#I DIDNT GET ENOUGH TIME WITH HER

[aroace-poly-show]

oh fuck she's gonna die soon isnt she

[choccy-milky]

smooth, seb 👍 ((redraw of this scene from the goblet of fire))

[hinamie]

shows up a day early with a nobara birthday tribute

[h0estar]

every now and then i look back on this GIF i have of nalu during tartaros arc and cry about how this particular scene alone solidifies the beauty of their relationship (natsu holding lucy's hand gently in the face of chaos and panic did wonders to my heart)

[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[candyje11yfish]

slight redesign. love her🩻🩸

[sophiphi]

Guys. GUYS. listen to me- kate carter is a natural brunette. no i’m not just saying that because daisy edgar jones has brown hair naturally, there’s a picture of young kate and her mom that is shown in the scene where she comes back home. I caught it on my second rewatch. I mean ofc you could chalk up her darker roots to it just being a dirty blonde but no, she really is a brunette.

Which brings me to this thought- I wonder what Tyler’s reaction (along with the others ofc) would be when they see Kate with brown hair. Let’s say her blonde dye was growing out enough for her to decide to dye it back. Maybe she does it when she went back to NY for a bit before going back to Oklahoma. Will there be chaos? Definitely. Will Tyler Owens get a heart attack? Duh. Like, imagine the possibilities guys, hellooo

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[xxplastic-cubexx]

waiting for marvel to take you up as their comic artist so that we can have amazing art with cherik official storyline

marvel hire me to draw professor x and magneto making out sloppy style for forty issues straight you will get a BAJILLION dollars i promise

[sidesteppostinghours]

ok. question.

ortega ended up hallucinating sidestep after they "died", but sidestep doesnt know about that. they know it got bad, but never the full extent of how their death affected them. so if your sidestep Did learn, if they found out ortega looked for them in every little piece they could, would that change anything for your sidesteps? would their relationship with ortega be any different?

[arrowheadedbitch]

Thinking about the episode where Nessie Jr hatches and how Colonel Baird assumes that Ezekiel is goofing off so she gives him a job to do and he keeps trying to get that job out of the way as fast as he can so he can go back to the very important job he was doing.

There's so much to be said about that part of the episode!

The way colonel baird assumes he's goofing off, the way he doesn't even try to defend himself until after he's already finished the thing she was stopping him from doing, the way he only explains why he was on his phone after she's already scolded him multiple times, the way he HACKED a GOVERNMENT SATALITE from his CELL PHONE, the way he genuinely cares about the egg despite it being dumped on him because of the assumption that he isn't working on something worthwhile, the way he's genuinely upset that he almost killed the egg by accident, the way he doesn't realise a bunsen burner will kill the baby but knows how to HACK a SATALITE from his CELL PHONE, the way he doesn't really care that Baird kept him away from his important work because of an assumption, the way he never tries to curb her assumption, the way he's only annoyed and really only mildly scolds her for making him take longer to figure out the other's were in big trouble, the way that this episode deeply effects how Baird sees Ezekiel, there's just so much to be said

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

this one's for all the yuri enjoyers out there — nsft under cut

meronia event prompt(s): scar

[altcvnningham]

waning moon

helen park x madam shell

summary: helen park sees the cracks in her lover's façade. (inspired by @mickstart and their amazing post on perhaps the most underrated ship of all time??) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, wlw, angst, pre-cw, betrayal (but vaguely unspecified), light choking, younger woman/older woman, age gap, references to coercion, vague references to abuse of authority, so much bird imagery, doomed sapphics wc: 1.1k

a/n: i literally read @mickstart's park x shell (shellen???) post and got possessed, blacked out for an hour and wrote this. i have 0 memory of how i got here or what this means and though it isn't like 100% what the post was talking about it DID inspire me to spill out this ramble ab a character who has 0 canon appearances outside of dialogue. sorry for pretentious purple prose and rough editing!! it's 12am forgive me

She doesn’t know when she sees the change, but it slips in slow and sweet, like a paling knife glinting in the moonlight. How sand sifts to the bottom of an hourglass, she too feels just as suffocated under the weight of borrowed time.

Yet Shell’s eyes are paler still even in the dark, the waning moon of this interminable night, one that feels to Helen Park like the bookend of something. An answer, unspoken, but as implicit as though it had been there all along, a truth she’d known deep down but refused to acknowledge. And why would she? How could she? It had been three long years since Shell took her under her wing, her pretty little bird, three years that had changed everything. Irreparably. Even now as Park finds the pieces of it all scattered and frayed with Shell’s silent betrayal, she sees the beauty in each and every one, too besotted with the finer details to bear looking at the bigger picture.

Shell is lying.

