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the-pen-and-the-stethoscope · 3 years

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So while Six of Crows has been on my to read list for a while now when I saw that Shadow and Bone was coming to Netflix and realized they were all part of the same little universe I was like *rolls up sleeves* K guess it’s time to read five books in one month to prepare for this new series drop. (special shout out to @darklesmylove because it’s mostly your blog posts that convinced me I had to read this series...I give you this as a gift...)

And now I present to you (in the order which I read them) the events in the Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows books that made me go ABSOLUTELY FERAL (wow there’s a lot more of these than I thought there were).

- “The problem with wanting,” he whispered, his mouth trailing along my jaw until it hovered over my lips, “is that it makes us weak.” (unfortunately the last time I was seduced by the Darkling - NEVER AGAIN BAD SIR! But this was fucking hot)

- THE. FIGHT. OVER. THE. STAG. (Just...Alina not killing it, the Darkling is here, now he’s going to kill it. NOW ALINA IS IN FRONT OF THE STAG SAVING IT. NOW SHE WANTS MAL TO SACRIFICE HER. NOW THE COLLAR IS AROUND HER NECK AND NOW SHE’S UNDER HIS POWER AHHHHH) Bonus: “Shhhh. Quiet now, or I will let Ivan kill him. Slowly.”

- When Alina figures out the dream and TAKES THE POWER BACK!!! (yaaaaasss queen!)

- When the Darkling finds Alina and Mal in Cofton and that whole fight scene and her getting bit and then I had to WAIT UNTIL THE REST OF THE BOOKS CAME IN THE MAIL

- “From what I know of the Ice Court, whoever stole my DeKappel is exactly who I need for this job.” “Then you’d be better off hiring him. Or her.” “Indeed. But I’ll have to settle for you.” (I’m 50 pages in and in love with Kaz Bekker, someone help me)

- “Not just yet, Inej.” The rasp of stone on stone. Her eyes flew open. Kaz. (ugh my cold cold heart is awake and beats only for them!)

- Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days. (literally like......)

- When Jordie and Kaz get tricked. (I mean all of Kaz’s back story but that was...ugh..........)

- It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

- When Nina runs into the guards and the alarm goes off and I realize that I’m an idiot and OBVIOUSLY THINGS WERE GOING TO GO WRONG.

- WHEN INEJ TOUCHES KAZ’S FACE. His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated. She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will for him to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.

- He slammed his fist against the window. “Do not speak my name.” Then he smiled, a smile as cold and unforgiving as the northern sea. “Welcome to the Ice Court, Nina Zenik. Now our debt is paid.” (like FUCK MATTHIAS GOT ME TOO. WHAT A GOOD ACT!)

- I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath. It was the vow of the druskelle to Fjerda. And now it was Matthias’ promise to her. (OMGGGGGG)

- “This is going to sting a bit,” said the druskelle holding the whip. His voice was rasping, familiar. His hands were gloved. “But if we live, you’ll thank me later.” His hood slid off, and Kaz Brekker looked back at them.

- The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. (YEAH OKAY. AND THIS IS HIS LAST THOUGHT BEFORE DROWNING.)

- WHEN THEY STEAL THE TANK. THE TANK. AND THEN DRIVE IT THROUGH THE FUCKING TOWN.

- Nina on parem.

- “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.” (SCREEAAAAMS. BANGS HAND AGAINST BOOK. DIES.)

- “Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake...in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej.” (asdlfkasgkjasglk;sdfjl)

- I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl. (YEAH BITCH!)

- When Alina first sees the Darkling while they are traveling the fold (I froze, I read it like four times, I couldn’t believe what was happening)

- When Mal suggests they go to that stupid party and then Alina actually agrees (I literally was like...well something bad is going to happen and I hate it here)

- When the Darkling shows up after Alina and Mal kiss. “Another otkazat’sya, Alina?” the Darkling mocked. (sdflkajd)

- “I can’t decide if you’re an idiot, or an idiot.” (ugh Nikolai, marry me)

- two pages later: “You’re a spectacular actor,” I said drily. “Do you think so?” he asked. Then he leaned in and whispered, “I’m doing ‘humble’ right now.” (FUCK ME)

- “I want to kiss you,” Nikolai said. “But I won’t. Not until you’re thinking of me instead of trying to forget him.” (Am I the only one who found this cute??? Why did Alina get upset??? Do I have Nikolai-colored goggles on??? Maybe...)

- When the Darkling came to Alina in her sleep and then PRETENDED TO BE MAL SO HE COULD HAVE HIS WAY WITH HER?!?!?!?!?! (ahhhhhhhhhh) “I missed you too, Alina.” That voice. Cool and smooth as glass. (AHHHHH)

- Nikolai stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the parquet floor. “When did you lift the blockades? How long have the roads been open?” (LSDAKLFSDLFDKASLDKLSKLKLL)

- “Not bad looking?” said another voice. “He’s damnably handsome.” Luchenko scowled. “Since when - “ “Brave in battle, smart as a whip.” Now the voice seemed to be coming from above us. Luchenko craned his neck, peering into the trees. “An excellent dancer,” said the voice. “Oh, and an even better shot.” (And then I damn near died.)

