#orginal fic

This is why I just need to write the damn tvd/to fic I've been wanting to write for YEARS where I can finally get all this shit out of my system for once and for all so I can finally let the wretched that is the tvd universe go forever. I'm as mediocre as it comes when it comes to writing but god it drives me INSANE at just how ridiculous the canon of these shows played out.

The fic I'm working on is not at all a romance, it is a dark, revenge-focused and hate-based, tension-filled story that will be heavily based on canon but also not follow canon at all because fuck that. Ships will appear obviously because I'm basically beginning my story at the last ep of s1 of the originals. Everything that happens in the show up until that moment is canon in my fic. There'll just be a few tweaks added into the lore so we can see how the OC I'm writing fits into the story.

There will be absolutely no romance between the OC and the characters and you'll find out soon enough why that is. Doesn't mean she's not hot and absolutely irresistible though, she definitely will be. Think Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body hot. But also think Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body doesn't give af about killing men hot. My character is basically a misandrist and has absolutely no problem with that. Because the misogyny that bleeds through the entirety of those two shows is so fucking ridiculous.

Remember Qetsiyah? Oh, you know the witch who created a whole fucking dimension that supernaturals go to when they die? Well, she only did it to keep her cheating ex and his lover apart forever. She's just that petty. Like jesus, tvdu writers really think pettiness is the epitome of a character being a villain. Just absolute bullshit from a bullshit network and bullshit writers.

So, if you want to read something with actual STAKES and actual CONSISTENCY in RULES where characters can't just defeat powerful enemies just because they happened to come across a magical loophole that's all so convenient and all so STUPID, then I have an attempt of a fic just for you! Because I want to see actual diabolicalness and HATE and not just some 'she's such a bad bitch yass' nonsense.

I've also decided that Klebekah will now factor into it because after going over their dynamic again I just can't help myself, they're just too delicious not to mess with and I find myself being excited after not being for a looong time at having hot characters to play around with. Let's be real though the tvdu characters are all physically hot characters and we're severely lacking that in our time, we really didn't know how good we had it back then. Sigh. Oh well, that's what fanfiction is for right?

Of course I haven't forgotten about my Bonnie fics, they're still in my archives and will see the light of day once I'm finished with my original fic. I have a revenge one prepped for her that fits her story and canon and gives her the much needed justice and pining she deserves! All in due time, I would never forget the reason this wretched universe has stayed with me all these years, but I wanted to do an original one to represent a character that is absolutely ascetic, disciplined, determined and basically borderline asexual & aromantic, and absolutely HATES with her whole heart. Doesn't mean this story won't have romance and sex, there will be, trust me, fucked up ones too, they just won't involve the main character I'm writing. Also, this story will be DARK so it definitely will not be everyone's cup of tea, so if depraved themes aren't for you, I suggest you don't read this one.

WC: 1235

Pairing: M/F, Unnamed monk (his POV)/Unnamed woman (in his fantasy) - feel free to substitute yourself and/or any other character(s), though the action is written very cishet/involving perisex genitalia

TW/CW: Blasphemy! Heresy! Object insertion, masturbation, flagellation, religious abuse, improper use of the rosary and the Lord's prayer (Catholic version), all action is the narrator's fantasy

Everyone’s magic was different-just as every person is different. In some it twisted and grew and in others it was as gentle and patient as flowing water. None was more powerful than others simply better used in certain areas than others.

Her mother’s magic was fueled by her determination, her fury. It burned and blazed with all the glory Solaria herself did. With magic like that war was a given- peace could never fuel her flame. Her grandmother’s was as awe inspiring and powerful as the river of time, her uncle’s as precise and purposeful (if eccentric) as his beloved equations or fashionable patterns.

Her magic, however, was something else entirely.

Deals, contracts, equivalent exchange, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. It was sacrifice. Anything you wanted for a price, as all things worthwhile have a price. Eclipsa knew this- embraced it even. Everything she did was her price to pay and it was worth it.

When she cast her Darkest Spell she knew there would be a cost. She was prepared to pay it, and she thought she did.

(Her hands will never be scrubbed clean of what she did. To call forth all that hatred and power had left its mark on her)

She hadn't known she was pregnant.

‘Maybe’, she thought. Dread pooling in her heart, ‘Maybe it will be alright’.

She knew it could not be Shastacan’s child, so she planned and lied. “Just a little spell, wonderful what magic can do nowadays. Mewni needs a heir you know?”

