#man who is insanely hard to draw core

[juiceyborger]

making a new piece of my oc evan bc i want to base my second tav for my solo bg3 playthrough off of him

decided to compare him to my older evan art and man i do NOT know how to draw this guy lol

[kavehater]

Lord give me energy today eueueue

[technically-a-kiwi]

I humbly request some core information I must know before I start drawing the cosmic chars for the next 2-9 days

just so I don’t mischaracterize any of them cuz then I would cry and I cry glitter mixed with acid

hum… core info you say ? 🤔

it’s a little hard, there’s no wrong or right way to go with them

in general the cast is a mix of chaos, silliness, otherworldly and MESSED UP. If you keep that in mind you’re already off to a good start

for each character tho hum…

well for starters, C Pep is just regular Peppino really x), stressed out and very impulsive in his emotions and actions. The major difference is that he has a much bigger knowledge about pretty much everything, basically you can bet that if you’re looking for something, he knows what you’re talking about and can give you precise details about it. Oh and of course, he’s basically like a sun here, any strong emotion will make him shift and go up in flames, everything in him is flames, he's just a big ball of flames.

For C Noise, again, it's just The Noise, chaotic, over the top, witty, and INSANE, but with the host attribute very exaggerated, passive agressif with every sentence and not taking his guests too seriously, often destabilizing them for a good laugh. He barely has a moral compass, willing to do anything for a good scoop, for a good program, create a kaiju fight in the middle of a city ? Let's go ! Change the color of the sky just to record people's reaction? Roll the cameras. All there is to know is he's basically a chaos god who records his mischief, always a smile on his face, he loves to mess with people, even with his fellow cosmic entities (to Peppino's displeasure) .

C Noisette is still Noisette, kind, bubbly, head in the clouds. She loves to talk, basically being a chatterbox, a little annoying if you're not into long conversations. She'll talk to anybody but C Noise, why ? Nobody knows, she'll always make the " >:( " face when she sees him, and promptly leaves, even if she's in the middle of a conversation.

C Pepperman is kind of the same as Pepperman, the self absorbed artist, marginal and very peculiar. He just DESPISE Peppino for holding the power of creation, either gaslighting or acting passive agressif toward him. Other than that he just acts like THE scholar of art, always bragging about his work, how his powers allow him to do what is impossible for mortals or talking about random art stuff (like composition, the meaning of colors...) and if you dare think he's annoying, you can bet he'll give you a lecture... Or turn you into a pepper... It depends...

C Vigilante is kind of different, he's just a very chill cheeseslime living in the country side of a cheese village, being the tired old man on the swinging chair, telling stories to younger cheeseslimes about the cosmic realm, legendary creatures, he takes care of his little farm, just living life you know. Although he's VERY paranoid about the cast coming over one day, he's convinced that they want to destroy him or his world, he's chill... But with a hint of stress...

The Ticket booth is very... Strange... It's actions are very aleatory, but it's fairly tamed. What he wants the most is for people to have a ticket, if you don't have a ticket, it won't bother to talk to you, if you want a ticket maybe he'll address you. If it considers you as some kind of threat (scammer, stealer, someone trying to kill a possible clients) that's when he unravels the horrors

C Pizzahead is kind of like Pizzahead, he's wiser than his classic counterpart, keeping the silliness for the stage only, but that doesn't stop him from cracking a joke or two here, a little prank there, he found the right amount of balance to be loved and unravel pure silliness. He's REALLY chaotic on stage (dangerous too...), but kind of a funny clown outside of the stage.

C Mr Stick is not much like og Mr Stick, he's stern, concentrated on his book, not caring much about stuff around him, he's not as interested in money as his counterpart, but he does love collecting more riches "hey, you're gonna use that 5 dollars ?" You see ? He's almost constantly the nose down his book, keeping track of everything and anything, you can ask him about the state of a random graph and he'll tell you ! When he's not counting or keeping track of stuff, he's building some random object, like an automatic spoon or paint thinner brush...

This took some time to write down oh my... I fear it's a little too much for being just the core, but I hope this will help you

[theside-b]

Spoilers for the novel (and my review for the Live Action) ahead :

The boys do get together, but that act ends with their break up when people find out that Tian and Wang are romantically involved, unlike in Unknown where everyone was ok with Qian and Yuan getting together in A Certain Someone the fact that they are 'brothers' plays a huge role at that stage of their relationship and the eventual demise of their first attempt at a romance. Their break up lasts 6/7 years, don't remember exactly, but its a long time...

A lot more happens, but the show made some fundamental changes to both characters. It takes A LONG time for Tian to come to terms with his own feelings, that scene where he sees his father with another man in bed tints his whole worldview from a very young age — he develops quite the internalized homophobia; he is fine with other's queerness but it's his own that he cannot accept since he sees his father sexual orientation as the reason for the destruction of his family.

There is a tense moment between Tian and his father, where his dad says "we are more alike than you care to admit" hinting that he knows of what its happening between the boys and mind you Tian is still trying to sort out what he feels for Wang. The show sugarcoats quite a lot, novel's Tian would never initiate a kiss with Wang or even play along like he did in the show, at least not at that stage of their relationship.

Speaking of which, Wang is also different in the books. In the show he reads as pretty open minded, curious about anything and everything. In the novel he's pretty straight (at first), the journey really begins as a bromance until the feelings start to change. There is a lot of push and shove between the two of them, and is veeery slow.

The show pretty much burns bright the part where Wang tears Tian's emotional walls. Which I don't mind, otherwise it would take 50 episodes to wrap the first act. I honestly thought they were going to draw an original route for the show, but they are slowly adapting elements they left behind so they can follow the book.

Now for the review:

All in all, I think the show did a good job all things considered: production began in mainland China where Liu Dong was cast, but censorship hinders lgbtqia+ productions there so pre-production moved to Taiwan and there the rest of the casting was done. It's hard to tell how much of that interfered in the script but I assume Tian's father core plot was removed in the first draft and got re-integrated once production moved to Taiwan (Chris Lee's casting was one of the last to be announced which probably means he was also one of the last to join filming). Considering that productions like The Spirealm got pulled for much less is understandable that they would avoid the more thorny subjects under China's homophobic gaze.

(Educated guess here: considering all the publicity push, I imagine either Andy Cheng or Stan Huang were the choices for Wang, but since Liu's casting was an order from one of the financial backers they got smaller roles — it's a common move in taiwanese productions — by the way, there is a 'love triangle' later, is a sad thing since there is no-way you can split the main couple, but the show made me wonder who is going to be playing the third party in the live action).

As I always say about taiwanese shows: you have to watch the live play. The On1y One is much like it's local peers, it works wonders in small doses, but as soon as you see the whole picture you start to see the cracks. It reminded me a lot of Kiseki: Dear to Me in the sense that the main couple story is the emotional backbone, with a somber approach with brief moments of humor but everything surrounding it is slightly unhinged.

Everything that happened at that school was insane. The amount of crimes committed in the school grounds was ridiculous, the fact that Qi Jia Hao didn't ended up behind bars after ordering thugs to attack Wang and assault the english teacher is crazy. The whole side-plot involving the teachers was head-scraching by the way, much like everyone else I assumed that Zhao Xi and Benny were married when they were introduced.

Imagine my surprise finding out that not only they were not married but at one point Zhao Xi thought Benny could be interested in the english teacher (speaking of her, why the hell did she sounded dubbed? Is that not her real voice?). This whole story felt so disjointed from everything else, and it came at the tail end of the season(?), so not only it took some much suspension of disbelief for me to buy that these 40-year old gays were that emotionally impaired but also demanded patience since they spent very valuable screen time which could've benefited the main couple.

That is all to say that while I was having a blast while watching, the more I stop and think about it critically the more problems I see in this show. And again, that usually happens with taiwanese productions, experienced the same with Kiseki and Unknown, two shows that I adore, flaws and all, and now the same happens with The On1y One.

[mediacircuspod]

Feeling insane about Lucifer in Hazbin Hotel bc you could read so much into the apple motifs truly everywhere around him. And I will.

Obviously the instances that draw the most attention are the staff and the tophat. But if you look deeper into lore about Hazbin Hotel and the Hellaverse you find lulu world and loo loo land and OTHER Lucifer themed amusement parks/circus shows. All whose mascots are garish, but they are also APPLES. And to have the apple, which is so obviously representative as being THE GIFT he gives to humanity being so prominent in all designs that even allude to Lucifer, is such a strong and loud choice. For it to be so vividly called upon and referenced is so very interesting, because it ties this fallen Angel to one single defining choice that is widely suggested to have doomed the entire earth to suffering.