- There’s a whole three pages (that I will not re-type here) after they arrive at the Spinning Wheel of Nikolai just being *chef’s kiss* flawless. Some great lines include: “Everyone needs a hobby.” “I thought yours was preening.” “Two hobbies.” “Should I be offended that he doesn’t want to dine with us? I set an excellent table, and I rarely drool.” “What a filthy mind you have. I was referring to puzzles and the perusal of edifying texts.” “Last chance to run.”

- “Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. Whatever seems most fitting at the time.” (asldjkasl;dkfs;lkd NIKOLAI)

- Okay gunna skip ahead - you can assume any time Nikolai said anything I screamed.

- Nikolia’s second proposal (THE EMERALD!!! JUST HOW HE PUTS IT ON TOP OF THE WALL)

- Nikolai’s third proposal. Nikolai’s skin was warm, his grip gentle. I’d wondered if I would ever feel something so simple again or if the power in me would just keep jumping and crackling. (THIS is why he is perfect for her - no jolt of electricity, just warmth and comfort!!!)

- SERGEI!!!!

- When Nikolai gets fucking taken over by a nichevo’ya (I HATE EVERYONE)

- When Baghra sacrifices herself

- When we finally FINALLY find out what makes Mal so special (I mean....his tracking was OTHERWORLDLY I can’t believe people weren’t more fucking freaked out by him)

- “The Darkling marched on Keramzin.” (Literally screamed: “MY HEART HURTS.” I was crying. I nearly threw the book down. “BUT THE CHILDREN!” I say with my fists in the air. I am become a blade.)

- Nikolai visiting Alina while he is the monster and trying to make himself better (ahhhhh tears!!! THE EMERALD!!!) The words died on my lips. Nikolai turned my palm over and slid the ring onto my finger. (FUUUUCK. PAAAAIN.)

- When Nikolai comes back and FIGHTS FOR THEM IN THE FOLD!!!! HE MAY BE A MONSTER BUT HE IS NOT THE DARKLING’S MONSTER, BITCH!!

- “Please,” I sobbed. “Bring him back to me.” (lkadsflkj this was actually devastating even though I’m not a huge Mal fan)

- “We need more light,” he said. A choked laugh escaped me. I held up my hands, pleading with the light and with any Saint who had ever lived. it was no good. (UGHHHH. MORE PAIN.)

- Tamar sobbed. Toyla swore. And there it was again: the thready, miraculous sound of Mal drawing breath. (and also the first time I breathed for an entire chapter!)

- “Alina,” he said and kissed the scar on my palm, “I remember everything.” (Literally the last like twenty pages of this book I just gave up and was like actually Mal is adorable and I need to protect him at all costs.)

- “Really I just wanted to look at the words.” (ughhhhh)

- Once a man arrived with a fleet of toy boats that the children launched on the creek in a miniature regatta. The teachers noted that the stranger was young and handsome, with golden hair and hazel eyes, but most definitely off. He stayed late to dinner and never once removed his gloves. (NIKOLAI SIGHTING IN THE EPILOGUE MY HEART GOES ON)

- When Van Eck thinks Kaz is coming to get Inej and then he tells Inej and then she is WILLING HIM to not show up and then it is revealed he wasn’t there all along (BOOM BITCH THAT’S HOW KAZ BREKKER FUCKING WORKS.)

- “Those were my mother’s favorite flower.”

- “Why the net, Kaz?” I couldn’t bear to watch you fall. (POETRY OKAY?)

- Jesper and Wylan going to see Wylan’s mother and just fucking everything about that chapter.

- When Inej almost FALLS INTO THE FUCKING SILO AND IT’S THE END OF THE GD CHAPTER

- “Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch. “If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.” “Take your time.”

- “We’ll fight our way out together,” Inej whispered. Nina glanced from Inej to Kaz and saw they both wore the same expression. Nina new that look. It came after the shipwreck, when the tide moved against you and the sky had gone dar. It was the first sight of land, the hope of shelter and even salvation that might await you on a distant shore. (AHHHHHH)

- Wylan’s first thought was that this boy had the most perfectly shaped lips he’d ever seen. His second was that his father had sent someone new to kill him. (Wylan you are so adorable it’s adorable)

- Inej was moving before she thought of it. She couldn’t just watch him die, she wouldn’t. They had him down now, heavy boots kicking and stomping at his body. her knives were in her hands. She’d kill them all. She’d pile the bodies to the rafters for the stadwatch to find. But in that moment, through the wide slats in the banister landing, she saw his eyes were open. His gaze found hers. He’d known she was there all along. Of course he had. He always kew how to find her. He age the barest shake of his bloodied head. (THESE TWO!!)

