Warnings: Death.
Note: The dialogues in Italic show that the speakers are either a form of flashbacks or communicating in a different language, in this case spanish.
Death: Definition: (Noun) The action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.
'There is no death, only a change of worlds.'
-Chief Seattle-
'~I'm bleeding out, said if the last thing that I do, is to bring you down, I'll bleed out for you, so I bear my skin, and I count my sins, and I close my eyes, and I take it in, and I'm bleeding out, I'll bleed out for you,~'
-Bleeding Out; Imagine Dragons.-
Prologue:
31st January, 2018; Herat, Afghanistan.
She did not fear death.
In her line of work, it would be foolish to do so.
Of course, that didn't mean she was avidly looking for ways to die.
Because let's be honest, she prided herself in being smart not suicidal.
Make no mistake though, death would come. It was inevitable and no amounts of whining or moaning or hysterical crying would stop it.
She had never really cared for it; dying was simply a fact.
So, after stating above facts and statements, she was rather ashamed to admit, that when death did come for her; she was hilariously unprepared.
Although, if she thought about it, no one was truly ever prepared for death. It snuck up on you when you least expected it and was an absolute pain in the arse.
And as she lay on the hard ground of an abandoned alleyway, the rain cold and harsh; splattering over her prone form, the water intermixing with the crimson blood that leaked from the bullet hole in her chest, she mused on how, while as unprepared as she was for it, dying was not an unexpected notion.
Her eyes fluttered open and close as she fought to retain consciousness, it was a pointless attempt. She knew she wouldn't last the next ten minutes; she had lost too much blood.
Voices constantly filtered through the ear-piece she had commandeered for herself. Worried; they constantly called futile assurances and made desperate attempts to keep her wake.
They wouldn't make it in time, she registered the fact. Although, fondness for her team mates, her troops, her friends, seemed to creep through her sluggish thoughts.
She blinked slowly up at the dark, dreary night sky. A simple reconnaissance mission, my arse.
At least it was raining. The heady scent of petrichor filtered through her nose one last time.
She loved the rain, fitting she would die surrounded by its cold embrace.
A harsh cough followed by-
-a final shuddering breath.
And she ceased to move, laying still, unseeing and unbreathing.
At 02:27 am, on the 31st of January, 2018, dedicated career officer; Lieutenant Saoirse Aideen Carmody, one of the very few female soldiers of the British SAS, breathed her last.
31st October, 1992; Barcelona; Autonomous Community of Catalonia, Spain.
It was raining.
The earthy scent of the rain filtered through the partly open windows of the hospital waiting rooms, he stood next to one such window, enjoying how the cold harsh winds hit his face, along with occasional, stray, sprays of rain droplets.
It invigorated him.
His son, a child who had recently turned two, was sleeping on one of the more comfortable chairs of the waiting room. He let out soft snores as his head leaned back against the arm of the chair; the rest of his body curled upon the seat.
The man was currently waiting for the nurse he knew would arrive soon, bringing news of the birth of his second child.
A daughter. His magic seemed to whisper, curling within him eagerly.
In response, his eyes glowed unnaturally in the darkness of the room, seeming hauntingly luminous.
His keen senses picked up the hurried footsteps moving towards the direction of the waiting room he waited, ever so patiently, in.
It was a sound accentuated easily by the silence of the hospital, it was quite early in the morning; 2:30 if he was correct, a careless glance thrown to the wall clock confirmed his assumptions, give or take a few minutes.
The door to the room opened, yet he did not turn from his position in front of the half open window.
"Seňor Asturias?" A slightly breathless voice inquired in their native language.
The man half-turned knowing exactly what she would inform him about.
The woman, dressed in deep purple hospital scrubs, floundered a bit when she met his eyes, before she cleared her throat and smiled at him. "You're wife has given birth to a healthy daughter." She continued in lilting Spanish.
His head tilted to the side, a pleased expression making its way on his face.
"Gracias, may I see them?" He questioned politely, his attention shifting towards his son, who had begun to wake.
"Si, seňor. Both you and your son are welcome." She informed him.
The man nodded absentmindedly, reaching down to lift his half-asleep son in his arms. He then looked expectantly at the nurse who quickly turned to lead him to his wife and newly born daughter.
