply bent down and unzipped the bag at her feet. Meanwhile, ever the gentleman, Kol forced himself to turn away from admiring the exquisite view of her cleavage this action presented him. He wanted her, yes. Kol delighted in reducing his little artist into a blushing puddle when he touched her. But if he was going to have that girl, he was going to have her everything. Her smile, her heart, her mind, her body, and her respect. Everything. Not just empty lust.

From out of the bag, Y/N drew a pair of gloves, a mask, and two cans of what Kol now recognized to be spray paint. Then, donning the gloves and mask, she marched down to the concrete trusses of Wickery Bridge and got to work. The giant concrete slabs were practically one perfectly untouched canvas for her to exploit.

Suddenly, all those strange behaviors made a whole lot of sense.

“Bloody hell, the girl’s a vandal!” Kol barked a laugh. "I wondered what it was you were so desperate to keep me away from,” He said, shaking his head. “I had my suspicions but this… was not one of them.”

“Oh really,” His artist scoffed. She started out her mural with layers of red. “And what were those suspicions?”

“Abusive parents was number one,” He listed, stretching out casually on the ground, back against a rock. Not the most uncomfortable position he’d ever held. “Self-harm was number two, and number three was a sordid drug habit.”

“Do I really come off that pathetic?” She wondered blithely.

“Most of the time, yeah.”

The girl snorted. “Good for me!”

“That desperate to hide your little crimes, are you?” He chuckled.

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Well, mostly-” She paused to switch colors, going with black now. “-because if Mayor Lockwood ever found out I was the one painting her little town red, I’d lose my commission to paint town square and uh… I like money.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I sense an “and” coming.”

“And,” She continued with a slight laugh. “I might have possibly tagged a few properties worth a lot more than a bridge.” She hesitated. “Or a town… or a castle.”

That last remark was enough to have Kol sitting up straight. “So you were the miscreant who wrote out “Blood Money” on the side of my house!” He exclaimed, wide-eyed. It was impressive as no one in his family had heard anyone approach the house that night, yet the message had been there in bright red the next morning. How had she pulled that off?

The girl froze in her painting. “That was your house?”

“Indeed it was.”

“Whoops.”

Kol waved a hand. “Eh. No harm done.”

“So… not a mafia base then?”

He wished she was wrong. Kol really wished he wasn’t everything that terrified his precious artist. But he was. And that wouldn’t change.

So he laughed.

“Well, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” He joked. Except it wasn’t a joke. But he could let her think it was. He could pretend he believed that too. He could pretend he was just a normal kid, enjoying the company of a beautiful girl. He could pretend that.

She threw her head back and laughed.

What a beautiful thing.

“Okay! I’m done talking now!” She announced without providing any segue whatsoever. He liked that about her though, that she was blunt and direct. It amused him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He protested. He wasn’t all that broken up about it. Just being around that girl was enough to sate his hunger for her. That's what his little game had turned into.

She shrugged and flipped her hearing aids off, so he supposed that was the end of it.

“You know, I’m actually a vampire,” He told her. Kol knew she couldn’t hear him and his words fell on deaf ears. He figured he should tell her the truth though. Even if it was only this once. At least then he could say he had.

“I’ve murdered hundreds of thousands of people - plenty of them for no reason at all. As for you…

“Well, I’ll probably kill you one day. Hell, I almost did just now. I’m not all that great at self-control, you see.” He let go of a bitter laugh and scooped a pebble off the ground, laying back he tossed it over his head and caught it again and again. “But I’m really great at screwing things up!”

“I stole your sketchbook,” He admitted, a little quieter. “It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, but it’s not fun anymore. I-I don’t like to see you hurting. I could stop. That bloody school would never see another picture.”

He lifted his head, watching her back as she continued painting.

“But would you still love me if I did?” Kol sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would. You don’t need me.”

This time, when he tossed the rock, he didn’t catch it. The stone flew and landed in the river, lost to the moving water.

“Nobody does.”

He was glad she couldn’t hear him. He could talk to her and she would never know. Blissfully ignorant, he could watch with a lazy smile as she swung her hips and just kept on painting, without a care in the world. His horribly lovely artist sang quietly to herself as the light of the setting sun bounded off the water and carded through her hair, casting an ephemeral glow all around her. He wondered if her quiet verse might be meant for him. He knew that wasn’t the case. For someone so observant and suspicious, she could be quite blind. He doubted she could be in love with him or that she understood how he felt for her. But like with the rest of this bittersweet scene, Kol could pretend.

“Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together

Brighter than a lucky penny

When you're near the rain goes, disappears, dear

And I feel so fine

Just to know that you are mine…”

***

Robert Frost had been right, you decided the day your world fell apart. You would have preferred your world had been destroyed in one giant, raging fire. Of course, you didn't get to choose. Your world froze over slowly. The cold strangled your opportunities and relationships one by one until you were left entirely alone.

You stood in front of your locker that day, staring at the final nail in the coffin of your reputation and future. This was how it was to end. In ice. You felt like ice as you stared at that final drawing - cold and despondent.

That sketch was of Alaric Saltzman, your kindhearted history teacher who believed in infinite chances for a student's grades. He always wore a pained smile - it was a smile for everyone else because he was still hurting but wanted the kids he taught to look forward to the rest of their lives as he no longer did.

You had drawn him differently.

No smile. Just the pain. Pain that had morphed into bitterness and bitterness into hate. He was sitting in his desk chair, facing towards the door - toward the viewer - with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and a gun in the other. Smoke rose from the barrel of that gun, and the viewer's perception was tinted red.

You had drawn your history teacher murdering you in cold blood.

Who does that?

"So…" The silky lilt of Kol's gentle accent tugged you from your thoughts and brought just a little relief. Even if you had nothing, you had Kol. "Do I want to know what inspired this one? Or would I rather sleep tonight?"

You shrugged, apathetic. The weight of the moment yet to sink in.

"I saw a gun in his desk," You answered tonelessly.

"No shit?"

"Uh, huh." You nodded. "Right next to the colored pencils."

The boy whistled. "I'm regretting some of the things I put in my essay now," He said.

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. "As if you did it."

"Ouch, darling. That hurts." He chuckled lightly and you felt his arms encircle your waist from behind. He tugged you close, resting his head on your shoulder. "You don't know everything about me."

He was trying to joke, for your sake. But nothing could make this better.

"What do I do now?" You asked with a sigh. Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek - light as a feather. For whatever reason, it felt like an apology.

"Well, if I were you," He said. "I'd go out with a bang."

You nodded and shrugged - indifferent. "A bang sounds good."

Kol released you as you slipped your backpack off your shoulders. Eyeing you with a mix of confusion and anticipation, your best friend's eyes flew wide as he watched you wander over to the nearest window, arms reeling back.

With all your might, you flung your back through the window.

It shattered into a million tiny pieces.

The raucous hallway fell silent and a few dozen pairs of eyes locked on you.

"One of you bastards stole my sketchbook," You told them, not bothering to raise your voice in the slightest. "Is that what you wanted? To see me fall apart?"

No one answered of course as you glanced between stunned expressions.

"Well, I hope you're happy now," You rasped. Shoving a few kids out of your way with the harshness that had been building inside you for months now, you left that school behind you and didn't look back.

The only sound to be heard was Kol's low whistle as the heavy steel doors swung shut. The tears streaming down your face were silent.

You sprinted home through the driving rain, the sky dark and close, almost like a blanket. Perhaps the whole world was crying with you. After all, it always seemed to rain when you were sad.

To your relief, your parents were still at work. You had the comfort of crying in peace. Slamming the door shut, you pressed your back against it, slid to the floor… and screamed.

This was your life and it was crumbling in your hands. What else were you supposed to do?

A light knock tapped against the door. So quiet you wouldn't have heard it if the vibrations weren't centered right next to your ear.

"Y/N?" Kol's voice called from the other side of the wood. You didn't say anything, though your ragged breathing was far from quiet. "Y/N, I know you're in there. I can hear you crying." He laid his hand flat. You could hear that ring he always wore scraping against the wooden surface. "Please let me in?"

You shook your head. "I'm not some charity case," You choked out, throat raw.

"Perhaps to someone else you are," Kol said. He must have been kneeling on your front porch. "But not me. I don't have charity, darling. I'm rather selfish actually."

You huffed a laugh. It was humorless.

"Then why come?"

"Because I'm selfish," He replied. Then quieter. "I don't like to see you cry." His ring tapped against the door a few times. "Darling, please let me in? I want to help."

Your teeth clenched like a vice.

"I don't need you."