- “My leg! My leg!” “I recommend a cane,” Kaz said. (cackling)

- When Sturmhond (aka Nikolai ***swoons***) showed up in Crooked Kingdom. (What actually happened: me reading a description of a “fox-like” man with Genya and Zoya and screaming and saying to myself “OMG WHEN I TURN THE PAGE IT WILL CONFIRM THAT NIKOLAI IS IN THE BUILDING I CAN’T” (did I mention I’m in love with him??? already??? k))

- When Jesper and Wylan FINALLY kiss FOR REAL (this was a big chapter for me) This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. it was the spin of Makker’s Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart - or was it Wylan’s? - like a stampede in his chest, and the only thought in his head was a happy, startled, Oh.

- CHAPTER 33 - just everything, everything about the reveals in this chapter. The money being funneled to the Shu, not being able to trace even the RANSOM NOTE back to Kaz. WYLAN SHOWING UP!!!! “ARE YOU SURE THEY WERE PEKKA’S MEN?” !!!!!!!!

- “Do something,” Matthias growled at Kaz. “This is about to turn ugly.” Kaz’s face was as impassive as always. “Do you think so?” (bahahahahaha)

- Nina’s just complete glee over the chaos she creates!!! “She was the Queen of Mourning, and in its depths, she would never drown.”

- Jesper using his fucking power!!!!!!

- She stared up at him. He was going to miss that look of surprise. (HE’S GOING TO LET HER GO. HE KNOWS HE IS GOING TO LET HER GO.)

- KAZ’S PLAN BECOMING CLEAR IN IT’S BRILLIANCE AS EACH CHAPTER GOES BY.

- Inej frowned. “I thought you and Nina chose four outbreak sites on the Staves.” Kaz straightened his cuffs. “I also had her stop at the Menagerie.” She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again. (AHHHHHHHHHHHHH)

- “A sedative,” said the medik. “Is that safe for a pregnant woman?” “For me.” (This is just FLAWLESS in its depiction of people who don’t do OB care regularly.)

- Matthias saw the anger there, the rage. He knew it well. But he was still surprised when he heard the shot. (NOOOOOOOO!!!)

- “Has she at least done it before?” said Kaz. “For this purpose?” asked Sturmhond. “I’ve seen her do it twice. It worked splendidly. Once.” (NIKOLAI I BEG YOU!)

- When Matthias DIES?!??! (I’M SORRY WHO LET THIS HAPPEN??)

- “You will meet him again in the next life,” said Inej. “But only if you suffer this now.”

- Wylan getting all of his father’s money because KAZ HAS BEEN PLANNING THIS ALL ALONG??!

- Jesper leaned in and said, quietly enough that no one else could hear, “I can read to him.” (alksdflk;jasfl;jkd that was hot)

- “Well hopefully the medik will be here to fix my ribs soon,” he said as he headed back into the parlor. “Yeah?” “Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.” (OMG WYLAN?!?!?! IN FRONT OF MY SALAD?!?! IS THIS ALLOWED?!?!)

- At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.” (TEARS.)

- She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. (I gasped so loud i literally woke my cat up from a deep sleep.)

- “Wait,” he said. The burn of his voice was rougher than usual. “Is my tie straight?” Inej laughed, her hood falling back from her hair. “That’s the laugh,” he murmured. (THAT’S THE LAUGH. THAT’S THE LAUGH. AHHHHH)

Okay done. Gunna go stare at the ceiling until tomorrow night/whenever I finally get King of Scars and Rule of Wolves in the mail (BECAUSE YOU KNOW MY SORRY ASS IS DYING AT THE THOUGHT OF TWO BOOKS ALL ABOUT NIKOLAI)

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zeciex · 5 years

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Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 10

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, rape mention, blood, death

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

The stone ground of Venice clicked under their heels. Around them buildings rose from the floor, some old and cracked while others remained fine and proud. It was beautiful, with arches of all kind cut out from stone and marble, with channels and gondolas, green plants in window sills, marble statues. It was a whole other world than what she knew.

Michael had held out his arm for her to take and like that they walked over the stone, backs held straight, following the black wings in the sky that soared through the air. Tourists and inhabitants took pictures of them and why wouldn’t they when the two matched so perfectly, so out of place with their clothe that resembled something more fit for the runway than a walk through a tourist attraction. Michael wore a deep emerald green velvet jacket with a black shirt underneath, a fine black vest over it to keep the onyx tie in its place. On the tie were small silver specks, barely visible to the eye. His shoes were fine and polished with silver tips. In all honesty, he looked like a young god.

When she first saw him she stood still in silent admiration of his angelic look that turned something darker by the serpent gleam in his eyes. At the inner corner of his eyelids were the same emerald green that matched his jacket. That matched her.