But those aren’t even close to the most interesting instance by far. Because it has to be the coat, right? It has to be the act of physically cloaking yourself in the symbol, therefore making YOU the gift. But it’s not quite an apple, though, is it? His coat, though the imagery is more subtle than other apple references, is deliberately designed to visually liken itself to an apple CORE.

A physical manifestation of leftovers, the common conclusion to what happens after an apple is given as a gift.

The trash.

To have a character that has the baggage that Lucifer already has; an entity attributed with the fall of first himself and then all of humanity, dress himself as the used and useless part of the apple, is so wildly coded for tragedy. And it works for me. Because Angel or not, Lucifer is a man who is so violently defined by everyone in the context of a single action that he, himself also defines himself by it.

It is a statement, though he may not understand what he’s actually saying—I might even be inclined to believe that this particular claim is entirely unconscious, but even subliminally it is bold.

He’s saying he’s the gift. The gift of knowledge and dreams and free will. He is saying “The snake might be the usual emphasis but what I really am is the apple. I am the gift that was accepted and used and cast aside. I am the thing you regret and repent over. I am the apple core.”

And wow is that such an interesting statement to make about the actual serpent that doomed mankind(I’m not religious in the slightest but I still think this concept goes hard) because it showcases such a level of loathing directed directly at himself, and his choices, and everything he represents. It proves that he looks at his gift to humanity and sees only the pain it’s brought. He doesn’t believe in his cause anymore. He gave humanity knowledge and hope and dreams and joy and pride and the will to strive for all of those wonderful things, and he is regretful. He is downtrodden. He views himself, the king of hell, as the trash leftover after the greatest mistake in all of creation.

That’s so insanely tragic, but it can be looked at in a different light as well.

Because the core of an apple hosts something very important; the potential for great and lasting growth. The thing that makes Lucifer so dangerous to heaven that they had to crush him, and beat him down, to banish him, and to kill his people, and to keep him separated from the good in the world, is that his very being fosters growth. And they wanted him to forget that.

And they almost succeeded. But they made one mistake. They underestimated his daughter. And the second that Lucifer decides to support her dreams, what does he say????

He says “looks like the apple doesn’t fall far”

And well. I just think that’s neat.

[shiraishi-kanade]

On topic of, like, An and mixed events. Allow me to reiterate that I want Mafuyu and An to know each other so much it's kind of insane of me.

Because there's Mafuyu, who doesn't know who she is, who is conflicted of what she wants to do in her life, who doesn't know how to handle it at all; and then there's An Shiraishi, the girl that claims and owns every single part of her identity with stubborn shameless; she is Ken's daughter, she's Nagi's student, she is apple of the Vivid Street's eye, she's reckless and daring and all the thousands of different things and she owns up to being all of them. Growing up on Vivid Street, being a singer, being her father's daughter are all core tenants of An's identity - and her identity is incredibly stable, and she draws her confidence and passion in it, too.

Because there's Mafuyu, her dream of being a nurse seemingly taken away from her, and then there's An, a girl who's taken her dream by the horns, challenging the wall, trying to do the impossible.

Because there's Mafuyu, Mafuyu Asahina, the perfect, helpful, intelligent and eloquent and hard-working honor student, but all of that is fake, a mask, and then there's An Shiraishi, who could not give less of a damn about school but is truly, earnestly endlessly kind and gracious to other people, who treets everyone with open mind and heart-

And you can't tell me An would not take the first step towards Mafuyu. You can't tell me An wouldn't want to be Mafuyu's friend, regardless of who Mafuyu is or isn't, because An can see Mafuyu needs one, and that's all that matters for her to try.

And you can't tell me Mafuyu wouldn't take even a slightest bit of relief in having An as her friend, someone who just... Accepts her the way that she is, someone who genuinely wants her company when she isn't perfect, in fact, someone who would go out of her way to show her that she is okay as she is.

Of course, it's not that Mafuyu doesn't have a solid support group already. But, man. Anmafu.

[skeletood]

PLEASE please please tell us all about your thoughts regarding davesprite. it does NOT HAVE TO BE COHERENT!!

FINALLY THE KIND OF ASKS I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR.

I mean, it's nothing insane or hasn't already been said before. but god damn the knight making the ultimate sacrafice thing and then it never going appreciated fucks me up. plus it's fucking dave so the dude already spent his life under appreciated so this kid cant catch a fucking break. somebody i was talking to the other day said something about the guardian angel going thankless ? yeah dude imagine doing that when ur 13 and just want yourself and your only friends to live. fucks me right up dude dave is such a good fucking person to his core.

SO FUCKING MAD HE DIDN'T GET LIKE. Idk man i felt like he was actually getting set up for a lot more. like yknow, the dude that had to give up everything for the alpha timeline to keep going? he just gets shit on by his best friend for three years, explodes sometimes and then idk fuckin turned into a cat girl? THAT'S how you one let one of the most important daves to go out?? man... ok i guess..... i guess it is something of a reminder of like. the futility and how little the dead players mean to the alpha timeline. like, you were important but you're still just some stepping stone and i cant even imagine how hard that is for the dude who already doubted he could he anything great or heroic. FUCKING DAVES NOT THINKING THEYRE HEROIC AND THEN SACRAFICING THEMSELVES HEROICALLY. I want you dead dave strider im coming to your fucking house to get you man. i love this stupid kid. like most of davesprites reactions are so fucking normal for a kid that's lashing out or throwing a tantrum. and dude deserves to oh my god. not saying that hes infallible but like! he's a person still! and he has big emotions! why cant anybody but jade see the big emotions in this boy :( i mean i get it they technically both share the commonality of being a sprite at some point, in jades case. ok if i keep going down this thought path im its going to turn into a me shaking john around for being the kind of dude he is. which is like. i love him. but holy shit man.

actually. yknow what im one of the johndave guys. this extends itself to johndavesprite. i gotta put the insane ramblings i had in here too. fuck you im taking it as an excuse to talk about john psychology too and you CAN'T STOP ME.

so yeah theres that. apolocheese for the itty bittiest fuckin text ever.

in conclusion, davesprite rules, and john drools because hes dumb. i love him! but hes so special and especially stupid. BUT YEAH DAVESPRITE HES SO COOL. and fuckin fun to draw too actually i have some art to post i'll do that here in a sec

BUT YEAH THANKS FOR THE ASKING OF MY THOUGHTS. glad i dont have to be coherent either, shockingly enough its not really my style lmao. hope any of this made any sense o7

[kammy-hyperfixation-central]

So you're telling me Kang Haesol fell in love with Yeonwoo at first sight, looks at him like she has just found her world during their first encounter, and thought he looked like a girl...

AND EVEN THOUGH SHE DOES NOT like girls, she stated that explicitly, she looked at him and though okay maybe I can switch sides a bit while thinking he was a girl...

She was ready to switch sides

SHE WAS READY TO SWITCH SIDES Y'ALL

bangs hand on table

And her first thought was man she's pretty??? And not in the way girls go oh that girl is pretty and just leave it at that no that girl was plaguing her thoughts. Invading her very core like a madman.

she wasn't able to stop thinking about Yeonwoo, her eyes would just wander to him in class for no reason. Her friends are talking about how cute he is and she's like oh what they're thinking and what I'm thinking is different. Better hide that.

What makes this even better is that in Shoujo when the female lead who's been crossdressing as a boy gets found out to be a girl all along the male lead who was literally having a crisis over the fact he like another man just drops it and is like oh! you were a girl all along! No wonder! Let's not think about this anymore.

With Haesol though she's like... I find that girl right there attractive. Instead of having a mental crisis, she's just like oh well time to repress and ignore. She accepts it. Plus even after finding out Yeonwoo is in fact a guy she STILL finds his feminine characteristics attractive. She doesn't care whether he's and girl or a guy as long as it's Yeonwoo she's SMITTEN.

How crazy that is it that from day one she's willing to forgo morals because she thought oh damn that's a fine woman right there.

NO! That's actually insane!

The level of down horrendous you have to be to find someone THAT attractive from day one? (me too Haesol Me too) OH MY GOD I have never been so gagged in my life 😭

You have to understand how unwell this makes me I'm probably going to go crazy about this because do I need to remind you how amazing the art style for this chapter is? First of all and the way Haesol looks at Yeonwoo???

HELLOO?

I will never get over how she looks at him, the way she looks absolutely just, I can't...

I can see the love of a thousand variations of Haesol and all of them are absolutely infatuated with Yeonwoo.

Do you know how crazy that look makes me as a fanfiction writer? How absolutely insane that is going to have me go like you're giving me so much fuel to the fire Esol like it's not even funny.

The way this woman draws the way Kang Haesol looks at Yeonwoo needs to be studied because I don't know how she's able to capture the devotion, dedication, obsession, absolute admiration, and fascination she has with him!