For years you'd longed to say those words. Finally, in this haze of fury and anguish, they weren't so hard to speak.

"I know." He sighed. "I know you don't, darling. It's part of why I like you so much."

Well as long as he understood, perhaps it was alright

You scraped yourself off the floor and opened the door. Kol stood outside, drenched to the bone, same as you. His eyes weren't dead anymore - not the distant black holes they'd once been. No, his eyes were warm chocolate now, melting with something sad. He really did care.

"Come in," You signed, too worn out to speak.

Kol's brows furrowed. He seemed worried for a moment, though you couldn't guess why. Then he took a tentative step through the door, smiled, and stepped closer, closing the door behind him.

You watched him take his shoes and coat off through the dim light. Your house was dark. You hadn't bothered with any lights. Once he'd finished, Kol glanced up at you questioningly. You regarded him for a moment. After all, these sorts of situations never seemed to turn out well in the books you'd read and the shows you'd watched. The characters in those stories always seemed to end up doing something they'd regret.

Or maybe they didn't regret it.

You thought you would though.

So, contrary to what Kol was likely expecting, you didn't throw yourself into his arms. You just turned and shuffled into the kitchen. You finally switched on some lights. After a moment, he followed you, watching intently. Milling about in science, you collected the supplies required to make the two of you a cup of tea. Your quiet nature combined with your parent's distrust of humanity meant you'd never really had a friend like Kol before - someone you brought to your house and shared food with.

"You hungry?" You asked, waiting for the water to boil. Your hands shook a little, but you didn't feel like speaking. He leaned against the counter opposite you and offered a thin smile you felt you didn't quite understand.

"I'll be okay," He signed back after a moment. He took a deep breath. "I'm more worried about you."

You grimaced involuntarily, eyes shifting to the kettle on the stove. Inside, the pressure would be building until it all rushed out.

"I'm not broken, Kol," You whispered, voice hoarse and thick with more emotion than you'd ever known how to say.

"I know that-" He began, lifting his hands defensively.

"Then why do you look at me like I am?"

Kol's lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. You'd caught onto his ways a long time ago. That boy had been eyeing you like no one you'd ever known since you'd first met him. The only difference was now you were brave enough to call him out on it. So what if he saw you for who you really were? He'd seen enough of it by now. You were sick of hiding anyway.

Kol sighed and pushed off the counter. He made his way toward you with soft eyes and tentative steps until he stood just inches away, boxing you in. You met his dark chocolate eyes and refused to back down even though you knew your cheeks were stained pink. You'd never let anyone this close before.

Pursing his lips, the boy glanced down at the space between you and lifted his hand. He trailed his knuckles hesitantly over your side, then met your eyes again as if to ask permission. You swallowed thickly, but didn't tell him no. With a ghost of a smile, Kol laid his hands on your hips and squeezed firmly. You couldn’t withhold a shudder. His thumbs slipped under your shirt and rubbed your skin softly as he'd done for you a few times before, knowing how much you liked it. His hands seemed to fit perfectly over your hips as though he'd been made to hold you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you relaxed into his touch, letting go of a sigh. His searing hands felt nice when the whole world felt so cold. You needed him closer.

Reaching up, you fisted the collar of his shirt rather harshly and dragged him toward you, pressing your whole body against his. He flinched slightly, surprised by your newfound eagerness, but he quickly reciprocated. Kol chuckled softly and you felt his lips graze your temple before he clinched your hips tighter and lifted you to sit atop the counter. Your heart stuttered and raced in your chest and you gasped sharply, drawing back enough to catch the smirk dancing on his lips. Your cheeks reddened further as he urged you to spread your legs so he could stand between them. His arms circled around your back and you hesitated.

So what if he was a senior? So what if you were a couple of months younger than he was? He'd been a good friend to you.

Shaking your doubts away, you wrapped your legs around him and rested your head on his chest. Kol hummed quietly and pressed another soft kiss to the crown of your hair.

"I know you're not broken, darling," He said. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging a blazing heat into your bones. "I'm just trying to figure out what it is that you really are."

Your hands on his shirt clenched tighter.

"I'm angry,” You admitted.

“Why?”

His question prompted your lips to twist into a scowl as a hysterical laugh bubbled past your lips.

“Really? You’re asking me why?” You huffed, shaking your head. “How ‘bout why not? I’m sick of it, Kol. All of it. The lies, the expectations - nothing is right in this town and I hate it! I’m seventeen! I should get to feel safe but I see people and they’re dropping like flies. And you’d think I’d at least get the luxury of being terrified, but no! I have to act like nothing is wrong!” You looked up at him, tears returning to sting your eyes. “I tried to. I really did. But it was too much and I couldn’t and I had to put it all somewhere. Now some idiot who thinks they’re funny just up and ruined my whole future. I’ll never get a job here now, not like it matters because mom and dad are shipping me off to some mental institution-”

“What?!” Kol cut your rambling off suddenly. Reeling back, he stared at you with wide eyes. You just shrugged. “Your parents are sending you away over this?” He demanded.

You raised a brow. “Kol, this is kind of a big thing.”

“How?!” He exclaimed. His grip on your hips tightened. He seemed agitated - more than you would expect. “You drew some creepy pictures. So what?! Who cares?!”

“A lot of people care,” You deadpanned. “I drew the likeness of people around me without their consent. That's a big no-no. My parents are worried I’m overstressed, narcissistic, and paranoid. They say I need help.”

“No, that’s not-” He cut himself off this time, teeth grinding. He wouldn’t look at you, just squeezed his eyes shut tight. You waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“They can’t take you away from me.”

Finally, he looked up. Smoldering black eyes met your own with a determination that couldn’t possibly have belonged to an eighteen year old boy. It was etherial - hard to capture and even harder to understand. His eyes seemed darker all of a sudden. An odd trick of the light.

“That’s a nice sentiment,” You said quietly. “But unless you’ve got some hard-core magic up your sleeve, it’s not gonna change anything.”

Kol nodded stiffly. “Magic, eh?” His voice was dry - strained almost. He let go of you and took a step back, bracing his hands on the counter. The breaths he drew were long and deep - shaking. His eyes flicked back to yours, blazing with something needy. He cursed.

“Screw it.”

The boy surged forward and his lips caught yours before you could even blink. His arms wound around you again and held you tight and close. One hand wove itself into your hair, tugging on the strands greedily. You couldn’t seem to focus enough to keep your eyes open, they fluttered closed as Kol pressed closer to you. You weren’t sure what to do or how to react, so you just tentatively kissed him back.

Kol flinched. Actually flinched, like he hadn’t expected his affection to be returned.

He pulled away, chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths.

Had you done the right thing? Would you regret this tomorrow? Would he?

“Kol, wha-”

His lips on yours shut your doubts up pretty quickly.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” That boy whispered into your mouth. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m going to fix everything, darling. I promise.”

He left you no time to think. He just pressed you closer - as close as he possibly could and you felt warm. Warm and safe and wanted. His fervent kisses grew increasingly heated and desperate by the second. It was like you were in a haze, possessed almost. There was a sweetness and hunger to him that you were entirely unaccustomed to. Holding the back of your head with a gentle hand, Kol was tender and patient yet determined as he licked at the seam of your mouth. You gasped, flinching as you felt his arm around your waist constrict almost painfully. Seizing the opportunity, Kol swiftly deepened the kiss with a hum of satisfaction. He wasn’t harsh or forceful about it. You just weren’t sure. A tiny whimper escaped your throat but he just swallowed it eagerly. Did you really want this? Were you ready?

You felt suffocated, trapped, and unable to breathe. You pulled back, trembling. But Kol wouldn’t let you go. He broke away, shaking his head.

“No, no. Darling, shhhhhh.” He combed your hair back with his fingers. It was comforting. “You’re alright. I’m not doing anything.”

“Kol, please-”

“No, you’re fine. Everything is going to be alright. Just trust me,” He promised. The boy smiled and settled his lips on yours again. You didn’t fight him. All you could seem to do was shudder as he captured your lower lip and bit down. On his shirt, your hands relaxed. It was almost as if he’d drugged you. Something about that was disturbing, yet you clenched your thighs around him nonetheless.

“See?” Kol flashed you a soft grin as he broke away this time, pressing a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth. “You’re okay, love. This isn’t me hurting you.”

Then what was?

Kol’s hands slid beneath your shirt and they were so warm as he ran them over your waist and higher onto your ribcage. You had half a mind to let him do anything he wanted, but something wasn’t right. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks at terminal velocity.

On the stovetop, the tea kettle screamed a warning.