Oya’s dress were black, the fabric thin and all too showy for casual wear. It showed the soft skin of her breasts covered in tyl that drew all the way up around her neck and only two strips went through the see through fabric covering up her nipples. The sleeves were puffy, with small silver specks. Her black hair waved over her shoulders, covering up heavy emerald earrings shaped as snakes.

This was what they wore, their war attire, their war paint. It was showing the best side of themselves, cover up insecurities and instead make them sharp weapons to be used ruthlessly against their enemies. And this was the exact reason why their pictures were taken.

They walked towards what looked like a cathedral, the roof in high bows, with spires shooting up from the fine stone, reaching towards the sky. Statues were carved out of marble, all of old deities and gods, none of which Oya recognized. Columns held it up, thick and round, with patterns carved finely into them just like the carvings on the walls. Outside the heavy wooden door, dark against the sandy walls, stood guards. They kept the tourists from entering, they stood as the first line of defence.

Oya’s crows landed on the roof, basking their wings and crowing. Craw, craw, craw. An omen of death. As they approached the crows landed at the stone floor, watching the guards look at each other before walking towards them.

“The cathedral is closed to the public, you’ll have to return another day,” one of the guards voiced first in italian and then in english. Oya and Michael continued towards them. “I said-,”

“We heard you,” Michael voiced, elegantly moving a finger through the air. The guards stiffened with their backs completely straight, eyes blank. They turned around and walked back to their spot by the door. Oya slipped her hand from his arm, walking further towards the cathedral, hand stretched out in from of her, moving it softly through the air as if she were moving it through water.

The spell put up were intricate but not unbreakable, it was to keep mortals and other witches out, it was to keep her out more specifically. Now that her chains had been broken her power had grown, flourished in the release and with Michaels guidance controlled. She crouched down and started to draw on the marble floor, a half circle resembling the sun with four spikes running through it, in each compartment she drew different sigils and outside a square. Her crows jumped closer curious of her movements and when she suddenly stood they violently bashed their wings in surprise.

She wanted to the antique door, disregarding the old wood and what the chalk might do to it and began drawing a square on it, each side given a symbol. Michael came up behind her, intertwining his fingers with hers when she finally finished drawing. The chalk discarded over her shoulder to break against the stone floor. Their powers laced together, humming at their fingertips. Words that had not been spoken for centuries left her mouth soon to be replicated by Michael who followed her lead.

He didn’t question her methodes, he didn’t correct her or think that he knew better, that his way was better, instead he allowed her to do this her way, it was her revenge and he would not stand in the way of that.

There was a part of him that wanted to tear down every column, every statue, every fucking stone and see it sunk to the bottom of the ocean for what they did to her, the pain they had caused her. But he knew just how much revenge was worth and how much it meant, she needed to be the one to do that, not him. He was there as a spectator, a witness, support.

The chalk seared itself into the door, glowing embers following the pattern, edged and still burning. The spell was destroyed, the defence fallen. With a groan the door was opened by the guards that closed it behind them as they entered.

The inside of the cathedral was all marble, arches cut from stone, statues with a dead gaze staring after them. The arched ceiling were covered in paintings, trimmed with gold and safferic blue. It was beautiful and old, a reminder of a different time. The air was still and cold, the only warmth coming from the candles.

Oya and Michael walked further in, passing rows of dark wooden benches all faced towards the magnificent alter and the circle of chairs all manned by witches and a few warlocks. They watched silently as the two of them approached, some panicked while others kept a mask of stone on their face resembling the statues. The seat with its back towards the altar, the single tallest chair, were manned by none other than her mother, dressed in a fine tailored suit that matched her surroundings. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun, not a single hair out of order.

Obsidian eyes ran over the two intruders with a cold glance. “We knew you’d come.” It was strange the way her voice carried through the room, distant and cold but somehow striking. It had always been like that, devoid of warmth especially towards her oldest daughter.

“You think your little protection spell would keep me out?” Oya questioned and found her voice just as cold as hers. She entered the circle, all eyes on them. Michael stood a few paces behind her, hands calmly held behind his back while he observed with mild indifference towards them.

“No,” Haesoo spoke calmly. “You’d find a way to get in regardless of the spell.”

Oya glanced to her sister that stood a total opposite of her own form, embraced by golden sunlight, catching her blond hair that fell in soft curls down around her shoulders, lips fine pink and skin pale and soft. She wore a dress of white fabric, stars and suns and moons cut into the fabric. Darkness met with light.

“We wondered who it was that released you, who could be powerful enough to do that without our involvement,” Haesoo stood from her chair. With her mother standing it was as if it send ripples through the room, the rest of her coven moving in their seats ready for a fight. Michael wasn’t having it, he clenched his fist in the air and brought it down with a harsh swing to his side, nailing every single member to their seat, unable to move. The only one he let go was her direct blood, her mother and sister.