With bit of blood from the sleeping Mewman king and a recipe from Glossaryk she had an adoption potion that could fool even the Royal Archives. Anyone who would look at her little one would see and picture perfect Mewman child.

It didn’t stop the nightmares though. Of her half monster child being stolen away from her arms. To be drowned or burned or left in the forest for dead.

It didn’t stop the trepidation from suffocating her inside out.

Then the day came when her darling was born. It was a joyous occasion, the Queen was having a child and Mewni was getting a princess, but the midwife nearly dropped her baby in shock.

“What is it”, fear creeping into her voice, “Is she okay?”

“You’re Majesty the child is perfectly healthy but---” “Then give her here”

The nursemaid’s face was grave as she handed the princess over. Eclipsa let a sigh of relief when she saw the glamour worked. Peachy pale skin, dark green eyes and a single brown curl on top of her head. If she squinted she could make out her actual appearance. Her daddy’s dull red skin and cute little stripes. She was beautiful. She was safe. Then it hit her.

Her daughter’s cheeks were bare. Full and pudgey like any other baby’s, but they bore no royal marks. No crowns or stars or spades. The months of foreboding were correct.

I can hear my mother in the living room and walk out to find her on the phone. I try to distract myself by going through his paperwork once more. I see a list of all his passwords sitting out that I somehow overlooked. ‘Why would he leave these out?’ I ask myself. I hear footsteps come into the office.

“Someone from the Sheriff depart will be here in about 10 minutes.” The words come from mother with mixed emotions behind them, a combination of worry and releaf. I turn and we stare at each other, motionless just eyes locked reading each other's thoughts. My palms start to sweat, I begin to feel dizzy, I break the connection and walk over to a painting of sailboats.

I love this painting, not because it was a particularly well done one but because my father called upon my art expertise to help him find something for his house. We had gone to a few garage sales and after looking through all the dead animal and cowboy art we stumbled upon this piece. It was calm, with three sailboats sitting on the water. While looking at it you could imagine the boats gently rocking back and forwarth on the water, the smell of salt in the air, the mist from the ocean hitting your face while your hair danced in the wind, looking over the edgy of the deck and seeing the waves gracefully pat the side of the boat.

My moment of calme is interpreted by the doorbell as it plays a peaceful melody that was deceptively happy considering what was about to transpire.

My mother opens the door and we see a lengthy sheriff standing there. He comes in without a word just a nod of his hat as if he already knows what has happened. He sits at the kitchen table and I sit across from him. I make eye contact and get the feeling of groundedness while in the middle of all this chaos. He starts with needing confirmation.

“So you needed to file a missing persons report?” His deep voice sounds like comfort and safety. My mother jumps in to answer:

“Yes. The last anyone heard from him was Saturday, and then he missed work today and he would never do that.” We all nod in agreement.

“Okay I’ll need to ask a few questions and some may be a little bit sensitive.” He locked eyes with me while he finished his statement, “So some of you should probably wait in the other room.” I pause for a moment hoping maybe he’ll let me stay, but after a while his silence spoke for him and I went back into my safespace in the office.

Despite being in the other room I could hear him asking about what my dad may have been wearing when he left, what his missing truck looks like, he is also informed of the gun missing and a few other questions along these lines. Then he asks my mom:

“Do you know if your ex husband was sexually active?” I quickly cover my ears like I use to do when I was a child and they would fight. I feel so helpless and lost. A little while later the Sheriff finishes his questions and comes in to check on me.

“How are you doing?”

“I mean I’m worried and I’m just hoping he’s okay.” I say matter a factly.

“We’ll find him, I’m sure of it.” He once again nods his head and walks out the front door.

My mom comes in, “come on let’s get you home. There is nothing more we can do now but wait.” I can see the tiredness in her eyes, so I walk out the front door despite wanting to object.

We get in the car and start driving down the gravel road once again, this time to the sound of silence. And with that silence my brain begins to race. ‘Where the hell is he? Did he go for a hike? Is he stuck somewhere in a canon? Why did he buy that gun and why did he take it with him? Was he robbed, no wait his house was undisturbed. Would he really leave town with only those things? No I don’t think so. I just hope he’s okay and comes home soon.”

The headlights shine onto my apartment building and my mother starts to open her mouth to say something but then closes it once again.

“I love you” I say.

“I love you too sweetie.”

I walk up the cold concrete stairs and turn left. I face my brown door, unlock and open it. Dropping my backpack onto the unvacuumed floor I flop myself onto my half made bed. My heavy eyelids start to droop and soon I’m asleep.