Magic was your first clue. That and he’d said he’d fix things.

What if he already had?

You stilled. All the warmth in his touch faded in an instant and you let go of him. You didn’t cry out or shove him back. You just quit moving.

Kol’s mouth slowed soon enough. He pulled his hands away and stepped back. The boy eyed you for a moment, but you wouldn’t look at him. Then he cursed.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.” Throwing his head back, he scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was a disgusting thing to do. Please forgive me?”

You didn’t. You just drew your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball. The tears came back. Your ribcage shook with your pained breaths.

“Y/N?” His voice was faint and far away. “Y/N, please look at me?”

You hardly heard the words that left his lips. You were too busy processing his greater sin.

The declaration came out as hardly a whisper.

“It was you.”

Kol blinked. Then he frowned.

“Darling… what are you talking about?”

You shook your head. Tears streamed down your face.

“Why?” You seethed. “Why would you do it?!”

He took a step back, seeming hurt. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry but you’re not making any sense.”

You weren’t going to play that game. Wordlessly, you hopped off the counter and strode over to the kitchen doorway. Kol had dropped his backpack there. You tore it open and rummaged around until you found it. A little book covered in black Sharpie.

“How many high school students do you think know Nordic Runes?” You challenged softly.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Probably quite a few. I suspect it’s a relatively common niche interest.”

You hummed. “Let me rephrase then: How many high school students in Mystic Falls do you think are fluent enough in runic languages to correct it when they see a mistranslation?” You whipped around, displaying your oh-so-precious stolen sketchbook in your hands.

The color drained from Kol’s face.

“Darling… I can explain that,” He tried, voice raw - desperate for you to believe him. You wouldn’t.

You offered him a smile. That same fake, hateful smile you offered to all the people in this town who lied to you.

“Leave.”

Kol looked as though he’d been shot.

“Y/N, please. Just let me explain.”

You shook your head.

“I won’t say it twice,” You spat. Then, switching off your hearing aids, you turned away and started for the stairs. “You know where the door is,” You called over your shoulder, half growling the words. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out… bastard.”

Upstairs in your room, you locked the door and cried. This time you didn’t make a sound.

***

Kol had screwed up. Royally.

In fact, he was convinced that this was even worse than that time he’d accidentally played god on the continent now known as Australia. (Mammals shouldn’t lay eggs and none would if not for his hubris and an escaped lab rat. Or in this case, a lab platypus.) However, this time, Kol couldn’t just run away. Of course, there was mother dearest’s spell to consider but, that wasn’t the only thing keeping him from leaving that girl and her stupid precious tears behind. For whatever reason, he couldn’t stand what he’d done. He knew this for a fact because he’d had all night to think about it.

Her face, sparkling with fresh tears, was an image burned into his memory. Kol couldn’t seem to forget the tremble in her voice as she’d pulled that bloody sketchbook out of his bag. He could still hear her crying on the other side of her bedroom door. No matter how long he’d begged her to let him in, that door had remained locked.

This wasn’t how things were meant to go - not when he’d been so close. He couldn’t stand it.

She’d almost been his. Kol had finally held his sweet little artist in his arms and nothing, nothing - no drug nor blood-induced high he’d ever experienced - could ever compare to finally getting to touch her. He could have had more. He could have won his prize - could have kept her forever.

But he’d screwed up. Now, she loathed him.

He could stand losing a game every now and again. That was what kept things fun. But this wasn’t a game anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. He couldn’t lose. Kol refused to lose.

Luckily, his delicious little artist was very, very human.

He would go to her one more time, he resolved, to try to explain things. Truthfully, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done, but that couldn’t change the facts. Kol needed her. He wouldn’t give her up just because he’d been dumb enough to let her snatch that sketchbook from his satchel. It wasn’t her fault. Had their roles been reversed, he wouldn’t forgive himself either. But luckily, his steel-spined artist was human. Luckily, Kol could erase his little mistake.

Perhaps he could grab a quick bite from her too before he wiped her memory. A little taste might aid his patience for her - he didn’t fancy slipping up again like he had the night before. If he hurt her without realizing what he was doing, Kol knew he would kill his little artist far too soon.

He’d made his decision. The only thing that gave him pause was the wrinkled sheet of paper Bekah found that morning.

“Kol?” Her voice rang through their brother’s mansion carrying confusion and worry. “I think you might want to see this…”

He’d been at her side in a split second, snatching the paper from her hands. It was a drawing, and Kol recognized its style of it instantly. Her lines were intimately familiar to him now, even as harsh and erratic as they were in the sketch he held.

His beloved artist had finally drawn him.

The twisted image was startlingly and horrifically accurate. Something clenched in his chest at the sight. She’d drawn his countenance pale, his hair was a wild mess and his eyes were black, empty holes. A vicious snarl warped his lips, accompanying razor-sharp fangs that looked all too real. In the picture, he knelt in the driving rain, cradling a limp corpse. His lips were coated in thick, crimson blood. Enamored as he was with his nightmarish likeness, Kol’s eyes were drawn to the most lifeless part of the image. He would have recognized those paint-stained clothes anywhere.

Now, Kol had added little notes to the drawings he’d stolen from his sweet artist’s sketchbook. This time, she had included her own.

The harsh, hate-filled words read: “Vampire - a creature that feeds off the misery of others.”

At the bottom of the page, his artist had left him one more note.

“I hope you’re satisfied.”

Rebekah, peering over his shoulder now, whistled lowly.

“That’s not Nik’s work,” She noted.

“No.” His voice came out sharp, clipped. “No, its not.”

“So who’d you piss off this time?”

Kol shrugged and tucked the drawing in his pocket. “No one important,” He lied.

Shortly after that, he arrived beneath the trusses of Wickery Bridge. He knew where that girl would be - knew his artist couldn’t leave a piece unfinished. If she noticed him coming from a far ways off, she gave no inclination. Kol, however, noticed quite a few things. The tremor in her hands as she moved a can of paint back and forth in front of her. A used sleeping bag laid out among the rocks. A banana peel displaying the only proof she’d eaten any sort of meager breakfast. He noticed. He always noticed.

His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached but he doubted the girl heard it - more than likely she had her hearing aids powered off. He could see the appeal in it. After all, it got quite loud in his head sometimes. Turning off the sounds of the world might be nice, but such was not his curse.

Kol wound his arms around her waist from behind and leaned down. Her skin was so smooth and perfect, it was hard to resist simply biting down and taking her all to himself, but instead of piercing her throat he opted to kiss her a few times, gently. He knew how she would react by now. Y/N wouldn’t fight or squirm, she wouldn’t even scream.

She just relaxed.

Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.

A spitfire when angered, she could be quite impressive; however, when confronted she would always resort to that last option.

He could scent her fresh tears as they slipped down her face, while in his arms her body shuddered, though not quite the way he would prefer. Only one word could seem to manifest through her pain.

"Why?" She didn't say it out loud, just signed it. Kol held her tighter, shrugging.

"Because I'm an attention whore," He answered simply. It was the truth too. "And I don't know when to stop."

He would always need that artist more than she needed him. From the first moment he'd met her, that was how their story had gone.

If it was even possible, that girl melted further into his embrace. Her head rested against his collarbone and she sighed.

"So you think I'm crazy too, huh?" She smiled and it was a miserable thing.

"I never thought you were crazy, love," He admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I just didn't care for a while at first."

"What changed?" She wondered, brows furrowing.

"You smiled at me."

The girl barked a laugh. "Oh, well that's nice." She rolled her eyes.

Kol pulled her closer to him, as though he could make her feel the emotions he couldn't explain. "Don't believe me?"

"Nope." And she never minced words.

"It does sound rather cliche, doesn't it?"

"Ya think?" She scoffed. Her chest still shook with sobs she tried to suppress. He twisted her body around to pull her into a proper hug. Again, she didn't resist. She'd completely given up.

Kol didn't like this hopeless, hysterical version of the strong, dagger-sharp artist he'd come to adore. He'd seen this sort of apathy before and typically it bored him. In her, it only seemed to hurt. It impressed him to hold her close until she finally understood that he was bloody sorry!

"Can you ever forgive me?" Kol found himself asking. Funny, he couldn't seem to remember another time he'd wondered such a thing.

Y/N snorted humorlessly.

"Maybe in a million years," She replied sourly. "Or maybe when the nut-house straightens me out - whichever comes last."

Those words stung like poison. It had been so, so long since he'd made a mistake he couldn't fix with a snap of his fingers. Accountability was a nasty, uncomfortable thing.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded Kol that he could always compel his pretty little artist. But… he'd rather hoped her affection for him might be real. He didn't want to ruin that just yet.