The sound of her mother's steps rang out into the silent room, echoing over the marble floor, climbed the arches and walls, filling it up with one step at the time. Oya remained a statue of stoic nature, calm beneath her mother's hardened gaze. The sound of flesh hitting flesh replaced the sound of her steps. It screamed in the cold room, making the flesh of her cheek red with scolding, the bite of her mother’s palm a familiar sting. Michael moved behind her, she felt his anger through the tethers of magic around him but he contained it to a poisonous glare.

“I knew I should have left you to the wolves when you were born.”

Oya rolled her head back in place, eyes black orbs fixed on her mother with a cold anger Michael couldn’t help but be proud of. Hidden beneath the stoic mask, the child that wanted nothing more than her parents approval cried. No matter what ones parents did to their child, there would always be a part of them, a tiny part hidden beneath layers of emotions, that wished for their parents acceptance, their love. She was no different.

“I was weak, you were my flesh and blood, my first born. How could I do such a thing?” Haesoo’s voice wavered if just a little. Softly she brushed the hand that had stuck her daughter over her burning cheek and it broke something within Oya. She flinched away from her mother's touch, anger burning in her eyes, tearing up her throat.

“You had me raped,” she hissed out venomously. “You had me raped and left bound to that fucking place for centuries!” Her voice echoed through the chapel, climbed the sacred walls and made home under the arching dome, painted gold and blue. The magic in her lashed out, every flame rising to critical levels with a hiss and the many rows of benches screeched over the floor.

“You slaughtered a village did you really think that would be forgiven? I made sure we weren't all hunted and killed, I made sure the world thought it be poisoned water and not magic,” Haesoo exclaimed at her daughter. “For that I should have bound you to a cave never to be found. But I was your mother and I could not do that. I loved you, in my own way, and your sister begged for you to have a life, a proper one.”

“You never loved me. You hated me since I was born,” Oya said with a deep and hoarse voice. “Lies won't save you.”

“You never did believe me, regardless of my words.” Haesoo smiled with sharp lips, eyes still as cold as ice. “But I did love you in a way. And you, my dear child, wanted to be loved so bad.”

“Years of imprisonment made sure that need were snuffed out. The moment you tore my powers from me, the moment he raped me, that need for you love died. You killed the girl and created something far more dangerous.” It was a wonder how her voice fell into a sneering drawl. For a moment she saw her mother’s eyes flash in fear, for just a moment. Haesoo had put everything into her entrapment, the spell draining every drop of magic in her blood. Oya could feel it, the void of it, the lack of magic around her mother's presence. There were nothing she could do, nothing she could protect herself with, she stood defenceless in front of a goddess and stared her dead in the eye. No one could deny she was brave in the face of death.

“If I knew you would break the spell, I would have killed you instead.”

“And now you’re without powers to defend yourself.”

“I’m without powers, yes. But I’m far from defenceless.” At this her sister rose in all her glory. Her magic radiated off of her with a pulsating glow, the feeling of sun climbing along Oya’s skin. It was strange how her sister had become the complete opposite, her magic being light and full of life while her own were dark and with a whisper of death.

“Oya,” her sister spoke, brows lifted in sympathy. She couldn’t get used to the blue in her sisters eyes, the color of clear angelite, beautiful. They matched with Michaels. Oya could feel him behind her, silently watching, his familiar tendrils climbing along her back with a soft caress, telling her that he was right there with her. His powers never wavered, never withdrew from her but instead luled her with its touch.

“You can still change. You’re my sister and I love you, please you don’t have to do this.”

The laugh that left her mouth were cynical and sharp. “I will do this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be betrayed by the ones who should have loved you unconditionally! I trusted you and you held be down as I was raped and stripped of parts of me I didn’t think I could regain. And for that you will all pay.”

With a harsh flick of her hand Haesoo and Ina flew backwards over the floor, planting themselves firmly in their chairs, hands gripping so tightly at the armrests their knuckles turned white. She took over the iron grip Michael had held on the circle. Glass smashed above them, coloured pieces breaking in to much smaller speckles when they hit the floor. Her crows soared in and landed on her sisters chair, croaking and basking their wings at her magic.

She lifted one hand and watched as the coven did the same, forced to replicate her movements. They froze in position, some crying while others cursed, when their palms were forced to face up. The goddess looked over at Michael who stalked to her side, lifting his jacket to pull out a long thin dagger, the same one her mother had used during the ritual. He placed the shaft gently in her palm, letting his fingers trace the skin of her inner wrist. It was a sweet caress that stilled the nerves within her body.

“Don’t do this!” Ina managed to cry out.

“Please don't kill us,” someone else croaked at the same time.

“Oh, I’m not killing you. Most of you have done nothing but associate with the wrong person, the ones present at my binding died long ago, you’re just very unlucky. How you managed to stay alive all these years did surprise me, Mother.”

“I had to make sure you were never released.”

“You failed.” Haesoo looked at Michael, her face unreadable but eyes burning with anger Oya had seen so many times before when she was but a child. It was burning with disdain.