Keep it up Esol! because I'm eating it up like the absolute slob I am, Like a peasant off the side of the road having finally tasted fresh bread in years 😭

I have never been this entrenched in a couple and I am living.

IM LIVING!!!

Then don't even get me started on how she accepted his confession while he was cross-dressing. Do you know the how unholy I could turn that into (completely out of nowhere I understand) but think about ittt because that goes hard

That goes so hard Yeonwoo cross-dressing one day out of completely nowhere and Haesol comes into their shared apartment and then they have the most ferocious fuck feast of their lives because she remembers when he confessed to her and is like "I'm going to take the opportunity I have now that I didn't have back then...

Just me... okay I'mma to move on.

This is like one of the best manhwas I have ever read in my entire life and I am definitely going to be obsessed with it forever because this is insanity.

And in the end, my girl still couldn't hold back and talked to him when she promised herself not to. LIKE COME OOONNNNN!!!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Heeeey! I’m back with the angst requests (: can I request a scenario with Hanma of reader having feeling and him not sharing them back, unrequited love? I’m looking to hurt and I know you always pull through 🫶

Hey, welcome back! Will do! Glad to see you 'round these parts!

Love You, Mean It: Hanma Shuji x Fem!Reader

wc: 659

tw: angst

masterlist

"I love you."

Hanma's shoulders slump. He's standing out in the biting cold, listening to your profession of love... but it's not going well for either of you.

"I'm sorry. You don't even have to say anything back. I just thought you should know."

Silence passes between the two of you, and Hanma grimaces, looking at the street as if he wishes he could run into it and get hit by a passing truck.

What had been a simple physical relationship had turned on its head. Now... it's merely a nuisance. Shuji inhales the night air deeply, watching the shadows of the TV screens in the shop window dance across your face. But he has to say something, or you'd start to cry. And he couldn't have a crying girl on his hands.

"Look at this realistically – can you honestly see any scenario where we'd date and not annoy the shit out of each other?" You look up from your shoes in shock. "Besides, you're in a relationship right now – you know this won't end well."

"But I promise I'll break up with him!" is your response to all of Shuji's points. The him is the person you're both waiting for. The him is the man who brought you two under the same roof in the first place. Shuji wants to stop you from talking and keep you from incriminating yourself.

But you blather on, digging yourself into a hole about six feet deep. "Listen, I'll break up with him... and we can be secretive about it." Shuji flinches, and you take notice. "Not in a way that would make you seem like a side-piece. I just meant--"

"I know what you meant," Shuji replies cooly. "This isn't what I bargained for when you said you wanted to spend time with me. I'm putting my head on the chopping block by even touching you. Let alone fucking you when Kisaki's not looking!"

Shuji wants to shake you and make you wake up - this isn't a fairytale with some hidden ending. The ending is happening right now; the credits are rolling over your faces. "If you think for a second I'd betray Kisaki like that, you're insane."

"But you wanted--"

"Really," Shuji begins, stuffing his ice-cold hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to see how far I could get with you. I couldn't imagine being with someone disloyal to her core like you." The flash of hurt in your eyes doesn't go unnoticed. Shuji scoffs, shaking his head.

"I..." Tears come to your eyes. Shuji stifles a groan, biting his cheek so hard he draws blood. "Shuji, why would you talk to me like this?"

"You should go home and forget this ever happened. Break up with Kisaki if you want to; that's not my call. But this... this is over." Hanma drags himself away from you, feeling a snap of guilt in his gut. Sure, you'd been nice to him, and having a tryst with you was fun, but this was how things had to end. If he let it go on any longer, Kisaki would have his head and his balls.

Shuji's phone rings in his pocket as he storms off. Shuji answers it immediately; there's only one person who has his cell number.

"Did you do it?" the voice asks on the other end.

"Yes, boss," he replies.

"You sound displeased."

"I'm not," Shuji lies. "Just had to explain to her over and over again why we can't be together anymore."

"Good," Kisaki mutters, then sighs. "She'll come running back to me any second now."

"Just like you said she would," Hanma affirms, turning his head around and watching you pull out your phone as your wipe your face. Kisaki's phone buzzes against his ear.

"That's her. Gotta go."

The phone call ends, and Hanma steps into the street, still praying a truck would crush him for the hell of it.

[loderlied]

gortash 1, 6, 7

zeke 3, 4, 5

<3

(hi! i realised i had this finished but it was rotting in my drafts so i’m gonna queue this for my short absence lol.) i mean. gortash isn’t an oc but sure why not lol. you can always send me asks about him actually <3

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

just sitting still? not a problem. his problem comes with finding something like this to be an utterly wasteful way to spend your time. i think even when he gets done with work for the day earlier than planned (which doesn’t happen often because his plans are so meticulous. usually some incident like someone he was meeting with unexpectedly not being able to attend was the cause here which he. doesn’t like because interruptions in schedule bad lol) he usually finds some other way to be productive. (like spending time in his workshop or drawing for example.)

but uh. how long would he be able to sit still? if a plan of his for some reason required him to sit still and do nothing for a fucking week, he’d gnash his teeth about it but he’d be able to do that and much more—everything that’s necessary will be done. otherwise? you absolutely will not catch him just lounging around lmao.

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

definitely immovable 100%. there’s just a teeny tiny problem with this—this applies to his system only, his way of viewing the world, his values and laws for himself and the laws and values he inherently imposes on others. he considers himself a man who does whatever is necessary, and more importantly the only one who is capable of actually deciding on and carrying out order. judge, jury and executioner, y’know. his word is law and his word is what he will stick to until the very end and everyone else better follow suit if they don’t want to be mentally branded as a mistake by him lol. i think he sees it as there being a universal way the world should work, which is the system of the machine with him as the core, it’s just everyone else that doesn’t see this ‘truth’ at the moment & needs fixing.

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

to me, gortash is a man of the future. yes, he does so enjoy taking his trophies from past conquests and yes, he does not forget the past, dissecting and learning is a process that includes his past as well as others’ he so loves to dissect and use in his schemes, but i simply don’t see him as someone who would ever wallow in feelings like nostalgia. it’s not even that he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t experience it in the first place.

to sort of illustrate what i mean: i think he definitely remembers his coronation to become archduke as a grand stepping stone in his plan and all, but that’s what being a man of the future and baldur’s gate’s saviour means, it’s exactly that—a stepping stone for more. he won’t simply rest on the steps now when he has so many more to climb. and when you’re at the top of the stairs, there is no need to look back either.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

not at all uhhhhhh. only joking. well. only half-joking? zeke, due to his paranoia about everything surrounding gortash, the nightmares that result from that & just his nature as someone who never fucking stops being on his feet, has insane troubles sleeping. with his severe malnutrition and lack of sleep just result in the biggest eye bags known to man. more like eye trenches or whatever.

anyways, the solution is just uhm. going so hard until he eventually passes out and then repeat that process. 😬. later on when he does finally trust his companions enough to eat a bit around them, shadowheart laces his food with a sleeping potion because she hasn’t seen him rest for more than half an hour consecutively and he understandably gets triggered (gortash never put mind-altering drugs into zeke’s food, stuff made him sick for example was what was commonly used instead, because he needs him to be aware of his own suffering to enjoy it, but. still.) because of it. so. not ideal.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? & 5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

i’m just gonna combine these into one bigger answer hope that’s okay 👍 so, every single thing starts out with lots of mistrust from zeke lmao. and yes, i don’t just mean every person, i mean everything, even objects he has never seen before or shit like that. but there’s still multiple levels of mistrust, there’s again the basic mistrust everyone gets, and then there’s mistrust as in ‘you’ve given me a sign (and this truly might be fucking nothing. it most often is nothing. this boy is insane) that you’re working for gortash and i am now immediately killing you’ 😬 and then there’s of course the ‘AAAAHHHHHH WHAT ARE YOU’ level exclusively reserved for mr gortash himself.

to gain his trust, you have to approach it a little bit like you would with a feral kitten except a lot more careful because this thing can actually kill you before you even know that he went for the killing blow if you do something wrong. you have to essentially let him sniff you out, sometimes metaphorically and sometimes literally, assure him that you’re not a threat to him. no sudden movements, loud noises or other similar actions and you’ll be good. he’ll still be on high alert, but is out of ‘kill once it gets within 10 metres’ mode lmao. and that’s basically it. building trust with him is an extremely slow, hard & painful (most often for the party that isn’t zeke) process and honestly? it’s not worth it considering YOU can never fully trust him not to suddenly feel his entire being scream to hunt & kill you. i’ve made this comparison before but it’s essentially like one of those people on taking an animal like a lynx or a chimpanzee into their home. they’ll probably get used to you and maybe even trust you, but they’re still wild animals at the end of the day. wild animals who can and will, if you’re not careful, severely hurt or even kill you if. zeke is the wild and the wild is zeke and all haha.

the methods to earn his trust and mistrust are both not very complex, but while earning his trust is a slow, never sure and stable thing, earning his mistrust is quick and very, very easy in comparison. once again, just one sign that you’re a threat, one wrong movement at the wrong time and you’re out. and this behaviour is just his base instincts as the apex predator and all. like how i described earlier, zeke also has SO many gortash related triggers on top of all that already. for example, telling him that his eyes are beautiful! they just are objectively extraordinary, so you most likely just want to genuinely compliment him! it’s rough. zeke is awful. end essay.