Kol groaned quietly and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, fixing his lips over that girl's pulse again. The effect was somewhat calming despite making his fangs ache like nothing else.

"I care about you, darling," He mumbled into her skin.

"And I trusted you."

He understood. That girl didn't trust anyone. Now he was just another reason why.

A police siren flared to life in the distance, drawing closer. The artist in his arms chuckled dryly.

"Sounds like my ride's here," She observed, void of all life or emotion. The wheels of a police cruiser pulled to a stop not far off. She'd be caught in the act and Kol happened to know the police force had been set on vervain.

"I won't let them take you," He swore, tightening his grip on his little artist. A car door slammed shut. Footsteps began approaching.

"And what are you gonna-"

Kol picked her up and ran. Consequences be damned. That girl was his.

He stopped on the pretentious front porch of his brother's mansion and allowed her to absorb her new surroundings. She trembled in his arms, eyes round as saucers as she glanced around.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head, taking a step back. "Kol?" Her voice was thick with dread. "What… just-"

"You're okay," He assured her in lieu of an answer. He spoke calmingly, but she wouldn’t allow him to step any nearer. "You're safe now."

"No." Her voice was bold and firm. She held out a hand, increasing the space between them. “Tha-that wasn’t right. We-we-we were, uh… We were there… a-and now we’re here. What happened? Tell me. Tell me what you did!”

“Relax darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” He lied. The boy smiled disarmingly, voice a honeyed guise - it had worked before, back before she’d trusted him. “It’s just me.”

“No… No, y-you’re not-” She bit her lip and retreated further, blinking rapidly.

He took another step closer, shushing her disoriented protests. “You’re alright, love. It’s. Just. Me.”

“NO!” The girl cried out with a tone forged from steel, but Kol watched as her resolve warped and cracked. He could see it rise to the surface - that all-consuming fear in his delectable little artist that he so relished and despised. “No… Kol, stop. Please.” Her sweet melody of a voice came out as a hoarse whisper now. “Y-you were my friend, and… I-I still want you, I do. But you need to stop. You’re not supposed to be like everyone else. Stop lying.”

Kol sighed heavily. His artist had been betrayed, time and time again. He couldn’t be like the rest of this godforsaken town - not if he wanted her. Yet… If he told her the truth - if he revealed himself to be everything that terrified her so - how would she possibly stand his presence?

“Do you truly wish to know?” He asked, unable to meet her gorgeous, all-too-perceptive eyes.

"I have to,” She whispered, almost to herself. “I’m not crazy. I-I didn't just imagine that!"

“You’re right.” He nodded and offered her a slight, halfhearted smirk. "You see too much for your own good, sweet thing. But please remember, you asked to be shown this part."

Kol thought about her - about his gorgeous, perfect artist. He inhaled deeply, taking in her mouth-watering scent. He focused on her heartbeat - wet and strong - let it lull him. He pictured that adorable, appetizing blush that always spread across her cheeks when he touched her. Kol allowed himself to imagine just how sweet, how lush, how devastatingly succulent that girl would taste just beneath her soft, warm human skin.

Then, welcoming that corrupt temptation, surrendering to it, he opened his eyes.

His little artist screamed.

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln @r13mar @rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid @thatweirdoleigh @misswe03 @eat-cake @felinegrate @cute-freak27 @fayeatheart @archangelslollipop @aonungs-tsahik @sleepneverheardofher @heartbreakgrill @whatsupb18 @enchantedlandcoffee @trikigirl271 @dreamingwithrafe @her-violent-delights @witchcraftandgeekness @dreamingwithrafe @acixsracix Comment or DM me if you want to be added to my tag list!

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saphira-approves · 2 months

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Can I come and tell you my deepest pain?

We should have had Morzan alive. I mean yeah, it would fuck up the whole narrative but imagine Murtagh being afraid of his father. He hates the king but fears his father.

Imagine him and Thorn; Morzan sees them, and he has problems with booze in canon, just how drunk he'd have gotten after Thorn learned to talk? There he is with his nameless dragon, half of his heart and soul, that he had to watch descend into stupidity. (Does he have its name written up here and there, does he watch it every day just to think about how he could make it real again?) Would he dream of killing his son and taking his dragon to himself? Would he want that even though he despises that sick joke of a connection that is in between Galbatorix and Shruikan?

And then Galbatorix finally discovers the name of the names. How would he beg for the king to use it to heal his companion?

Also, it would be very funny to watch our main characters run for their lives with an angry dragon after them, but y'know.

Should I write a fic about this

Oh you absolutely should write a fic about this (and let me know when you do! I’d love to read it!), and I should go back through my WIPs to find my time travel AUs…

I usually write more about Selena than Morzan, but I do love the idea of getting to see grown-up Murtagh’s reaction to seeing his father, especially in a context where Murtagh has lived without him for a while—whether that’s because Brom didn’t kill Morzan and Selena got both her sons to Carvahall, or because resurrection or time travel shenanigans happened.

As for Morzan still being around when Murtagh gets captured… I think there’s a 50/50 chance he gets Real Weird about the torture, in a “I was pretty sure up to this point that I didn’t actually care about my son but now my best friend is torturing My Son and I don’t like it actually” way, and I think that would be really fun to explore; I think, also, that when Thorn hatches and Galbatorix prematurely increases his size, Morzan would again be Real Weird about it because, like, that’s a baby dragon the size of an adult. He hasn’t lost his name, he just hasn’t really developed one yet; he’s a weird, warped mirror of Morzan’s own dragon. And when Thorn does, eventually, with difficulty, start to ‘grow up’, Morzan’s probably going to get twitchy about it—it’s been at least a century, more than two thirds of his lifespan, since he’s even MET a somewhat psychologically stable dragon; how much has he forgotten of their true intelligence, their real personalities? And when Galbatorix does find The Word, if Morzan asks him to heal his own dragon… honestly I don’t know if Galbatorix would be able to. Having power and knowing how to use it are two different things, we saw Murtagh figure that out in his own book with The Word. Would the king even know where to start? Would he allow Morzan to try for himself? Morzan probably wouldn’t have a clue where to begin, all we ever hear about him from people who’d met him is that he’s a powerful spellcaster, but not a very clever one.

Honestly, the whole situation might drive Morzan to split from Galbatorix; and even if not, it would still probably drive Morzan to be extremely destructive, to himself and everyone around him.

Also he’d be so pissed to learn about Eragon’s true parentage. Not even in a “my wife cheated on me?!” way but in a “oh my god can Brom stop being SO OBSESSED with me for FIVE MINUTES” kind of way.

#thanks for the ask anon!#inheritance cycle #morzan (inheritance cycle)#murtagh (inheritance cycle)#selena (inheritance cycle)#brom (inheritance cycle)#galbatorix (inheritance cycle)#eragon shadeslayer #saph speaks #also i have a personal headcanon about morzan’s dragon’s name that would be PAINFULLY ironic in this context #hnnn im having. So many ideas now about this actually #if morzan gets to live than tornac does too that’s just the rules #again morzan would be So Weird about him #‘what do you mean you found a Better father figure. im literally your father and im the hottest shit ever. hello??’#‘i am Literally the king’s best friend what more could you ask for in a father figure. that guy’s the staff!!!!’#murtagh: well for one thing he’s never thrown a sword at me #morzan: pffft. okay. yeah. whatever. sure. he’s still the staff.