She knows, more certain than she has ever been of anything in her life. As the older woman climbs languid atop her narrow hips, smothered in perfume bergamot and liquorice, plum coloured lips close over her own in a lazy mimicry of a kiss. Helen parts open her mouth, as she had her legs countless times, like a good little protégé, showing her madam just what she’s learned. All for her. Tongue hot as she kisses back with hooded, half-open eyes, curling around Shell’s like a proclamation. I know what you are. I know what you’re doing.

(And do you know, how powerless I am to stop you? As if I’d even try?)

And Shell knows it too. In the dark of this Parisian hotel room, blinds drawn to cast away the world’s prying eyes, she can see it on the girl’s face plain as day. Sweet Helen is a pretty thing, much too clever for her own good, but wears her heart on her sleeve, with eyes as big and shiny as a doe’s- and now hunting season had come for her sweet girl, and how wide they had looked at Shell upon her return, hands smothered in blood. Blood that she hadn’t bothered to scrub, knowing Helen had likely smelled it coppery on the air when she’d walked in. Her fingers are still tinged pink with it, even as she traipses them up the girl’s waist, cupping the plush undersides of her breasts.

That is to say, Helen isn’t the best at hiding her expressions. It’s what Shell had loved about her. The shrill gasps when Shell would come up behind her, grasping her waist in lieu of a polite excuse me; the way she’d avert her eyes shyly when she’d caught hers across a room, crowded, empty; how she’d been so young when Shell had met her, blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere whisper of praise; and how when Shell had asked her but a month later if she’d ever been touched before- properly, darling girl, like a lover might- Helen had flushed red and bright as a virgin. Perhaps she had been, too proud to admit it. For a girl who is as sharp as a knife and twice as lethal, Shell had held in her hands a mourning dove, cooing softly in her palm, willing to piece together its nest there. Right there. With her.

Now, not so much. Her songbird doesn’t sing as she used to, her eyes parsing through the fog she’d been happy to let Shell pull over them. Helen sees her for what she is now, and they both know it.

It isn’t a strange thing, what she’s doing. Not at all irregular. It’s a gesture Shell had exercised over her innumerable times before, a kind of sordid foreplay, staking her claim over her. Shell’s hands lay flat upon Helen’s sternum, her heart thrumming steady but beating violent as a war drum; the older woman smiles- how well she’s taught her. Calm, girl, slow breaths. Don’t let them see you falter. Don’t let them feel you shiver. Don’t let them hear you breathe. In the face of fear, Helen had grown around herself flesh of stone, unyielding. That doesn’t change, not even around Shell.

But this isn’t a test. This isn’t one of her many lectures, her teachings. Very rarely does Madam Shell separate work from pleasure, seeing the two overlap rather conveniently; but for Helen she had all the time in the world. Perhaps not after tonight, given what they both know now. But pleasure is a special thing she keeps locked in a drawer for Helen to pry open and play in, rifle curious fingers through until they snag on something that piques her interest.

And yet it always ends the same way. Like this. The older woman atop her, faraway look in her eye, warbled smile on her lips. Hands around neck.

Her fingers slide slow, deft, thumb parted to curl her hand around the pale column of Helen’s throat. And she can do nothing but be still for her mentor, her lover, holding her breath in wide-eyed submission, a devotion that spoke beyond words, beyond meaning. A kind of reverence she knows only Shell would understand, a stillness like prey clutched within a lioness’ maw. Playing dead, prettily.

Shell’s eyes fix upon her, steel grey boring into vivid green, alight with something akin to amusement; in the daytime, Helen mistakes the glint for adoration, something like love, when she’s drunk enough on Shell’s affections to believe it.

Now, in the waning moon of their last night together- as they are, as they could have been, if only she didn’t know what she knows at the very pit of her being is true- she recognises the errant flicker for what it is. Kindling. A struck match, willing to burn it all down, even if it means taking sweet Helen with her. Her mourning dove. Cast to the fire like everything else. For a terrifying moment, Park isn’t even sure she’d much mind it at all. Ashes to ashes, as they say.

And as Shell squeezes her hand soft and gentle around her favourite girl’s neck, Helen surrenders her head against the pillow, spilling back with a moan shrill like a song. It’s the last time she knows she’ll ever sing for her again, so she makes sure it’s a good one.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

oh the dread, oh the worry! you love your sister so much and you need to know shes okay. you trust her but you cant trust the world, and more than anything else you cant trust yourself

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

Is this canon? Technically no.

Is it even In character? Absolutely not!

Do I care? Not really!

Locus is my blorbo and i can put him in annoying situations, like having a small squad of annoying but just-good-enough-to-not-kill-them Feds, if i want to

[obsob]

do you make enough money from selling prints in etsy to sustain your life? how are you able to afford this beautiful house and time to crochet and go on walks and all of that? i’m not asking for nosiness but because i’m trying to figure out what i would need to do in order to make my life financially sustainable… is art an option… etc

short answer i mooch off my bf <333333333333333