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

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Chapter 18: Ghosts

The streetlights pass in a blur of yellow and orange. All the while, the manila folder screams at her from the passenger seat. Cami resists the urge to reach across and inspect the contents. Maybe this time, she’ll find something she missed, some key element telling her she was wrong and her tired brain was playing a trick on her all the times before. But she knows to her core that there is no mistake, and if she were to run her hands over the soft black-and-white photo for the thousandth time, she would find the same thing:

The 1919 Picayune clipping of Marcel smiling in front of the New Orleans Opera House with none other than Klaus Mikaelson.

It should be impossible, but there’s no mistaking the high cheekbones, the smirking mouth, and even dressed in spats and a tailored jacket. His cocky swagger is the same.

The first time she saw it was rough. Her stomach bounced against her ribcage and her ears rang. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Yet it made a strange sort of sense --absolutely bat shit insane-- but sense all the same. And for the first time in months, she felt relief buried beneath the confusion and fear. The missing chunks of time, her and Sean’s code on sheets of notebook paper that she never remembered drawing- she isn’t sure how, but it has to connect back to this.

Cami resists the urge to bounce her leg as she waits for the light to turn, fingers drumming against the wheel. Tired of obsessing over this alone, she’d left her Kenner apartment, throwing a coat on over her pajamas, and was on her way into the city before she could think things through. Now, adrenaline fading and making space for reason, she doubts.

What do you say in this kind of situation?

Hey, Lucie. I know it’s 3 am, but remember that British guy from the bar? Well, I’m pretty sure he’s over 100 years old.

She shakes her head, tapping the accelerator when the light turns green. There isn’t time for second thoughts. She isn’t about to spend the rest of the night on her couch in a paranoid stupor. Maybe Lucie will call her a basket-case then they can laugh it off and watch something mindless on TV.

Her breathing is mostly back to normal by the time she pulls up to the curb behind a red sports car she doesn’t recognize. She tucks the folder under her arm and heads for the porch. The air is humid. It makes her shirt cling to her stomach and the dew-damp grass tickles her ankles.

The rough planks of the porch groan when she reaches the top of the stairs. She can hear voices from inside, muffled by the door, and she hesitates. It never occurred to her that Lucie might not be alone. She was too much of an introvert for a party. A silhouette passes in front of the living room window, a blurry shape behind the curtains. It could be a man, but she’d never mentioned she was seeing anyone…

Maybe she should come back in the morning. Uncle Kieran might still be at the church--

A woman shouts, the sound almost drowned out by breaking glass and a thud hard enough to shake the windows.

Every true crime documentary she’s ever seen tells her she should call the police and let them handle it. Instead, she turns the knob and, finding the door unlocked, she throws her weight into it. The hinges groan as it opens wide. There’s no knife-wielding maniac on the other end, no robber in a ski mask, and no amount of crime drama could prepare her for what’s waiting beyond the threshold.

The first thing she sees is Lucie’s face, mouth slack, and eyes round with shock. She follows the curve of her tear-streaked cheeks, the bloody mess of her neck. With a little cry, Cami steps forward, halting when she catches movement behind her.

Broken glass and tattered wallpaper litter the hallway, like someone let a wild bear loose. Instead, she finds Klaus’ sister running faster than any living thing has any business moving. All she can do is stand there stunned as she grabs a man by the collar and slams him into a wall with enough force to break the drywall.

When shifts, Cami gets her first glimpse of Elijah. His eyes are frantic, hair disheveled, but her eyes lock on the bloody mess of his shirt, the red around his mouth, and the gleaming, monstrous fangs within. Something primal in the back of her head screams at her to run, but her knees are shaking and her feet won’t budge.

She staggers sideways, catching the door frame for balance, and chokes out, “What the hell is going on here?”

Three sets of eyes find her. Rebekah throws Elijah to the ground like he’s only a sack of flour, holding him in place with a foot to the chest. Her mussed hair is a ragged halo in the hallway's light.

She rolls her eyes, tossing her head. “Oh, for the love of--“

Elijah seizes her momentary distraction, hand wrapping around her ankle. Before he can pull her over, she plucks up a broken table leg and pierces through his chest in one fluid motion. He goes limp, dead on the floor. This time Cami does scream.

“Keep an eye on this one,” she tells Lucie, unbothered by her brother’s fresh corpse. “I’ll take care of this.”

Cami winces as Rebekah moves towards her, only to be stopped when Lucie grasps her wrist with a frantic, “No! Don’t.” It earns her a withering look. “She should know the truth.”

The house falls quiet as the two women exchange a look that Cami can’t even decipher. Then, Rebekah steps back with a gesture that can only mean ‘Fine, but this is on you,’ before dragging Elijah by the ankle into a back room.

Lucie turns to her and for a long while, neither of them says anything. Cami can’t seem to slow her racing thoughts enough to grasp a coherent thought, and Lucie seems focused on gnawing a hole through her bottom lip.

There’s a loud thump from somewhere toward the back of the house. It breaks the spell.

“Let’s talk in the living room,” Lucie says, tiptoeing around shards of glass to press the front door closed. Her hand trembles when she grasps one of Cami’s, who allows herself to be guided through an archway and onto a rich, patterned couch.

She pulls a pillow to her chest. Something about the warmth or the plush fabric smashes open the dam and she laughs, a breathy, choked noise from deep in her chest. Is this it? Is she about to snap?

The cushions dip as Lucie sits down beside her. She hadn’t even noticed her slip out of the room, but now she has a damp towel pressed to combat the gore on her neck. It does nothing to soothe Cami’s frayed nerves.

Her eyes fix on a landscape painting on the far wall, the oil strokes warping as her vision clouds over. She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until Lucie says, “Take slow breaths like this.”

She demonstrates, sucking a lungful of air through her nose and then releasing it out of her mouth. Cami copies the motion, sloppy at first, and then more steady with each repetition until she feels less like passing out.

“What the fuck just happened? Why are you bleeding? Why is Elijah Mikaelson dead on your floor?—“The words, once free, stop coming, picking up velocity.

“Cami!” Lucie says, voice sharp, as she squeezes her hand. “Breathe.”

So she does.

“I’m going to tell you everything, alright? But I can’t do that if you faint on me.”

She shifts her hands into her lap, remembering the folder under her arm for the first time since she walked through the door. Setting it on the coffee table, she turns to Lucie with an exaggerated breath.

“First things first, Elijah is going to be fine—”

“—But I just watched Rebekah stab him in the chest—”

“—Because he’s a vampire.”

Cami loses her train of thought, jaw slack. Her mouth snaps shut, and she shakes her head. “Vampires? Whatever joke this is, it’s not funny.” But even as she says it, something falls into place, like the last stitch pulling the whole tapestry together. Her eyes dart towards the folder.

“Trust me, I wish I was joking,” Lucie says, playing with her fingers. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, body angled to face her. “There’s a lot you don’t know about New Orleans, Cami.”

----

She watches the servants set the dining table with fine silver and priceless china and all the while, Hayley resists an urge to be sick which has nothing to do with morning sickness. It’s been less than a week since Tyler Lockwood snatched her off the front porch and dragged her out into the bayou in some half-cooked scheme to get back at Klaus --as if he’d ever let any hybrids sired by someone other than himself live. After Klaus had run him off, staying at the manor was off the table.

She doesn’t dislike the Abattoir itself, even though it smells damp and you could hear a pin drop in the courtyard. It’s blessedly cooler here, the stucco walls built to keep out the heat, and she has to admit that the balconies are perfect for watching the sunset over the French Quarter. No, it’s not the compound, but its revolving door of inhabitants that set her teeth on edge.

She reaches for a glass of water, the other hand resting against her expanding belly. All the while, she keeps a sidelong look at the small army of vampires gathered around the table. Two chairs to her right is Marcel and beside him is his newest right-hand man, the one they call Diego. Her eyes narrow when he catches her staring, dark eyes full of calculation. She isn’t sure how much Klaus has told them about her and their miracle baby, but, then again, she doubts it matters.