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collegeoflore · 5 months

Text

i do not have the screenshots i need to make the post i want to make but i’m going to ramble abt this for a second because i’m thinking abt it now.

this line is in direct conversation imo with the “this isn’t you” “it should be” line in the dungeon (that i don’t have a screenshot handy for rn). whether or not he actually believes what he says here is irrelevant because in order to do the ritual it needs to be true. and i do think to some extent he believes it because well. he’s astarion. but at the same time you can look at dialogue astarion has with durge where he makes it clear he thinks whatever is happening to them wrt to the urges and bhaal is wrong, and see that it is not so cut and dry as he wants it to seem. (at least for a romanced durge who resists the urges, which is the only route i’ve played so far! and again i don’t have my screenshots. this is a failure of a meta post LOL)

i think honestly a lot of what’s going on for astarion in this part of the game is less about how he actually feels and more about how he Needs to feel in order for the ritual to be a viable option. if he acknowledges, at any point, that what cazador has done is wrong on a broad scale he will also have to acknowledge that he is going to become cazador and deal with the emotional fallout of That and, well. that’s not something he necessarily wants to consider at this point. not to say i don’t think he feels like what cazador did was wrong only because it happened to him, i do think he does, but even if he didn’t it wouldn’t matter. it Has to be true or his whole plan falls apart. it doesn’t matter if it’s who he is or how he actually feels because it should be.

also like. being back in baldur’s gate makes him revert to the behavior and feelings that are familiar despite any progress he may have made up until this point. and the behavior he has the strongest reinforcement history for it cruelty. of course he’s cruel to the other spawn, of course he feels no remorse for planning to sacrifice them for his own gain - that’s what has kept him alive to this point. pity and care have only ever been punished, and it was a little easier to feel those things when the context and environment were different but here and now? back in the place where it all happened? it’s nearly impossible. of course he’s cruel and heartless and awful, anything else will (according to his mind and also his entire central nervous system that has been trained this way for centuries) get him tortured or killed.

anyway. all of this to say he’s horrible and i love the way they gave his cruelty substance and motivation and layers. even when he’s cruel for the sake of being cruel there’s an underlying Reason there that doesn’t make it okay but Does make it so much more fun and interesting. and i love that he is genuinely just awful. even spawn!astarion is still an asshole and that’s beautiful to me.

#i will remake this post with more screenshots and better thoughts. someday #[guy with dog training autism voice] well you see it’s about reinforcement history #astarion #bg3 meta

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ramim · 21 days

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Fanfiction Time! (Lucien×Azriel and painful as fuck! Because I'm PMSing and my brain is stewing for tragedy and drama)

So I have this fanfic on my head which in Azriel and Lucien get together secretly and they are the perfect couple and all. They keep it a secret for months and one they Azriel decides to tell his family about their relationship bcz he wants to share his life with them but that's when everything goes downhill because the IC are skeptical about their relationship, specially Mor because she can't bring herself to trust Lucien and get over the fact that Lucien is Eris's brother.

So after a while, Azriel gets tired of everyone being so hostile toward Lucien but he can't bring himself to fight with his family, bcz he is so afraid of losing them. So he does the one thing he believes is the easiest, because he was alone before and he survived, so he thinks he can survive again. He breaks up with Lucien. This is the scene:

He had lived through wars, he had survived torture, but this... This was breaking him. He felt stretched too thin, his skin papery and ready to crumble; was it the cruel fate or the mockery of life? He didn't know... But he was done. He couldn't loose his family, he couldn't bear being an outsider for them, and being with Lucien was just that! Being an outsider... He backed a step, he had to do this. Even if it was hard, even if it ended the one good thing he managed to build in the five centuries of his life "we can't be together anymore, it's wrong! It's pointless! All of it, all this shit is just a fucking mistake, I should have never approached you that night and you... You should have stayed away! I know I said things, i know I made you think we were good for eachother, believe me, i thought we were! But I know better now. I can't do this anymore, I can't keep ignoring who you are. Who you family are! It's over Lucien...we... We are over!" He backed another step, hoping that physically distancing himself whould help to let go!

the pain in Lucien's face would haunt him for years; betrayal flashed in Lucien's russet eye as his lower lip trembled... Azriel saw the exact moment that his words broke Lucien's heart. But what hurt Azriel more? That there was no question in Lucien's eyes, no doubt, no shock! As if he had been expecting this, as if he always knew Azriel would someday leave him, as if he could never believe someone would love him enough to stay and fight for him...as if Azriel had just proven him right. Broken and hurt, Lucien whispered "but... I love you, doesn't it mean anything to you?" But no... It wasn't an actual question. It was an accusation, it was what Lucien believed now; that all his love meant nothing to Azriel. what love though? How could Lucien love Azriel? Lucien was light and warmth and joy and Azriel.... wasn't!

Blood rushed toward Azriel's face, his control collapsing and his hands shaking... No, no child of light would love something as dark as him! "What the fuck does that even mean? You don't know me! You don't know anything about me! You can't possibly love me!" No... Lucien could never love him! Those were just words...they didn't mean anything.

But the sad amile that graced Lucien's lips, the light catching in his tear soaked golden eye...no! Wrong...Azriel was wrong. It was Lucien, the most generous heart that has ever lived; Lucien could love him. Lucien had loved him! He still did, didn't he? He had made a mistake and he knew it even before Lucien's words reach him "I know your hands always hurt when it gets cold, so I warm them for you. I know you visit your mother every Wednesday, I know her favourite dessert is raspberry pie just like it's yours, and I always bake two ...so you can have a whole pie for yourself. I know you like your coffee as sweet as it gets and with so much milk that it's not coffee anymore." Lucien swallowed hard, Azriel reached his and and put one step forward but Lucien backed away... Azriel looked him in the eye, begging wordlessly for forgiveness but shaky tears treatened to spill from Lucien's eyes and for the first time in all these months, there was no forgiveness in them, only pain, only betrayal "I know you secretly love being around people because it makes you feel not so lonely, but you like to have you own space in silence as well. I know you steal some of Nesta's books and read them in secret because you actually love love! I know you don't like being an spy but you do it because no one can do it better than you and you don't want to leave your brother alone in doing what's hard and necessary. I know how to make you laugh, I know how to comfort you when you are sad, I know what you like, i know what you hate..but...But if it means nothing to you, maybe i should have never loved you."

All the noises of this world faded into nothing as Lucien's last words echoed in Azriel's eyes, his knees buckled, his heart racing... And before he knew, Lucien was gone.

#lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #acotar #acofas #lucien #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and embers #lucien vanserra is the most precious male character ever #a court of silver flames #lucien × azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel+x+lucien #azrien #azriel

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aita-blorbos · 7 months

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WIBTA if I refused to give a family heirloom away?

I (36M) recently inherited the throne of my grandfather’s kingdom. I also inherited a family heirloom - a necklace containing a holy jewel that my parents liberated from the possession of an evil tyrant. This jewel had been in the tyrant’s possession for centuries, and my parents risked everything in their quest for it. My mother was kidnapped! My father was tortured, and later had his hand bitten off! Both of them died! (They came back, but still.) Their quest for the jewel became a symbol of hope to everyone on our continent - it showed that the tyrant could be successfully defied.

The tyrant in question originally stole this jewel and two others like it from their creator, a person I’ll call F (dead, M). F’s sons are determined to get these jewels back. They actually killed many of my great-uncle’s people, who were completely innocent, so they could steal their ships and sail to this continent in pursuit of the jewels. But when my parents went on their quest, F’s sons did not take the opportunity to help them liberate the jewels - instead they decided that my parents were their enemies. They deliberately sent my father to what they thought would be a torturous death, and then they not only kidnapped my mother to stop her from rescuing him, they tried to force her to marry one of them! After she escaped them and rescued my father, they again tried to kidnap her and then to kill her, severely wounding my father as he took the blow instead.

The point is, these people have shown themselves over and over to have nothing but hatred and contempt for my family. They are callous and cruel, and if anything they owe us many times over for all the violence they’ve committed against us! And they seem more invested in keeping anyone else from even looking at the jewels than in actually freeing them from the tyrant’s possession.

You can probably guess what I’m leading up to here. Just a few days ago I received a letter from the oldest son of F, who we’ll call M (4000ish I believe, M). He demanded that I hand over the jewel my parents liberated.

Of course my first reaction was outrage. How dare M demand anything of me after everything his brothers did to my parents? (And another thing - the necklace the jewel is currently set in? That belonged to a dear friend of my father’s family, who was ALSO betrayed to his death by F’s sons.) In his letter, M pointed out that the tyrant originally stole the jewel from his father F, and I agree that ordinarily that would mean M and his brothers should inherit it. But given everything the jewel means to my family and people, and everything my parents risked to free it, while F’s sons not only refused to lift a finger to help them but actually tried to get them killed, I think at this point we have more of a right to it than they do.

Honestly, I’m seriously considering telling them to get their own. It’s not like there aren’t another two in the same place my parents got this one! If they want one, why shouldn’t they put in the same effort and sacrifice my parents had to?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #kidnapping

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merci-bitch · 1 year

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There's barely any Andromache fics and i want to read more.So this popped into my head.

So before Andy and Y/n were accused of being witches(Y/n take Quuynh's place) then instead of sinking them into the sea they actually just take Y/n to the other side of the world.After Hundreds of years Nile becomes an immortal.What they didn't know was Y/n was actually Niles best friend and They Reunite. Then the rest is your imagination to make.

I just want it to be really Angsty then just pure fluff when they meet eachother again. And maybe even throw a little spice😉.