“Are you the one who took down the New Orleans coven?” Haesoo spoke. Her question halted her daughters ritual, who looked up at Michael. His face remained the same, the smug glinse in his eyes and a satisfied tug at his lips. There wasn’t a single hair out of place. He didn’t even blink at her question. Power, raw and unadulterated, emanated from every fiber of his being. In the face of this accusation, she couldn’t help the flutter in her heart.

“Yes.”

“Oya,” the fear was evident in her voice. “This man is far more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He’s using you for your power. He will be your destruction.”

“This man released me, he didn’t tremble in fear of my power, he taught me control.”

“He is-,”

“I know who he is!” She screamed and let her power flicker out in the form of cracks climbing up the columns. The blade bit into her palm, drawing blood forth. It burned and stung, the pain nothing compared to the anger that was ignited inside of her. Did she really think so little of her own daughter that she wouldn't be aware of the circumstances? If Michael was using her then so fucking be it but she would not for one second let him destroy her, regardless of her feelings towards him. If he were her destruction she would be his.

Every palm held upwards now bleed, the steams of it running from the wounds and onto the marble, staining it red with blood. Michael took the knife from her and walked over to one of the coven members, her white shirt now ruined by the blade. He dried it off in her fabric before placing it in the pocket he had taken it from. One of her crows took wind under its wings and flew to land on her arm. It screeched as she picked feathers from its body, its claws biting into her skin and tearing at her dress.

“I will not kill you,” she voiced, placing a feather inside the wound and careful guided their palms shut around the feather. Some signed in relief and she couldn’t help but smirk at their naivety. “Instead I show you the future.” She when on to the next member and replicated the ritual she had just performed, placing the feather in the wound and closing their hand around it. Most of them shook, she didn’t know if it was out of fear or straining against her magic or just maybe it was at the prospect of facing of against a goddess of the underworld. There are no vengeance that can compare to a goddesses. “You will see and you will know. That is your punishment, knowledge of what the future will bring and how utterly insignificant your actions to prevent it will be.” Now every single wound were sealed with a feather. She let her tendrils grow, wrap around their fragile human from, go under their skin and reach into their very being. All eyes turned white, clouded by the vision of the future, the very vision she herself had experienced. It unfolded before them, the cries of billions, the bombs falling, the fear leaking into their souls. When they returned, their eyes were wide with horror.

“You will end the world because you weren't loved enough as a child!” Haesoo roared, trying with all her might to break free of her daughters hold over her body. Ina silently stared into the floor.

Oya walked to her mother, placing a hand upon her chest and forcing her back against the spine of the chair. Her mother clenched her hands, her wound bleeding in an endless stream while the other held the chair in a breaking grip. “I will burn this fucking world down because I can and you will all know what is coming but can do absolutely nothing about it. You are burdened with knowing and will never be able to tell anyone about it, not in any way.” She let her mother go, stepping backwards into the circle until her back were met with Michael’s chest. There in the middle the two stood, a pair of darkness. “I curse you with that but it is not the only curse. If you use magic, any form of magic, you will kill the people you love. For every flick of the wrist, for every spell, for every curse or blessing, whatever magic you use, you will kill someone in your circle, the more you use the more you kill.”

The feather burned in their palms, some screaming in pain, tears staining their cheeks in spite of wanting to remain as passive as possibly. The broke in the wake of her power digging into their very being. What they felt were a fraction of the pain she felt but the fear, the fear was a far greater weapon that caused so much more dispare than pain.

The feather grew into their flest and with black webs it climbed up their arms, under their skin until it settled in their hearts and only then the black webs disappeared. Her tendrils retracted, releasing them from their bindings. Ina gasped and fell to her knees on the ground, fingers gripping at the stone as if to steady herself in reality. Her mother weren’t so docile, she stood with force removing a carved out piece of the chairs arms producing a knife. She created a monster and she would do anything to make up for that mistake. With an angry howl she moved through the room, slicing through the air in an attempt to end her daughters life, to remove from the world what she brought into it.

Michael wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back out of the way of the biting blade. The utter madness in her mother's eyes struck her, the desperate look of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Oya stopped her, the anger burning through her skin, climbing over the floor with cracks to the marble. It climbed her mother’s pale flesh, blood pouring from the wounds that split open her skin, tearing through the fabric of her cloth with invisible claws. The noise she made, an inhumane sound caught between a wail and a blood curdling scream, echoed in the cathedral. The air seemed to vibrate the same way it does just before a thunderstorm, electricity knitting through the air.

“He will never love you, he cannot love,” she managed to utter as her eyes turned red and blood claimed the trail of her tears. There was a sound of ripping, of something being torn from her mother, yet she remained in one bloodied piece and fell the the floor lifeless. Her pupils had ruptured, exploded into the obsidian and ruby coloured eyes.