Diego breaks the stand-off first when Klaus taps his fork against his wineglass. It’s not until she sees the back of his curly head that she turns to him as well. At the other end of the table, Klaus is on his feet with that smug ‘I have something important to say’ face that Hayley hopes their daughter doesn’t inherit.

“Let us begin with a toast to our shared gift: immortality,” he says, glass held high. “After a thousand years, one might expect life to be less keenly felt, for its beauties and its sorrows do diminish with time. But, as vampires, we feel more deeply than humans could possibly imagine.”

With a gesture, a handful of wait staff step forward, hovering just over the shoulders of the gathered guests. It only takes one look at their identical glassy expressions to know they’ve been compelled. He continues, “Insatiable need, exquisite pain…,” She holds back a wince when each cuts their wrists filling the empty glasses with blood. “Our victories, and our defeats.”

When all the glasses are filled, he lifts his higher. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes lock on Marcel as he says, “To my city, my home again. May the blood never cease to flow…”

Marcel raises his glass with a wide smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “…and the party never end!”

Her eyes drift to Diego. It’s no secret that he resents Klaus’ takeover of the vampire faction, only following orders out of some misguided loyalty to Marcel. She waits to see if he’ll make a scene. Maybe that would liven things up around here, only to be disappointed when he raises his glass and murmurs, “To New Orleans.”

“To New Orleans,” they all refrain, drinking deeply. Hayley sips at her water, wanting nothing more than to shut herself in her room away from all the male posturing. But she knows Klaus well enough to understand that whatever he’s building to, he expects her to be present. She just wishes he’d hurry it up.

“I understand that some of you may have questions regarding the recent change in leadership.” An interesting way to refer to a failed assassination attempt staged by Marcel that led them all under Klaus’ subjugation. “And I invited you here tonight to assure you that you are not defeated. No, my intentions moving forward are to celebrate what we have. What Marcel, in fact, took and built for this community of vampires--

“And what about her?” Diego interrupts, ignoring Klaus’ veiled irritation. “The wolf.”

It’s a fair question, one that Hayley has asked herself more than once. Her own place in Klaus’ best-laid plans is still a mystery, even to her. She turns her head, watching Klaus warily.

“Had you’d let me finish, Diego, you would know that there is, of course, one further matter I would like to address.” Then he’s moving around the table, her stomach doing a backflip as he heads right for her. “As many of you know, the girl is carrying my child. Consequently, I trust you will all pay her the appropriate respect.” Which, to a vampire, is none. “However, I understand that some of you are concerned by this vicious rumor that I intend to use the blood of our child to create hybrids. I assure you, I do not.”

She can’t help the bitter curl of her lips. “Father of the year.”

If he was expecting elation or even relief, he finds none. The vampires spare the odd glance at Marcel before fixing him with a dozen blank, unsettled expressions.

With a dull satisfaction, she notes the way his eyes tighten at the corners and some of the sheen disappears from his grin. “It appears that I will have to earn your trust,” he says with a finality that makes her uneasy. “Very well. We’ll eliminate the root of your anxiety. You see, how can I sire any hybrids if there are no more werewolves alive in the bayou to turn?”

And Hayley’s heart crashes through the floor. “What?” she chokes in horrified disbelief. “Klaus, no!”

She’s only just gotten used to the idea of having family out there and now, to soothe the fears of some motley group of vampires, it’s all slipping through her fingers.

“So eat, drink and be merry,” he commands over the ringing in her ears. “And tomorrow, I suggest you have yourselves a little wolf hunt. Go ahead, have fun. Kill them all!”

The chair screeches in protest as she rises to her feet. She’s heard more than enough. Without a backward glance, she storms out of the room. Not that Klaus notices, he’s far too wrapped up in Marcel and his own blood lust to care.

Her feet lead her up the stairs to the second level, ignoring the exultations coming from below. When she reaches her room, she slams the door behind her hard enough to make the lamp on the dresser shiver. She doesn’t notice, she already has her phone in hand.

If she wants to stop this, she needs someone on the outside. But Elijah doesn’t answer, and neither does Lucie. And so she tries her one last lifeline and almost cries with relief when she hears Rebekah’s voice on the other line.

___

“So let me get this straight, not only are the Mikaelsons vampires but they’re the first ones in existence,” Cami says, once Lucie finishes giving her the thousand-foot overview of all things supernatural in New Orleans.

She’s sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. Across from her, Lucie mirrors her position. “Right, the Originals.”

“And while Marcel and Klaus are playing tug of war with the city, the witches,” That’s going to take some getting used to, “are also angling for control. And the werewolves…?” she trails, pinching her nose to ease some of the pressure building behind her eyes.

“Were banished from the city by Marcel decades ago.”

She groans in frustration, leaning sideways against the couch.

“You’ll catch on. It just takes some time.”

“It would be a lot if I could just remember.” She is still foggy on the details, but she knows enough to understand that what she had been experiencing wasn’t a slow descent into madness, but the effects of mind compulsion--another fun vampire trick. “You’re a witch. Are you sure you can’t just…I don’t know…wiggle your fingers and fix me?”

“Not a very good one.” Lucie’s lips pull into a frown. “I wish it was that easy.”

“When is anything in this town ever simple?” she asks with a laugh, but even she can hear the bitterness creeping in at the edges.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this. By the time I realized you were in the middle of it all, Klaus already had his hooks in you.”

Klaus. The arrogant son of a bitch that toyed with her for his own gain and made a smoothie of her brain. His name alone is enough to make her want to break something. “I’m more sorry that no one thought to tell me,” she snaps, regretting it the second she sees the pained look in Lucie’s eyes. She sighs. “I get it, but just tell me one thing; if you suspected what was going on, why didn’t you do something?”

“What makes you so sure I didn’t?” Lucie says, loaded with meaning.

“What are you—” She gasps when it clicks, fingers tracing the space around her wrist. “You mean the bracelet? How?”

“My great-great grandmother spelled it with vervain, to protect from compulsion.”

She’s quiet for a minute, taking in the new information as she swallows a fresh lump in her throat. “Well,” she starts with a shaky puff of laughter, “Now I really wish I hadn’t lost it.”

Lucie doesn’t respond, only gives her a long look before disappearing into one of the back rooms. She’s back in moments, dropping something cold into Cami’s palm as she sinks back down on the couch.

She uncurls her fingers and finds herself staring at the familiar sun and moon charms. “Where did you find this?”

“Let’s just say I stole it back from the person who stole it.”

“Stolen? But I thought I—fucking Klaus,” she swears. “I’m going to kill that asshole if I ever see him again.”

Lucie laughs, hands resting over her knees. “There might be a line.” It wrangles a chuck from Cami even as her expression turns serious. “I really am sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

She sighs before placing a hand over Lucie’s. “Help me with Klaus and we can call it even. Just keep me in the loop from now on. Deal?”

Her lips curve up in a small smile. “Deal.” Then her face falls once more. “Cami, there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about Sean.”

---

The pounding in his head is the first thing Elijah is aware of, a persistent thrumming behind the eyes that beats in time with his pulse. His limbs are granite slabs as he raises shaking fingers to his temple. While he works up the courage to open his eyes, he notes the softness of the mattress beneath him, the familiar scent of wisteria, and the faint padding of footsteps somewhere beyond.

Steeling himself, he opens his eyelids. It’s just a crack, but enough for the pale moonlight to slip between the blinds and burn into his retinas with the full force of the sun. He groans, shielding them with the side of his hand. Forcing them wider, he blinks until it doesn’t hurt so much and the surrounding room takes shape. A gray coverlet frames him, and a pile of pillows behind his head props him up. Straight ahead, garments in various shades of black and gray hang from the open closest, the wall around the doors plastered with band posters.

Suddenly, the floral smell makes sense. And if this is the LeMarche home, then he must be in Lucie’s room.

Lucie.

He jolts upright, memories of last night flooding back to him in hazy flashes. Her wide, worried eyes when she found him in the alley. Her fingers had been cool against his burning skin. He remembers the tremor in her voice, the warmth of her presence at his bedside. The events warp and waver, take a darker turn as he recalls her heart pounding beneath her breastbone. The hot, heady elation as her blood pooled in his mouth and overwhelmed his senses.

Shame crashes over him in a tidal wave, remorse as sharp as the stake Rebekah drove through his chest before he could do something he couldn’t take back. He wants to sleep, maybe for a decade, until he’s ready to face her. Instead, he kicks off the covers, staggering to the side like a drunkard when his feet hit the floor. He grasps the edge of the dresser and pauses, glimpsing himself in the mirror.