ANYWAYS♡♡♡♡i love your works and i hope you have a great day

Now, I can’t tell you how long I’ve worked on this. I haven’t written anything this long since I wrote for Addison. I won’t say how many words but it was 16 long pages. 16.

I really liked the idea, and I hope I’ve done it justice!

Not my gif !

Come Whatever, Come What May

Andromache the Scythian x fem!reader

Warning(s): torture, a little swearing, lots of angst, mention of death, blood, small hint of NSFW, fluff

It was you and her.

It had always been you and Andromache. Why should it change now? Sure, knowing the circumstances. You were both “witches” as the people called you. You couldn’t die. You’d lived many lives, many of them together with Andromache. So why should it change now? You weren’t afraid. You were with her. Your love. Your other half. despite the chains holding you up against the wall, and the dirt covering your faces. You had her, and she had you.

“I’ve never been burned alive before. What do you think it is going to be like?” You asked. Your face is covered in dirt and sweat. A smile on your lips as you turned your head towards Andromache.

“Excruciating,” Andromache said before she turned her head towards you. Giving you her signature smile. Enough to light up a whole room. Despite the dim light from the fire. You both shared a little laugh. You turned your head and looked out into the room. The walls of stone were covered in dirt. As you did, Andromache kept looking at you. Her wide smile turned soft. You turned your head back to her. Your eyes stare into hers.

“Just you and me.” You whispered.

“Until the end.” She replied softly.

The moments after were always a nightmare for Andromache. She remembers everything. As if she failed you. When they walked in with a priest, him holding the crucifix against his chest. She remembers looking at you, seeing you calm. You always surprised her. Then suddenly, they unlocked the chains that held you to the wall, pulling you up, but they didn’t do the same to her. The wall suddenly opened as two doors and outside was a shout from the people of the village. A wagon was waiting. The door opened, although it looked more like a cage. She still remembers your sudden scream. She remembers how you started struggling against the men holding you. How she stood up herself. How she tried to get to you, tried to break free of the chains holding her to the wall.

“Where are you taking her?” Andromache asked the priest who approached her. Holding the crucifix close to his chest.

“You are too powerful together. For creatures such as you, there is no salvation.” He spoke. His tone was not weary but showed he had the power. She still remembers that look in his eyes as he separated you. She still remembers how four men suddenly carried you towards the wagon. How you screamed and struggled against them and how she was helpless. She still remembers screaming after you. How you screamed her name in fear. For the first time since she’d found you.

“Y/N!” She screamed. Trying to get loose from the chains, even though she knew she wouldn’t get loose. She still remembers how her wrists burned against the metal. How she bled. She still remembers how you cried for her.

“Andromache!”

She remembers it all. How they took you from her, and how she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t save you. The doors closed and Andromache was left in the dark. Alone for the first time in centuries. She remembers how she fell to her knees, how the blood from her wrists stained the ground and her gown. She suddenly felt too weak to cry. The tears streamed down her cheeks silently. She remembers how she lost you forever. She remembers it all.

It still haunted you. You remembered it all. How could you not? It was like living a nightmare. Not just being taken from Andromache but all those years of being locked in a cage and tortured on the other end of the world. It had taken years, if not decades. You’d searched for her for a long time. It broke your heart every time you came up empty-handed. You couldn’t find her. Was she looking for you? You hoped she was. Hoped that one day you would be able to see those eyes of hers again. Be able to see that smile you loved, but not all dreams come true. You’d given up. You felt hopeless. You’d run dry on ideas to find her. You hoped for a miracle someday.

A miracle comes in different waves. You started living, despite the guilt you lived with. You tried to settle down. Did the only thing you knew now that you were good at? Fighting. You joined the army, or well you joined the training. At first, you kept to yourself, knowing that it wouldn’t be wise to mingle. It made you question why you had made this choice in the first place. You quickly rose in favour of the general. You were famous around the camp for her quick movements. You could thank Andromache for that.

You meet a younger girl. Her name is Freeman, Nile Freeman. At first, you’d tried to ignore her friendly gestures. It worked until you had been paired up as partners. You couldn’t help but find her rather comforting, and sooner than later she became your friend. Something you never thought you’d have again. She lifted you. You were grateful for that. You two became a pair. A good team. It reminded you of you and Andromache. It made your heart extra sore at times. Knowing you’d possibly never see her again. The world had grown to an insane amount of people. It was both impossible and possible to disappear into the world you were living in today. Nile helped you disappear into a new world.

She talked and you listened. She often talked about her family. How she was proud to follow in her father’s steps. You had no problem listening. Nile didn’t seem to mind either, till one night when she suddenly asked you about your life before the training camp. You were a little taken aback. What were you to say? You couldn’t exactly say you’d fought millions of battles alongside the longstanding warrior herself. You hadn’t thought up a story.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell,” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Come on Y/N. There must be something you can tell me.” Nile had jokingly said. You gave her a soft smile. “Well, I guess there is one thing I can tell.” You said slowly.

“Yeah! Do tell. I’m all ears.” Nile said with a smile as she sat more comfortably on the bed.

“There was this woman. She and I meet a long time ago and we grew very close, but we lost contact many years ago. It was always just me and her. We did everything together. She was a real fighter. She taught me how to fight. She saved my life.” You said with a soft smile. Your heart ached as you remembered your times with Andromache.

“What happened to her?” Nile asked. A great concern in her tone. She touched your arm and squeezed it.

“Life, I guess. We were pulled apart by a world that thought we didn’t belong together. I lost her.” You said slowly. Feeling your heart crumble. Nile pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back. “Life is cruel, and you didn’t deserve it. I hope you find her one day, or I will.” She said sternly. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene before you. You were glad Nile had wormed her way into your heart. It did you good to laugh again.

Training continued but something changed. You were “damaged” in a fight and were sent to the hospital wing. You knew it had healed before you even got there but played the part. Having played it many times before. It cost you, and you were told you wouldn’t be sent out in action. A part of you felt relief. You wouldn’t have to play God on the battlefield, but you had heard Nile was being sent out to Afghanistan. You felt proud of your friend. Nile was a great warrior.

You were still in the hospital wing when she came to say goodbye. You gave her your necklace. One of the few things you had left from Andromache that wasn’t taken from you. It had brought you luck and kept you safe. You wanted it to do the same for her. You gave It to her with a soft smile. “See it as a lucky charm. It’ll keep you safe.”

It had been a few months. You were sent home and Nile had been sent to war. It was late at night, and you’d just fallen asleep when you woke up as if someone knocked the air out of you. A special dream had clouded your head. You knew what it meant, but it had been so long. Nearly 200 years since the last. You’d never meet the people. One day the dreams just stopped. The strange thing about this dream, if not a disturbing thing was that it was Nile.

She had become one of you. You wanted to scream and cry. Why? Why her? Why now? She looked like she had been in some sort of hospital wing. Had she gotten hurt? You couldn’t understand what was happening.

It wasn’t long until you got the call saying Nile was killed in action. It didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t die now, could she? Where had she gone off to then?

Andy had just closed her eyes when a sudden dream appeared. Waking her, along with the others in shock. As they all woke, they felt the loss of air. Andy sat herself straighter up against the wall as the dream continued. Panic started to flow through her as she went through her hair with her fingers. Shaking her head in disbelief. Booker opened his mouth and poured the alcohol in.

“No. No, not another one. Not now.” She said.

“It was a woman. A black woman.” Nicky said.

“I saw an older woman in a hijab. What did you see?” Joe said as he scribbled down in his notebook, turning to Booker.

“I saw…I saw part of a name tag.”

“Uh, yeah. Free…free something.”

“Yeah.”

“Dirt floor, clay walls.” Nicky cut in.

“And a medevac,” Booker added.

“Yeah, so maybe a, uh…a coalition…uh medical team,” Joe said, writing it down.

“The knife was a pesh-kabz. Pashtun.” Nicky said as Joe started to draw the woman they’d seen. Booker groaned as he rubbed his throat. “I felt her die.”

“She’s a Marine.” Andy suddenly said. “Combat. Or near-combat duty. Afghanistan.” She spoke. Shaking her head as she finished. “It’s been over 200 years. Why now?” Andy said, running her fingers through her hair once again.

“Everything happens for a reason, boss,” Nicky said, looking at Andy. Andy only scoffed at him.

“We have to find her,” Joe said, looking up from his drawing.

“No, we stick to the plan. We find Copley.” Booker argued.

“So we just leave her out in the open?” Joe replied.

“No, we’re in the open. We’re the ones who are exposed now.”

“Not like her.” Nicky cut in.