Oya felt Michael beside her, his presence calming. It was strange how her skin tickles with the touch of power, she felt her blood course through her and heart beat with impressive force within her chest. Every part of her were electric. In this moment she felt the world gravel at her feet and she loved every second of it. She was drunk on power and smirked when her sister screamed at the sight of her mother’s body.

Michael let her turn in his arms so that she could look upon him. The fire in his eyes send vibrations down her spin and lit up a fire inside of her, the fumes from her powers igniting just by the look in his piercing eyes. There were no other words to describe it other than desire, unrefined and in its purest form. Their bloodlust had been satisfied, her vengeance taken with out most pleasure and now they longed for something other, a more carnal satisfaction.

“Lets go home,” she said and took his arm. Behind her she listened to the coven members mourn their leader, lose their minds in the face of annihilation and most of all her sisters cries. Ina had been the good daughter, the one who loved the most and were loved the most, the prodigy. She had lost her sister long ago but never accepted that she was dark to the fullest. And now, sitting by her mother’s dead body, the woman she loved the most in the world, she felt herself hate her sister.

Oya’s crows left the same way the came in, with a haunting laugh leaving them as they flew through the broken window, a mocking of the life that had been taken. They carried the soul of her mother, the messengers of death, their wings carrying death with them.

Vengeance were a virus, it spread and spread until there were nothing left.

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #obsidian & angelite

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longbottomed-blog · 7 years

Text

the constant in a world of change

The wonderful @flintwoodandco inspired me once more to write flintwood.

Warnings: nsfw-ish for non-discriptive sex, mentions of violence and possible historical inaccuracies

I'd like to say that I love you.

The truth is, I don't know. We do have a history, though. Or maybe I should say, the history. I can already hear you tell me how ridiculous I sound. Kind words are lost between us, we're more about sharp barbs and flying fists. Even while shagging, the words breathed into the space between our naked bodies are insults and sarcastic remarks. I'll tell you that you need me, and you say you need me as much as the wolf needs the hare; it'll do for a snack, but there's always better, bigger game around.

Around us, the world keeps on changing and we stay the same. For all the time we are supposed to have at our disposal, there is no time at all. It just stopped inside our little bubble. It took us centuries to realize that, just like time, we're going nowhere. Not for a lack of trying, mind. We will go decades, one time even over a century, without each other.

But just like the compass' needle is drawn to the north, we always come back here.

Don't we.

You are still asleep as I slip out of bed and step out onto the balcony. I don't bother to put on some clothes. It's a warm summer's night and your flat is a cage of glass at the very top of one of Berlin's highrises. The city is wide awake despite the late, or rather early, hour. But barely any sound makes it up here. The cars passing by beneath and the laughter of the partygoers is no more than a murmur riding the wind and drifting by my ears. The skyline twinkles with lights and at the horizon, the sun sends her first rays, painting the sky with a thin line of pink.

It's been eighty-six years. You haven't changed a bit. And neither have I.

Although, I have to admit as I run my hand along the polished metal railing of your balcony, this is new. Just like your three-piece suit and the thread count of your linens.

Money, you once told me, is worthless. What do you need it for, if you can't starve? You're stupider than I thought if you keep working for it, Wood. Just take what you want and fuck the rest.

I told you you wouldn't understand. See, the money wasn't for me. It was for my family. My wife, my children.

You can't keep them. That's what you said. You didn't even bother to insult me. There were just these four words and the pity in your eyes. I told you you were wrong.

But of course you weren't.

I started my journey as soon as I glimpsed a first grey hair woven into Susanna's blond plaits, the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. I searched the world for immortality until my ship sank off the coast of the Americas. I don't know how long I drifted on the waves until I reached land, don't know how long it took me to get back to England. But it was enough time to turn Susanna's hair into a crown of grey and her mind into a misty maze of memories she couldn't find her way through. She thought I was a wraith come to haunt her when I stepped up to the side of her bed.

I found you afterward in a dirty alehouse filled with British soldiers departing the next day for Canada, paying for a last goodbye from the whores. You wore your own red coat and a smirk that slipped right off your face as soon as you saw me. I didn't need to say anything to have you follow me out into the alley behind the alehouse. We slipped into a dark corner and you fucked me against the wall while the rain drenched our clothes and beat down on the cobblestones around us.

You left the next day and I didn't see you for half a century. I didn't look for you either.

I rub a hand over my forehead as if it helps brushing the memories away. The pain has dulled over the years, but I still don't want to dwell on them.

The sun is edging further up into the sky, another day begins. A group of young people spill out of the club across the street. They stumble along the pavement towards the underground and the high-pitched laugh of a girl is loud enough to tear through my bubble of silence up here.

I might say it was fate when we first met, you'd say it was coincidence that it happened then.

Eventually, we would have run into each other, you said. We have all the time in the world after all, and the Earth is only so big.

You came with the Romans. They called you Marcus, after their God of war, because that was what you were best at. You set fire to our woods to draw us out and your soldiers rolled over our lands like a flood.