The creature blinks back at him with red-rimmed eyes. Stubble is a dark shadow around his jaw while the hair at his head sticks up in every direction. He rakes a hand through the errant strands with an absent precision, unable to tear his eyes away from the damning rust-colored stain on his shirt.

He pulls away, following the sounds of life to the front entryway where he finds Lucie, sweeping glass into a dustpan. She does not notice his presence. It’s a chance to watch her undisturbed. As his eyes rake over her slight form, he notes the tired slump of her shoulders, the shadows beneath her eyes, and wonders if she’s been awake this whole time. But any worry over her exhaustion is eclipsed when he sees her neck. Identical bite marks taunt him, red and angry against her skin. His stomach lurches and guilt trickles in, hotter than the fever that had ravaged his system the last two days.

Before he can vanish from her life forever, before he can even begin to make amends, she turns. Whirling around in a flash of russet, she jumps when she spots him, free hand clutching her chest.

“Shit. I didn’t know you were awake,” she whispers. Then, before he can answer, she presses a lip to her finger and, with a glance down the hall, adds, “Cami is asleep in the other room. We can talk outside.”

She leads him back down the hallway and, abandoning the dustpan on the kitchen table, slips out into the backyard. The moon is only a day or two shy of full, so bright that even behind the clouds, its glow casts the withered garden in shades of silver and blue.

Neither of them speaks until they’re down the steps, hovering near the overgrown path that weaves around the garden, the spot where she’d once accepted his deal.

When she turns to him, the moonlight draws the bite mark into sharp relief again. Elijah’s shoulders tense and he shoves his hands into his pockets to curb any misguided attempt to brush his fingers against it. With an exhale, he opens his mouth to speak, but Lucretia beats him to it.

“Before you start whatever ‘I’m a monster speech’ you have on deck, it’s been a long night,” she says, arms folding over her chest. “Yes, you were a dick and scary and it also wasn’t your fault - don’t give me that look, it wasn’t. So can we just skip to the part where I forgive you and you agree to stop looking at me like a kicked puppy?”

For a moment, he says nothing, only watches her carefully. His guilt will not be so easy to abate, neither will the conviction that somehow his entrance into each other’s lives has only made things more complicated than they should be. But there’s no missing the resolve in her stare.

“Very well,” he says. “But in the spirit of negotiation, I’d like to make a counteroffer.” When she raises her eyebrows, he adds, “I will agree to your terms if you allow me to heal you with my blood.”

This time, it’s her turn to regard him silently. Her eyes scan his face and, not for the first time, he wonders what is going on behind those large, guileless eyes.

Her jaw sets in determination. “Alright, fine.”

It’s a quick thing, giving her his blood. He opts to give it to her in a mug retrieved from the kitchen. After his attack, anything more intimate than that seems a step too far. When he returns, it’s with his hand wrapped around the handle and a blanket draped over her arm. He hands her the former, ignoring the skeptical look his way when he tucks the latter over her shoulders.

Her nose wrinkles as she examines the macabre contents. And then, with a deep inhale, she chokes it down in a few quick gulps. To her credit, she doesn’t wince, only wipes at her mouth with her sleeve. And Elijah watches as the wound at her neck fades until it’s as if it never happened, almost. Though it dulls some of the sharper edges of his shame, the bulk of it remains.

“Lucretia, I know I do not have a right to ask any more of you,” he says, unable to endure any more silence. “But in my…state…last night, did I say alarming?”

Her hesitation gives him his answer, but, kind as she is, she does not make him ask for details. “There was a moment you thought I was someone else. You called me ‘Celeste’…” She must catch the way his cheeks heat because she adds, “Nothing too scandalous, I promise.”

He doesn’t miss the waver in her smile, the anxiety lurking in her dark eyes. So he gently prompts, “What else?”

“When I touched you, I saw one of your memories.”

With a catalog of ten centuries at her disposal, he doesn’t guess, only waits in growing apprehension for her to tell him which horrible act of brutality she’d witnessed firsthand.

“A ball at the governor’s mansion. Niklaus was there,” she says. “And Melodia.”

“I see.”

She shifts the knit fabric over her shoulders, pulling around herself and holding it closed with one hand. “I guess it only makes sense you knew each other.”

His head tips up to where the moon is still beaming down from a velvet field of stars. “She was a gifted witch, your progenitor. And good woman.” When he turns his attention earthward, he finds a strange expression on her face. “What’s on your mind?”

Though it’s dark, he swears he spots a flush on her cheeks. “I know it was a long time ago, but were you two…close?”

He furrows his brow, confused. And then, catching her meaning, he can’t help a small bark of laughter. “No, at least not in the way you’re thinking. …It was an alliance built on mutual respect and a common goal.”

She snorts. “Sounds familiar.”

“Perhaps,” he says with a wry smile. “With some notable differences.”

The breeze bats playfully at a loose curl. Elijah watches it flutter about her face as she bites her lip, deep in thought, and resists the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Soon, the impulse fades.

“Elijah,” she starts, so uncertain that he knows beyond a doubt what will follow. That does not stop his breath from hitching when she asks, “Who was he, the boy she mentioned?”

Silence ensues as Elijah debates over how much he wants to tell her. “His name was Cyrus,” he says, adjusting his cuffs. “A member of the Dupin family.”

Her lips pull into a frown, a line forming between her brows. “Dupin? I don’t know that name.”

“That is unsurprising. The Dupins were an ancient magical lineage from the Old World, powerful as they were proud. The boy was the last of their line,” he explains. “He was an orphan when we came to the city, with a vast inheritance and little sense.” Over his shoulder, he gives Lucie a half smile. “Of course, he took a shine to Niklaus.”

“Of course.”

“With his name and connections, he was vital to our integration into New Orleans society, and it was a fact he used to his advantage once he understood who we were. I believe Cyrus always veered toward ambition, but it was under my brother’s tutelage that the truth of his character began to take shape. From Niklaus, he learned to manipulate, to embrace his lust for power, and, in turn, my brother not only benefited from his status and deep pockets, but I believe the boy amused him.”

“Meanwhile, his powers grew with each passing year, until they were such that the elders of the nine covens feared his potential. I soon found myself equally troubled. You see, Cyrus had become obsessed with the immortality that my siblings and I possess, and I soon understood that he meant to obtain it by any means necessary.”

“But Klaus never meant to turn him.”

“No,” he concedes. “He did not. Niklaus strung the boy along with empty promises of siring him. After all, a powerful warlock beholden to no natural tenets or compunctions about morality was a valuable asset. And when the young Dupin heir finally realized that his master would not give him what he wanted, he endeavored to take it for himself. It was New Orleans that paid the price.”

“What happened?”

“I still do not understand the full extent of what he discovered or how he came upon it, only that it was an unnatural magic, the likes of which I’ve only experienced once, when my mother turned us into vampires. But a darkness fell upon the city as an eclipse blotted out the sun for days on end and it was then that Niklaus realized the true extent of his folly. Thankfully, we were not the only ones seeking a way to end his quest for power.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, for once in their storied history, my family and the witches of New Orleans worked together. Melodia LeMarche was the one to perform the rite that separated him from the Ancestral Well.”

“And Cyrus?”

“Severed from the font of his power, he was just as mortal as any human. Niklaus’ retribution was swift. And buried in unconsecrated ground, Melodia banished his spirit to isolation, in a place where he could never join the Ancestors.”

When Lucie shivers, he takes her hands in his. “There’s nothing to fear, Lucretia. Three centuries later, Cyrus is little more than a ghost story, even in my own mind. The ghosts of the past cannot harm anyone now.”

Seemingly placated, she only nods, her attention diverting upward. He follows her line of sight and watches a shadow pass over her features as a cloud covers the moon.

---

It had been an hour since she’d gotten off the phone with Rebekah. And though Hayley had solicited a promise from her she would come soon, she hadn’t specified when that meant. Waiting was an exposed nerve, one that flared up and gave her a nasty shock with each minute that passed.

Hayley Marshall is sick to death of waiting. Waiting for the end of her pregnancy, waiting to learn what fate Klaus has in store for her, and always, always waiting for someone else to come to her aid. It’s enough to drive a weaker person to insanity, but she’s made of steel and fangs and tougher things. And if it means saving the family she never knew she had, she’ll take on every vampire in Louisiana if she has to.

Besides the occasional peel of raucous laughter wafting up from the courtyard, the compound is quiet. Though bedecked with modern electricity, the light that bounces off the deep gray stucco is just enough to see by. A fact that she uses to her advantage as she slips down the stairs, hugging close to the shadows.

It’s a short walk to the side door, her heart hammering in her chest all the while. She doubts Klaus will inflict any serious punishment if she’s caught, at least not to her personally. And with a death sentence hanging over the wolves, there’s not much else he can do to her that matters.