“Nicky- “

“Not like her. You can’t tell me you don’t remember what it was like. Whoever she is, she’s confused, and she’s scared, and she’s more alone than she has ever been in her entire life. We all remember what it was like.” Booker let out a sigh. Nicky looked down at the drawing Joe was making and spoke again, “She needs us.”

Andy hit the trunk with her foot in frustration before getting up. “I’ll handle the retrieval.”

“Hey, boss, come on,” Booker said, looking up at Andy as she placed her backpack on her back.

“If we’re dreaming about her, she’s dreaming about us. That makes her a beacon straight to us.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” He asked.

“Get to France. Use the Charlie safe house. I’ll meet you there. Find Copley.”

Joe blew the dust off his painting and ripped the page out and handed it to Andy. Andy took it and looked at it. A pang in her chest as she saw the drawing. “Jesus. She’s just a baby.” Andy then walked towards the door of the train side, opened it, and jumped out.

Nile sat on the bench, leaning back against the tent. A small panic feeling growing in her as she was rocking back and forth. The necklace you gave her worked a little too well. Ironic, isn’t it? It had always been in her pocket and still was. With a shaky hand, Nile put her headphones in and opened iTunes. Goodspeed by Frank Ocean came on. Nile leaned back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the music and lyrics shut everything else out. She felt her chest tighten and a small tremble in her bottom lip. A deep breath after another.

Andy walked along the side and looked around the corner. She saw the girl sitting up against the wall with headphones in her ears. The girl’s eyes opened, and two soldiers came up to her.

“Corporal Freeman.”

Andy moved away and pressed herself against the side.

“Been looking for you.” One of them said. “Wheels on your ride.” He got to say before Andy walked in, knocking down the first and then the second soldier in front of the girl. Nile took the gun from the ground only to have Andy snatch it from her hands and point it at her.

“Who are you?”

“Andromache the Scythian.” She said before hitting her in the neck with the base of the gun. The younger woman fell to the ground. Andy looked around before looking down at the newbie. “But you can call me Andy.”

Andy drove against the desert in the car. Having stuffed the girl in the trunk of the car. One hand on the wheel and the other hanging halfway out the window. Only switching hands so she could reach for a piece of baklava to eat.

Nile woke up as her body swayed to the ground. Slowly lifting her head, she didn’t recognise where she was. She looked up and saw that very same woman who had knocked her out driving the car. Nile turned herself as she saw the level to open the trunk from the inside. Using what strength she had in her leg, she kicked at it until it opened, slipping out and rolling against the harsh ground.

Andy looked back as she heard it, pressing the breakers of the car before stepping out. She looked at the girl with a sense of irritation. As the girl got up, she took off her sunglasses and slowly followed behind. As the girl got up, Andy took out her gun and shot her in the back of her head. She put back her gun and walked towards the body. Stopping as she reached it. She shook her head as the wound was still bleeding. “Why does it have to be so goddamn slow the first couple of times?” She said before cracking her neck. Slowly the wound began to heal, and the girl took a deep breath.

Nile coughed out, slowly turning as she groaned in pain. She looked up and saw the same woman standing above her. Slowly sitting up, moving a few feet away from her she finally spoke up. “You shot me.”

“I did. I need you to get back in the car, please.” She said like it was nothing.

Nile started breathing heavier. “This isn’t real. No, none of this is real.”

“You haven’t figured this out yet? You can’t die.” The woman said as she grabbed onto her, pulling her up. Nile acted out of instinct and reached for her knife and stabbed the woman in her shoulder. Causing her to shout out. “Fuck!” Andy let out a sigh. Looking over at the girl before she reached for the knife and pulled it out. Throwing it away. “Can you please not do that again.” Nile stepped back and vomited on the ground. Andy closed her eyes to gather herself before opening them again. Jesus. Nile looked over at the woman again, that anxiety still lingering in her chest. “Who are you?”

“I lead a group of immortals. An army, I guess. Soldiers. Fighters like you. Look…You’ve got questions, kid. I get it. You want answers? Get back in the car.” Andy said, before moving back to the car and getting in. the girl followed slowly behind her before she got in herself.

You knew something was wrong when you got the call that Nile had passed in battle. It didn’t make any sense. You saw her in your dreams which could only mean one thing. That she was just like you now. A life not worth living. You wished you’d died all those years ago. Despite having Nile, it was miserable living with the guilt of Andromache. You would never wish this life upon anyone. It was all so strange. It didn’t make any sense. Of course, you hadn’t told Nile about what you were, to be frank, you never knew yourself. What good would she have out of knowing what you were?

It hadn’t been the best year, neither had the years before. It had been hard to remember what the point was anymore. You’d been walking around confused. But then again, it hadn’t been the worst year. People had treated you like a stranger, but Andromache hadn’t, and neither had Nile. So, to be taken from both felt indescribable. You felt, stuck again. You didn’t believe Nile was dead. Not with the dreams. You felt her die. You felt the blade pierce her sin. You saw a hint of others in the dream, although they were too fuzzy to remember. You wished you had Andromache by your side. She would know what to do.

You’d spent a few days trying to figure out what to do. You weren’t the best tracker. But you figured that if Nile had died in battle, her family would have deactivated her phone at least on the way back to the US, but it wasn’t. It was in France? But where in France you couldn’t see. You didn’t know how to feel. Was she dead or alive, or immortal like you?

Nile woke up gasping for air. Her fist clenched into the covers beneath her. Waking everyone around her, Andy raised her head from where she sat in the living room.

“What’s going on?” Booker asked, reaching for his gun.

“What’s happened Nile?” Nicky asked after turning on the small lamp on the shelf. Andy sat in the chair, concern starting to grow on her features. Nile took a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s just a… a bad dream. I’m sorry.” Nile leaned forward, still gasping for air as she spoke.

“Tell us,” Nicky said, his eyes adjusting to the light.

“I saw flashes of it before…when I first dreamt of all of you. But now it’s clearer. I dreamed of a woman thrown into a cage on wheels.”

As Nile started talking about her dream, the name of a woman thrown into a cage on wheels caught Andy’s attention. Her eyes suddenly felt glossy as a pang went through her chest.

“She kept, screaming. She was dying and dying but kept coming back to life.”

As Nile continued to speak, Andy stood up. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t want to hear it. Nicky and Joe shared a look.

“She was hammering her bloody fists and legs against whatever man came forward, against the walls of the room she was in.”

Andy slowly walked forward, closing her eyes as Nile kept talking.

“She felt like something insane, something furious.”

Andy’s eyes were almost bloodshot red as she stepped up the steps.

“But she kept fighting…and she kept dying.” Nile let out a small cry as she spoke.

Andy stood by the wall, looking through the window, keeping her distance. It was you she was talking about. A tear rolled down Andy’s cheek. The rest of the group look at each other before Nicky spoke up.

“Her name was Y/N. She was one of us. The first immortal Andy found. They had been alone so long when she found her…Y/N had given up.”

Nile moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Way back, it was just her and Andy,” Joe said.

As they continued to talk, Andy sat down, rubbing her eyes clear from the tears that were threatening to come loose. Memories of her and you came flooding back to her. Memories she had tried to block out of her mind.

“Before me and Nicky, it was just the two of them. They ran through the world together. Fought thousands of battles side by side. She was a pit viper in a fight.”

Andy looked down at the ground below her, turning her head when Nicky mentioned England.

“They were in England. Freeing so-called heretics from the witch trials. But then, Andy and Y/N, they were accused of witchcraft themselves, and they were trapped and caught.”

“When they didn’t die, it proved their case, and they got sentenced again and again.” Joe cut in.

Andy felt another tear slip as that night came rolling back into her memories. The night you were taken from her. Your last scream before the doors closed on her was burned in her memory. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it all before her again. Like she was being forced to relive every moment of it.

“After Andy escaped, we spent decades searching for her or anyone who could tell us where she was sent to,” Nicky said after a while. Andy couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. For a brick second her façade dropped. the guilt was too strong for her to handle.

“She’s lived with that guilt ever since, but she blames herself for Y/N’s fate,” Joe said, pointing out to the other room. Andy stepped in; eyes still red from crying. Gathering the attention of the rest.

“Why do you blame yourself?” Nile asked.

“I lost a soldier,” Andy said, looking at Nile for a moment before looking elsewhere.

“I feel her pain. Her rage. She feels crazy.” Nile said, empathy overtaking her words.

Andy looked down to the ground as she leaned against the door.

“Over 500 years in a cage…in some shithole across the world…would make anyone insane,” Joe said.

“That’s the reason why we dread capture. Spend eternity in a cage.” Nicky added.

