and so she thrashes, smashes her against the tunnel walls like a dervish, a devil woman demented and godlike, with her too-many arms waving, a container for grief and this other thing she cannot name. a broken discontent, willing itself to life.

possession (1981)

in this space right here that we made for each other, you can say anything and i will not abandon you. unwrap the worst things you have done. watch me hold them to the light and not even flinch

trista mateer

━

How often will you repent?

How often do you pray until your knees are bloody, until your voice is lost and your fingers are numb?

You were just a girl, with too long limbs, blood in your mouth, and scrapped knees as the hushed whispers of your mother fell on deaf ears. She prayed, rosary beads tucked in between her fingers; for your salvation, praying that the love He has for you is enough to forgive your sins, forgive the red staining your fingertips, forgive the way you seemed to hold your blade as if it were a part of you, forgive the blood that flowed through your veins.

His love, you learn as the years pass, is the same as your father's. It's smothering, ugly, and acrid, and its cruel, all teeth and rot. It's ants under your skin, taste of copper on your tongue and tendrils of fear curling in your chest. It's quiet and angry and sharp like the blades against your back and the bile rising in your throat.

How often will you repent?

The grip on your weapon loose, the world around you falling silent, a hand on your shoulder and a whisper of Him and his kindness, of Him and his forgiveness but you know now that girls like you, who are more rot than girl are not meant for saving.

Inside of you, something seethes, it's cruel and more animal than human. It's a quiet thing, a viscous poison that seeps into the cracks of your soul. It's overwhelming and inconsolable and it wants and wants and wants until you are left barely a shell of yourself, copper tainting the air and fear clawing at your chest as you stare at the massacre you left behind.

You hear your father laugh, your mother's stares burning into your skin and your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palm leaving behind bruises.

Memories, you had come to learn, were a noose around your throat. No matter what you did, no matter how many times you sat in the back, incense burning into your lungs, and prayed for redemption, it never seems to loosen.

How often will you deny what you are?

New Orleans was not a place she wanted to return to. The shrill screams still echoed in her head, the wound on her shoulder still raw and aching but Kieran had always been kind, a grounding voice in between everything. A kinder presence in between the callous words and sharp blades. And in that city, she meets a creature as damned as her, carrying the weight of his family's sins on his shoulders.

Elijah Mikaelson was everything she'd heard about, silver tongue and crisp suits hiding the rotten thing underneath. From the Honeyed words to the righteousness to him that made you want to believe. But she knows better than to trust powerful men and have faith in what they say. She knows better than to trust something like him, knows better than to take the carefully crafted words at face value, knows what to look for and yet...

How often will you deny what you are?

And what am I?

Something beyond saving.

━

SARTHA ARKANJ

ELIJAH MIKAELSON

&&&

cha eun-woo. klaus mikaelson
lee hye-in. rebekah mikaelson
hwang hyun-jin. kol mikaelson
banita sandhu. davina claire

DISCLAIMER.

I do not own the tvdu, if I did then elijah mikaelson would've suffered more. it, unfortunately, belongs to julie plec and lj smith. I only own my original characters and their plotlines.
The story contains the use of vulgar language, blood and gore, murder, abuse, religious truma, ptsd, violence etc.

NOTE.

I'm back on my bullshit.

firstly, the lack of fics for my rat, my depressed lil codependent eldest daughter codded self-sacrificial whore is like a stab to the heart. I need more of this man, I can never have enough of him. I am slightly (read: very) insane about him and his pathetic ways.

now, onto my girlie, shartha is so matt murdock codded it's not even funny. The religious trauma, the impulsiveness, the catholic guilt, the daddy and mommy issues and the mentor issues. She is also very insane and very judgy bc she was raised to hate all thing supernatural (think john winchester)(which is kinda hypocritical now that i think abt it). She's also so dean codded, the wasted potential of what you could've been had it not been for the weight you were forced to carry.

But despite all her faults (which there are a lot) I adore her.

Elijah and Sartha are like two peas in a pod, they both have enough issues to put klaus to shame. They are very unwilling allies to enemies to friends to lovers codded and very very frustrating bc they're a bunch of oblivious idiots. The fic is a slow burn, like very very slow burn and it's gonna get frustrating at some points but!!! it'll be worth it

The originals back story will be changed slightly to make up for the change in face claims (fuck islamophobes and zionists) and some magic related stuff will also be changed, taking inspo from the hellblazer comics bc I recently read them and I forgot how fun they wee.

Anyways, have fun!!