She hazards a glance over her shoulder. When she finds the hallway empty, she steels herself, ready to bolt out the door and into the night. Before she can take a single step, a figure bars her path.

“Going somewhere?” Diego drawls, amused.

Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches. Even as her hands ball into fists, she knows she’s no match for one of Marcel’s inner circle. Not for the first time since that fateful positive drugstore pregnancy test, she wishes she could shift into her stronger form. The one that would allow her to run away from this mess or at least maul the next person who tries to fuck with her or her baby.

Hayley doesn’t notice so much as a shadow before Diego’s head wrenches to the side at an unnatural angle and he goes limp.

She fights a smile when she glimpses a familiar form. “Took you long enough,” she says as Rebekah Mikaelson throws her victim into a nearby wall.

“Yeah, well, you might have warned me about the guard.”

She manages a huff before spinning around to strike down two more vampires lurking nearby.

“Alright,” she says, circling back over to Hayley. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

When she reaches out for her, Hayley steps back, ignoring Rebekah’s exasperated look. “About that,” she starts, feeling a bit guilty about her lack of transparency on the phone. “That’s not actually the help I had in mind. I’ve been deemed under protection by the almighty Klaus. It’s the werewolves who need help,” she powers through before Rebekah can so much as groan, “He ordered a wolf hunt as some jacked-up peace offering to Marcel’s crew. You have to help them.”

“Out in the Bayou?” Rebekah balks, looking at her like she has two heads. “Do I look like a bloody vampire rescue squad? I think you should be grateful I came to save you.”

And she is grateful, more than she expected. But she needs this and her people need her.

“Listen, Rebekah. All my life, I’ve wanted to know who my real family was, and just as I find out they’re out there in the Bayou, Klaus orders them killed. You want to help me? Help my people. Please.”

And maybe it’s the quaver of earnestness in her voice or maybe just Rebekah’s vulnerabilities where family is concerned, but somehow it works. She spots the moment her words break through, the way Rebekah sighs when she’s about to fold.

“Fine, but you owe me a new pair of boots this time.”

___

Only when Rebekah leaves, the fate of Hayley’s pack in her hands, does Hayley return to the calm oppression of the compound. She travels the winding halls with purpose, unsure of what she’s moving toward until she finds Klaus in the study. Pouring over a book from his spot in an armchair, he doesn’t acknowledge her presence, though she knows he heard her enter. His obvious dismissal stokes the embers of rage that have been roiling all evening, threatening to ignite.

She takes a step forward, fists clenched. “Those werewolves you ordered killed, that’s my family.”

Slowly, he turns his head to look at her. The directness of his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s not just immortal by omniscient. “Not for long, love. I mean, this so-called family of yours, they haven’t done you much good, have they?” She turns away from his stare and the sharp daggers of truth behind his intent to hurt her. “You said it yourself — they abandoned you and left you on your own. Now it’s simply your turn to do the same.”

“Maybe they had their reasons,” she fires back, hearing the undercurrent of doubt.

The book slams closed, punctuating his attempts at nonchalance as he rises to his feet. “Yes, well, I have reasons too, little wolf. If the werewolves are dead, then the vampires have less desire to kill you. I am trying to keep you safe.” And she hears it, the force of conviction in his words. “Not that you appreciate the effort.”

A thought returns to her then, like a bucket of ice water dropped over her head. “And as soon as I have this baby, what happens to me then?”

His silence is damning, amplified only by the flicker of guilt that flashes behind his eyes. She swallows hard, rage tempered only by her growing fear.

“Right... Well, lucky for me, I have a little while before I find out,” she says with a bitter smile. “And in the meantime, I will find a way to pay you back for this. As long as I’m in the family, you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

She doesn’t turn around to watch her words land, but she feels the heat of his eyes on her back until she rounds the corner and disappears from his view.

___

Cami sleeps through the morning and halfway into the afternoon. More than once, Lucie toys with the idea of waking her, but when she remembers breaking the news about Sean’s hex and holding her, helpless as she sobbed in her arms, she can’t bring herself to do it.

Instead, Lucie occupies herself with cleaning up the rest of the evidence of last night’s disaster. And when that’s finished, she plants roots in the kitchen and turns her hand to dinner, hoping that maybe a home-cooked meal with bring some semblance of normalcy back to her life.

She attacks the potato in her hand with short flicks of the wrist that send little chips of peel fluttering, collecting in a pile on the cutting board. All the while, she taps her toes, hums, tries to remember the words to a poem she recited in fourth-grade English. Anything to keep her mind distracted. But try as she might, the events of last evening creep back in, present as a hand on her shoulder - or wrapped around her fingers.

It’s both astounding and irritating how long after he’s gone, Elijah’s presence always seems to linger. Like fragments of his aura make their home in the walls and burrow deep into the floorboards. She’d watched him leave just as dawn was cresting over the neat rows of shingled roofs. And as his retreating form disappeared from view, she felt the same strange desolation that came with his departure. Was this how it would always be between them; one always left behind while the other chased down their demons?

The shuffling of feet against the tile breaks her out of her thoughts. She sets the vegetable down while there’s still something left of it, the little pile of shreddings has doubled in size, and finds Cami standing bleary-eyed in the doorway.

She groans, stretching her arms over her head. “Smells amazing in here.”

Picking up a knife, she dices the potato with deft precision before adding it to the stockpot. “Thought a stew seemed fitting with the chill. Should be ready in a half hour.”

Cami nods, raking a hand through her hair and stifling a yawn. “What time is it?”

Lucie glances towards the green numbers on the microwave. “Just a few minutes before four.”

The information must kick-start some life into her because her eyes go wide with panic. “Shit,” Cami exclaims, casting around for her phone. “I had a lunch shift today. Paulette is going to kill me—”

“It’s all good,” Lucie interjects, stirring the broth with a wooden spoon. “I called and let them know you weren’t feeling well. If your boss asks, you had a migraine. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh.” She seems to relax a little. “No, no. Thanks for doing that.”

Lucie nods as Cami settles in at the kitchen table, occasionally helping with chopping or peeling, but mostly content to pass the time in friendly conversation. Every now and then, she manages a smile and it's a tight, fragile thing as she makes sense of all she's learned. They’ve settled into a comfortable lull when the doorbell rings.

She sets down the knife with a frown, her eyes meeting Cami’s over her shoulder who shrugs. “Keep an eye on this, will you? I should go see who that is.”

It isn’t that strange for someone to be at the door in the middle of the day. In all honesty, it’s likely a solicitor or maybe a neighbor kid looking to make a quick buck moving lawns. Maybe it’s the lingering memory of vampires outside her door, but she feels a flicker of trepidation when she turns the knob.

But as the door pulls free, it isn’t Rebekah’s haughty expression or Elijah’s steady demeanor that greets her but a pair of big blue eyes.

“Davina?”

“I’m sorry to turn up here unannounced but I need your help.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation, brushing past Lucie and into the living room. “Marcel’s been lying to me. I can’t trust him anymore.”

There’s nothing to do but follow. Davina drops her back onto the floor near the couch, craning her head to peek around the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi Cami,” she says with a wave before turning back to Lucie. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

Lucie blinks owlishly, her brain trying to catch up with the teenage witch in her living room. Meanwhile, Cami sets down the spoon and wiping her hand on a dish towel, pads into the living room with a confused expression. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Davina’s brows scrunch together, and then, all at once, understanding seems to dawn. “Oh, you’ve been compelled.”

She closes the distance, and as she leans forward to inspect Cami, Cami leans away. “What are you doing?”

All at once, Lucie’s sluggish thoughts catch up and she feels a surge of apprehension at the look on the girl’s face. “Davina, wait—”

“It’s okay,” she says to Lucie, and then to Cami, she adds with a reassuring smile, “I can fix you. I’m really sorry, but this is gonna hurt.”

[nvrcmplt]

"You don't scream like the rest, tell me, darling. Are you not scared of what I can do?? I could easily rip you into pieces like I did with the others when I fed your insides to my pets."

The creature leans in, hot breath to the nape of their neck as he gleefully watched his captive, the shadow tendrils bounding them, in case they're likely to do something foolish.

The talon fingers roughly grabbed at their chin, raising them up so they're looking at him only. "What would you do if I carve my name in your skin??" The pointy tip draws blood against their skin, watching it blossom like a flower.

"Do you wish to be mine? Or should I eat you from the inside??" (Shadow @ tyler)

It wasn't a lie, though he wasn't screaming at seeing what he was, it wasn't the worse, which was odd to say. It was terrifying, really was, to point Tyler was sure his bladder would of emptied itself here and now if he had anything left in the tank. Instead, he was trying to keep focused, a practice most Witches go through. Working with blood, guts, gore was a common sight - to bury hands into the heart of buck chests, to dismantle bones and muscle, sometimes it was just draining rodents for their blood into pots and things. It was a odd profession being a Witch and yet - sights like these still unsettle the heart.