I pierced your eye with an arrow, you carved out my heart with a knife. A fortnight later, we met again on the battle field. You wore a bandage over your eye, even though it was fully healed and I had told the others your blade had only grazed me. I sent an arrow into your stomach, you took my hand. I couldn't explain it away this time when my hand had grown back a week later, and I left to join another group of Celts fighting against the intruders. That first century, we met on battle fields. Boudica always needed more fodder for your swords, and your senators were never satisfied, no matter how much land you took from us.

Again and again we fought; cut and pierced and carved each other's flesh. Maybe we wanted to leave a mark on one another. I would pick at the wounds you left on me as if I wanted them to scar, but they faded away like everything else in our lives.

You've kept the name and added another. You are Flint, and I am Wood. And if I don't watch out, you'll set me on fire and burn me to ashes. Or maybe it's already too late.

The breeze caresses my heated, sweaty skin. My arse is sore and the bite marks along my collar bone sting. In a few hours, both the soreness and every trace of your teeth on my skin will be gone. Just like me. Maybe I'll return to my tiny flat and my badly-paid job as a barkeep at the club. Or maybe I'll take the rest of my meagre savings and book a one-way ticket to another part of the world. Somewhere where you won't find me right away, maybe Asia.

Oh, I don't have any doubts that you will find me. You always do, and we always end up right here. Maybe not in this bed with its silken sheets, and minimalistic and tasteful frame—maybe it won't be in a bed at all, next time, but another nook in a dark alley, another dirty toilet stall. But we will end up wrapped together, sweat on our skin and groans in our throats and spilling past our lips.

Berlin is a city full of young people with big dreams, and lost souls trying to drown their pain and fears in liquor and drugs. Large and dark and dirty, and most important, anonymous. My neighbours don't know my name and wouldn't care if I don't come back today. Neither would my boss or my colleagues, they'd only worry about who would need to cover my shifts. Next week, someone else would tend the bar and it would be like Oliver Wood had never stood behind it at all.

Only you would remember finding me there.

You stuck out like a sore thumb as soon as you entered the club. Dressed to the nines in your three-piece suit in a room full of half-naked bodies writhing to the beat of hard, dirty techno. A girl wearing only a pair of knickers, her eyes glassy with whatever she'd swallowed that night, rubbed up against you as you made your way across the dance floor. You didn't even spare her a glance, only kept your gaze on me and nailed me to the spot. My heart was throbbing harder and faster than the music.

You downed the shot of vodka I put down on the sticky bar as soon as you'd reached it. There were no words, no questions and no greetings, and still I slipped past my colleague with a hasty apology and followed you out into the street. The taxi was standing right in front of the club, waiting for us. We didn't say anything for the whole way back to your flat. You greeted the night guard with his name as you guided me towards the elevator with a hand at the small of my back, your palm burning my skin through the thin, holey fabric of my T-shirt.

You barely waited for the elevator to climb all the way up to your flat before you started tearing at my clothes and biting at my neck. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on your waistcoat, shaking so hard slipping each through its hole was a trial. We almost didn't make it to the bed because you pushed me up against the door as soon as it fell into its lock behind us. You were still wearing most of your clothes and I was naked as you sucked bruises into my skin and pressed a leg between mine, hands on my hips as you encouraged me to ride your thigh. I was close to coming when your hands tightened, fingers digging into my skin until it hurt.

I looked at you through my lashes, head tilted back against the door, as you drew back and regarded me. I cursed my weakness internally while I already began missing your warmth and the feel of your lips on my skin.

For long moments, you said nothing and there was only our hard breathing breaking the silence.

Then you leant in and brushed your lips against mine, dipped your tongue into my mouth before you pulled back once more. A fleeting kiss that left me panting for more and sent shudders down my spine with its intensity and softness.

“Stop running,” you said.

And I was lost. I clung to you as you hoisted my legs up over your hips and carried me to the bedroom. You took me apart, made me scream and beg for more until the only word I knew was your name.

When I woke up, you were sleeping with your back towards me, and the scratches I had left there were already gone.

I could run. I could take the rest of my money and buy a ticket to Bangkok.

The sun has climbed high enough to peek over the skyline when I finally come back inside. You don't stir until I slip back into the bed beside you and then you turn around. Your eyes are open and carry no traces of sleep, telling me you've been awake this whole time, waiting. For me to make a decision, to come back to bed or leave for another year, another decade, another lifetime.

To run or to finally stay.

Because eventually, I would. You knew and you waited, because we have all the time in the world, after all.

You reach out and trace my collar bone. The bite marks are gone. I know because your touch doesn't sting. It doesn't matter, there will be more, you will make sure that there will always be another when the last one has faded.

You are flint and I am wood and I have been burning for centuries.

#flintwood #hp fanfic #flintwoodandco #vswrds #from the mind through the pen to the page #immortality au #rrprs #non-magical au

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