A few hours later I wake to the noise of my phone vibrating on my nightstand, the screen reads mom. In a moment all the events from the night before flash through my mind and with that I sit straight up and answer.

“Mom?” The worry instantly back in my voice.

I've been quiet a while but that's because I've been working on edits for The Sea's Reflection!

We discovered Pluto behind the couch. It was so small and looked so vulnerable, like an egg wobbling on the verge of a so-deep drop.  It was heavy, too, and icy cold. My brother and I fought over it so my mother took it away from us and put it up on the mantle.

(Some things I know about Pluto: Pluto’s orbit is chaotic.)

My mother said, I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t. And she closed the door of her room behind her. Those were the times we knew to not listen as hard as we could.

On the mantle, Pluto’s gravity dragged everything toward it, even those soft and terrible sounds our mother made when her bedroom door was closed. On the mantle, Pluto looked so small from where we were standing, and solid. Even after everything.

(Pluto’s tiny size makes it sensitive to unmeasurably small details of the solar system.)

Sometimes I’d creep into the parlor and sit in front of the fireplace. It sounds stupid to say, but you kind of got the feeling that Pluto understood disappointment. You kind of got the feeling that Pluto understood where you were coming from, that sense of loss that hung around right in the center of your chest.

Right after our father’s funeral, our mother walked into the house and stripped off everything she was wearing. It made us embarrassed to look at her, her pockmarked and scarred terrain. Standing there in her underwear. She scrubbed everything clean, and threw everything away, no matter what we said. We saved Pluto from her, somehow. For the good of the solar system.

(When it comes to Pluto, calculations eventually become speculative.)

We came home from school one afternoon and Pluto was gone. We looked through the whole house. Our mother’s bedroom door was closed. I knocked, and then my brother knocked. We tried the knob, and it turned. We opened the door, and it was as empty as the space between planets.

But we knew that things like that happened. Millions of years from now, Pluto could be at aphelion or it could be at perihelion or it could be anywhere in between, and there is no way for us to predict which. The resonances of the universe keep Pluto’s orbit stable, safe from planetary collision.

Her first fiancé, the evil scientist, proposed from the moon. The light glinted off the helmet of his space suit as he shook his tiny fist on monitors all over the world. With the magnet they built together at his back, he threatened democracy and declared his love in one breath. How could she say no? He died in a firestorm upon reentering the earth’s atmosphere, and she never kissed his acid-scarred lips again.

When she helped reinstate the throne of the rightful king of Atlantis, he asked her to be his queen. She wore a seaweed gown and held a scepter made of starfish, and they swam through the reefs on moonlit nights. They planned the reemergence of his kingdom on the world stage, water streaming down the great coral towers. They never saw the shark that devoured him whole–her name the last word on his lips. She emerged dry-eyed from the sea, far ahead of the assassins, and she never looked at the ocean the same way again.

She was the one who left the vampire. Though you never really leave a vampire—you just leave behind a pile of dust.

The bounty hunter, the ninja, the hired gun. They fought to the death over her before she could choose, and she had to leave the country on a swift boat well after midnight, Rio de Janeiro receding in the distance. She dismantled her machine gun and swore off relationships. She went to go live with her mother. She got a job as a marketing manager. She drank cosmos and did not look down dark alleys, accept mysterious packages, or clap eyes with fedora-wearing strangers. She never said yes to anything. She got five paid vacation days a year. She wondered if she could still kill a man with a comb.

Mostly been working on my BigBang fic so here is some orig fic for you all. Miranda is having complicated feelings about her new ally

Rowen looked back at her with those impassive dark eyes, like nothing could hurt him. Like she couldn’t hurt him. She wanted to. She wanted to slap him, an open palm across his face. She wanted to reach out her hand, reach into him and squeeze his heart until it stopped beating. Could she, she wondered. Or had he been pulled back through the veil enough times that Death would no longer be troubled with him?

Deathless perfection, even missing an arm, her father's perfect son. She knew it wasn’t fair to hate him, he’d never asked for that fate, and the things her father had done to him under the guise of love were no worse than the nightmares he’d caused her, but she couldn’t look at him and not see the boy her father must have wanted, the one she had never wanted to be. 

There was a softness around his eyes when he looked at her, a strange contrast to the fearsome image he cast with his blood red tattoos and the war lines carved in his teeth.

“Are you alright,” he asked after a moment.