Nile took a deep breath. Suddenly getting up from the bed, brushing past Andy on her way out. Andy shared a look with Joe before making her way after Nile. Grabbing her gun on the way out.

Nile woke up. Another nightmare flooded through her. It was just her and Booker in the cave. Andy wasn’t there. The memories of what happened in the church still haunt her. All those dead bodies in the church. How Andy slayed them herself.

Nile walked out of the cave; it was early morning. She didn’t know what the time was, but she knew that much. She saw Andy sitting on the car, eating something. She was holding something in her hand. She made eye contact with Andy before she looked away again. Andy held up the phone in her hand and looked at Nile again.

“Your mom and brother?”

“You have my phone?”

Nile walked forward and Andy handed the phone to her. Nile sat down next to her and looked down at her lock screen. Her mother and brother smiled back at her. The clock read, 6:31 in the morning.

“Where’s your father?” Andy asked.

Nile looked up from her phone. “Killed in action when I was 11.”

Andy nodded her head slowly as Nile spoke. “Here…” Nile said as she unlocked her phone and found a picture of her father to show. “My mom, she was drowning after he died. South side of Chicago, a million different ways we could have went left. But she fought for us. Never backed down. Never let us back down either.” Andy gave her a soft smile.

“You come from warriors.”

“Yeah. I do.” Nile said softly.

“I can’t remember what my mother looked like. Or my sisters. None of them.”

“Time steals it all away, I guess,” Nile said. Andy laughed softly.

“It’s not what time steals, it’s what it leaves behind,” Andy said as she looked up. For a quick moment, she saw you before her. That smile. It seemed to be the only thing she remembered, but it faded quickly from her memories. “Things you can’t forget. I gave up searching for her.” Nile turned her head as Andy started talking again. “I made Y/N a promise and I broke it.” Nile saw how Andy’s eyes started to glisten in the early morning light. “I’m getting Joe and Nicky back. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes?” Nile asked.

Andy turned back to look at the younger woman next to her. “Yes.”

“Guys, I found something. An address just outside of London.” Booker suddenly came out and spoke. Andy got up and took all the wrappers from the chocolate bars she’d eaten and held out her hand for the phone in Nile’s hand. “We gotta go.” Nile took one last look at the photo of her mom and her brother before handing her phone over to her.

It had taken you longer than it should have to figure out where Nile was. You’d found out that according to her phone, they were in the south of Paris. You took yourself there only to be guided to an abandoned church. Planes flying over your head. As you entered, it was dark. It looked like there had been a fight. There was blood on the chairs, and the floor. A wall had exploded. But Nile was nowhere to be seen. Had she been here perhaps?

You walked further into the room. There was a small kitchen. had someone been living here?

You walked up the steps and into another room, beds were lying next to each other. Clothes are still on the floors. Had someone been in a rush to leave? You picked up one of the shirts lying on one of the beds, it was dirty. It looked like it had been a woman’s shirt. You couldn’t resist the urge of smelling it, knowing it would perhaps smell like mould. Surprisingly, it didn’t. the smell was familiar to you like you’d met someone before who had the same fragrance. Then it hit you. Like a slap in the face. The smell reminded you of Andromache. Although, that wasn’t possible, was it?

When you updated the tracker that was supposed to lead you to Nile you saw it had completely changed location. It was now in London. You cursed yourself for not updating it sooner. You went here for nothing. You dropped the shirt and made your back out of the church. Took a taxi to the airport and tried to figure out where in London they were. But then the tracker disappeared. As if she’d turned off her phone. What were you going to do now?!

You were going to kill Nile when you found her. It had been weeks, if not months since the tracker died down on her phone. You had eventually gone to London only to be left dumbfounded. What were you supposed to do here? Then a few days ago the tracker suddenly showed again. This time in Italy, Rome. You arrived here yesterday. Booked in some shitty hotel that wasn’t even worth it. What were you going to say to Nile if you found her? You had to warn her about what she’d become, even if she perhaps just wanted to disappear.

With your phone in hand, you walked the small streets of the city, following the tracker. If you were to trust it this time, she was close by. You walked out to an open space with lots of people. Tourists mingled with the people living in the city. You let out a sigh and opened your water bottle and drank from it when something caught your eye. Or rather someone. It was a black woman, wearing what looked like a casual suit and white trainers. Her braided hair was short. And when she turned around, your thoughts were corrected. With fast steps, you marched up to the familiar woman, who now had her back turned to you.

“Nile Freeman!” You shouted.

She turned around. Shock appeared in her eyes as she saws who called her name.

“Y/N?” She asked, not quite believing she’d see you again.

You stopped in front of her, being around the same height as her. You weren’t angry, you were more hurt. But then again, you had no reason to be hurt. She had no idea you were like her. Or rather, that she was like you.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Nile asked, looking around.

“Your phone, Nile. I tracked your phone.” You said, rather unimpressed.

“Oh, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Nile, stop trying to push the subject away. I’m rather exhausted from chasing your arse and we need to talk.”

Nile looked around again. As if she was looking for someone.

“Is everything alright, Nile?” You asked softly, seeing the anxious look on her face. You reached up and gripped her forearm, giving it a soft squeeze. Trying to locate what she was looking for.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine Y/N.” She spoke. Her tone was higher than usual.

“You sure? You want some water?” You asked, holding up your water bottle. Nile shook her head. Her eyes were stuck somewhere else. “Uh, I have to go now. It was nice seeing you again.”

With that, she left you. She ran over to two men, who were looking back at you. Both look like big question marks. A woman joined the group. You couldn’t see her face, but she was taller than Nile. She was wearing a grey suit with black booted heels. Her haircut was a mullet. A brown suitcase in hand. You had so many questions as to why Nile was with these people, but the lack of sleep and screaming children on airplanes didn’t help with it.

You started walking after them, and then after a short period, you shouted her name again. Causing the whole group to turn around. The woman was wearing big black sunglasses, but you could recognise her anywhere. Even if she covered her eyes. It almost felt too good to be true. As if you were dreaming. Well, if you were you didn’t want to wake up from it. The woman dropped the suitcase. Both of you stood still. She seemed immune to the words asked by the people with her. Suddenly, she started walking towards you. You couldn’t move. You felt as if your feet were glued to the ground as the woman made her way toward you.

You hadn’t realised she was so close until you felt her arms around you. A quiet sob escaped your lips as you hugged her back with everything you had in you. “Andromache.” It was a weak whimper. Her hand made its way to the back of your head, holding you even closer to herself. It had to be a dream. It couldn’t be real, not after 500 years apart.

You pulled apart, only for you to remove her sunglasses. You looked into those eyes you’d missed. Longed for. Her eyes were as red as yours. You leaned your forehead against hers as she cupped both of your cheeks. Andromache said something in what you knew was an ancient language. You knew what it meant and let out a tear chuckle and hugged her again.

Nile took a sip of her drink as she, Nicky, and Joe watched the two of you in the corner. You were sitting in Andy’s lap, a big smile on your face. Andy’s arms around you. She’d never seen Andy smile so much during the time she had known her. It was rather strange but comforting at the same time.

“Well, I’d be damned.” She spoke.

Joe let out a soft chuckle as he took a sip of his drink. Once the two of you had calmed down, you’d come along to the safe house they were staying in. Andy wouldn’t have it any other way. They weren’t complaining. Neither of them had seen Andy like this. Later in the evening, both Andy and Y/N got up from the armchair and left the room. Both Nicky and Joe shared a look. A small grin grew on both their lips.

“You will be sleeping next to me.”

“Oh, what a tragedy.” You teased, turning around to face her. Andy shared a teasing smile before she pushed at your shoulder. “You’ve missed it.” Andy rolled her eyes at you before pulling you into another hug. She took a deep breath, your fragrance filling her nostrils. Oh, how she’d missed you. It finally felt right again. She felt right. You leaned your forehead against hers, looking into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Andy smiled softly at you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. The movement caused a faint blush to creep up your neck. from that moment, something changed in the air. You knew Andromache felt it too. Something in her eyes changed. They darkened. Sooner or later, you felt her lips on yours. It was a strange feeling. Something you hadn’t exactly thought of. Your love for her was so great it reached beyond those thoughts. It didn’t stop you from kissing her back. It didn’t stop you from laying with her. Touching her. Letting her touch, you. Her name fell on your lips throughout the darkness of the room. Sweat and pleasure mixed in the air as both your breaths became ragged. She was all you wished for.

It was you and her. Until the end.

#andromache of scythia x reader #the old guard #andy x reader #ask

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