The hallways were bare and silent barring the nurses on night shifts and the supervising doctors. His long strides assisted him in easily keeping up with the hurrying nurse. She led him towards the delivery room where, he assumed, his wife would probably be kept under observation for the remainder of the night.
The door opened and he was met with a pair of nurses hustling around fiddling with machines he cared little for. His eyes immediately fixed themselves upon his wife; she looked tired, he registered dimly, it was to be expected of course. Birthing a child was a feat all on its own, his respect for women and their strength seemed only to increase as he observed his wife.
Her light brown skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, her hair; sleek black locks stuck to her perspiring forehead, and her eyes; tired hazel brown smiled at him.
She was wearing a hospital gown and glowed in a way only a newly made mother, in her case a mother to another child, could.
She held a bundle wrapped in a mauve colored blanket close to her chest, her eyes followed his movements as he walked closer to her.
"Ignacio, esposo mío." She greeted him, tired yet playful.
"Pauline, esposa mía." He responded in return, letting their son -now fully awake- out of his arms and onto the bed, where the young boy lay next to his mother and peered at the bundle in her arms with curious eyes.
"Mama?" The young boy questioned.
"Your sister, Atticus."
His wife looked up at him and lifted her arms, her intention of handing him their new-born daughter clear.
The man, with practiced ease, easily lifted his daughter out of his wife's arms and examined the new-born babe.
He noticed instantly that she, like her older brother, seemed to take after him in aspect to her physical appearance.
Her skin, while red at the moment, was easily distinguished as olive, an instant nod to her European Spanish heritage gained from his own side of the family. Her hair, from what he could see, were tufts of smooth, dark honey brown, something once more she inherited from him rather than her mother. Her eyes fluttered open and he was met with exactly what he was expecting.
The Asturias eyes; an odd blend of the dark shades of teal and sea green. A feature passed down to all members of the Asturias family, for generations upon generations; there were no exceptions.
Both his children had the Asturias eyes, just as he did.
What drew his attention away from his daughter's features -he knew she would resemble himself greatly as she grew older- was the sheer, powerful magic that pulsed within her entire form, like a coiled snake just waiting to attack.
His eyes met his wife's who looked just as stunned and proud as he did.
And finally, his lips curled upwards into a smile as he stared into his daughter's clear eyes.
At 02:27 am, on the 31st of October, 1992, the youngest child and only daughter of Ignacio Àlvaro Asturias; Seňorio de Lazcano and Pauline Rosalie Bennett, younger sister to Atticus Tomás Bennett-Asturias; Zatanna Elvira Bennett-Asturias, a reborn soul with powerful magic, breathed her first.
Additional Information: All information regarding British SAS was taken from the internet, for further information, you are welcome to ask.
Regarding the noble title given to Ignacio Asturias; the title itself is real i.e 'Seňor of Lazcano/Seňorio de Lazcano; Lord of Lazcano' is a real title but it's usage in this story is entirely fictional. As far as I'm aware, in real life this title belongs to the Ducal House of el Infantado.
Edit: Credits to the guest reviewer for clarifying who the title of Lazcano belongs to in real life.
A/N: I love Kol and the Originals. I also absolutely hate the stupid decisions made by basically everyone in the show. Hence, it resulted into the birth of this fanfiction. I also adore the idea of Self-Insert OC's as you might have guessed.
Anyways hope you enjoyed; because the entire timeline of the show is going to be in tatters, all because of the presence of a single character who actually uses her brain and has the rare ability to use her common sense. An unknown variable who will fuck everything up.
*Evil Smile* Oh, all the shit I have planned.
Like/favorite and review/comment, please.
Translations:
Seňor Asturias: Lord Asturias.
Gracias: Thank you.
Si, seňor: Yes, sir.
Esposo mío: My husband.
Esposa mía: My wife.
Note: All translations were taken with the help of Google. If there are any mistakes, I would like to apologize as I do not know how to speak the language.
Edit: Corrections to translations made with the kind and welcomed help of Alessandra12, I am extremely and genuinely grateful for her help.
"Mors nobis favet; Death favors us."
-The Asturias Family Motto-
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; I do not claim any ownership over any characters, situations or anything of relation from the TVD world. I do, however, own the Asturias Family, anything related to them, any other Original-Character introduced and the plot of this particular story.