As his nape was breathed on, fear tickled his skin in goosebumps, his lungs seized in an inhale but his lashes flutter to keep them low. To keep his mind cantered, chanting within his mind, silent and steady - to not stop because he knew the moment he did would be the moment he vomits. Wrists snagged, body bound and heart pounding in his ears, the Candlewitch couldn't understand how the fuck he came to be here? Was it a drink? A blink in the shadows? Something triggered him being here with these other unsavable folks but he had a feeling, this guy - the man that was closing in on him, talking and even touching his face…

Didn't know he was a Witch.

As his cheek was pierced with a sharp gentleness that warmed over with his old blood, Tyler felt his throat dry out. Ah, shit. This guy was insane, completely and yet, Tyler felt the fear cool his fingertips and toes, inhale through his nose and looking down to try and not succumb to their stare, even reply - not until he finished his mantra in mind. It was hard, since he winced at the pain of his cheek soon triggering an itch, stringing from the clear bacteria on that talon. Shit, shit, shit… Slow, steady - slow and steady, slow… Inhaling once more, Tyler lifted his gaze - the sea greens shimmering with a new found answer.

"Sorry… but no thanks." As his lips part, smoke wisps as if a drake was to breathe flame, but it was just a part of Tyler's core, a part of who and what he was. As his old blood ignited, the droplets on those talons began to ignite with its freedom, weeping the pricked cut close in a burn. "Salamander." An utter of a clever beast, a quick thing, a creature that near enough crawled out of Tyler's throat - rested upon his tongue only to open it's slimy maw and expel a flame thick enough to cover the close fuckers face. As his skin took on a sheen that mimicked the small beast, Tyler twisted his wrists, hoping the slick would allow him to slip free of the tendrils that held him so easily - but it wasn't so he could run.

He had no idea where he was, so he was going to do what Witches did best… Protect themselves with any means necessary - after all, Tyler only needed one hand to slip free to swipe at his own blood and mark it over his chest in a sigil of Celtic protection. Swift and at ease, did it turn into a blinding veil, a curtain of morning dawn in the dark place as he held the Salamander from his mouth upon palm now. "Burn it down, Salamander. Let these people rest in peace." Ah - yeah, Tyler wasn't thinking that he'll make it out alive, but he would take this bastard down with him if he had too.

"Svarog Flame." Uttered as the Salamander once more began to inhale deep, vomiting heavier flames, thicker flames, hotter and hotter and hotter flames…

[airabuhan]

COSO IM SCREMAIGN PLEAAASEE HIIAI IS MY LIFEBLOOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH < INSANE HIIAI FAN I WILL GO ABSOLUTELY CRAZY OVER UR HIIAI ART IF U POST IT BTW 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 PLS PLS PLS TELL ME ABT UR HIIAI BRAINROTS PLEASE THEY ARE SO UAURGHRHGGH (no pressure tho ofc <33) anyway stan hiiai foreve r

WAAAAHHHH THANK YOU… if i ever cook hiiai now i’ll post it onto here at least i think? my old hiiais have my older art style and it embarrasses me a little cuz i don’t really like my old art so hghfhhh

OH MAN THE HIIAI BRAINROTS… where do i even begin?!?! hiiro and aira are just VITAL to each other, it’s incredibly hard to talk about either of their characters without describing how much the other’s influence has impacted them, or how much they’ve supported each other and grown together… for aira, hiiro is one of the few people he’s able to lower his guard around without falling back to his people-pleasing habits or forcing himself to be nicer to people because he places so much trust and care onto hiiro… the relationship between the two of them is special because of the time they’ve spent with each other… it’s just, the relationship they share with each other is unique to them

in a sense, they’re also opposites in that the very thing that the other naturally excels in is what they wish they had. like for aira, he really envies hiiro’s natural talent and ability to pick up things easily as someone who’s not naturally gifted in that sense… and for hiiro, he admires aira’s enthusiasm and love for idols, his never-ending creativity… in a sense, it’s this mutual jealousy that eats them up at the core of their character but because they parallel each other in that way, they’re also just. that much stronger together? because they truly love each other and want to support each other… it’s sweet, seeing their relationship blossom into something more akin to a friendly rivalry as they’ve been through so much together that they trust each other wholeheartedly

i’m not wording this well & there’s so much more i could say about them but my phone battery is about to die uhm I LOVE THEM… a lot….. always have since i learned about them basically hghfhh nowadays it’s more like a brainrot that wakes up at the most unexpected times like right now

man i really should draw them

[starwurst]

THE DRUNK

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Jarva Golari

Age: 38

Status: Alive

Role: A pilot and alcoholic who drinks excessively after every battle.

Callsign: Whiskey (Because he’s a drunk)

APPEARANCE

Jarva used to be muscular but now has a clear beer belly forming and his complexion is much ruddier than it once was. His ruddy tan skin contrasts with his stark blond hair, many having a hard time telling if it is white or blond, and his light brown eyes have notable wrinkles when he smiles. He is a handsome man, simply one who has been neglecting himself for a while now. He has a prosthetic left leg.

PERSONALITY

Jovial but lazy, Jarva used to be an incredible charmer but has given up within the last year or two after he asked Hilcox about leaving the remnant but after deciding Hilcox was insane, Jarva is sticking it out while doing the minimum amount of work to avoid drawing too much attention from Hilcox. He maintains a cheery attitude and helps his squad with any favors they may ask but shirks any official duties he can get away with. He is a good person at his core but a little nervous that Hilcox will kill him if he completely stops working. Either way, Jarva is ready to be done. He only escaped being killed by Hilcox because he lied his way out of it, pretending to be relieved he could still serve despite his injury and insisting he only asked about leaving because he feared he would no longer be useful. At this point, he is beginning to think the execution might be better than continuing to serve Hilcox.

HISTORY

Jarva grew up in a seaside town on a lush planet and ended up in the Empire as a child after his rebel parents were captured, since he was young enough not to remember and knew nothing about their involvement. He was placed with a family loyal to the Empire and lived on that planet, thinking the Empire tried to save his parents during a rebel attack. He used to be enthusiastic and loyal to the Empire but after his own traumatic incident in battle where he lost one leg, he no longer wanted to put his life on the line and figured with such a severe injury Hilcox might let him go, but nope. Jarva simply wants to go home and find someone to live out the rest of his days with in a comfortable little house by the water.

[piraytoro]

i am ngl i spent a very long time vehemently believing pete wentz was an abuser and a terrible person because of a lot of, for lack of a better word, discourse culture? i found that blog yourfavesareproblematic at like 13 and i swear it altered the way i see human beings so dramatically and horrifically that to this day i still have to spend a long time arguing with myself to justify enjoying art from people who were deemed problematic for some reason or another.

to be completely honest with you, i didnt even know until right now that the survivor of that abuse never named pete, because of how hard the fandom and discourse blogs around me went on insisting it was him. it was presented as fact, and its insane.

ive also forgotten the point i meant to make with this ask but yknow maybe we should all do more research before throwing a black guy under the bus for things done by someone who we dont have the name of and stop treating peoples Alleged (not even alleged bc he wasnt named) actions from Twenty Years Ago as the very core of who they are and what they stand for. like shit, i was an infant in 2003. yall are gonna tell me someone couldnt change in the TWENTY YEARS ive been alive? ive drastically changed in the past 5 months. come on people.

Literally! Why can’t people just acknowledge that “it’s wrong for adults to date teenagers 10 years younger than them, whether or not they’re technically of age” and “it’s wrong for people on tumblr to accuse a Black man of abuse that doesn’t have his name attached to it based on a racist article from a historically racist publication and a bullshit ‘timeline’ they pulled out of their ass” can, do and should coexist. There have historically been too many Black men falsely accused bc they “fit the description.” While it’s absolutely 100% true that women shouldn’t have to name their abusers in order to be believed if it makes them feel unsafe, “so we should just assume who it was anyway and spread that around” is NOT the correct conclusion to draw from it. There is racism at work here that’s being brushed under the rug

[rcksmith]

Mine — Kaz Brekker

(photo not mine)

Requests: “9 from the fluff prompts with Kaz brekker please? It could be where they're keeping it a secret and it slips out? Thanks”

“Could you possibly do a kaz brekker and reader imagine where they are both like in their mid twenties. Number 9 from the fluff prompts “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" "No, that girl is my wife”, I could just imagine him with the smuggest grin saying it. Your a very good writer and thank you if you decide to write this.”

“Could I get a kaz brekker x reader secret relationship with fluff prompts 5, 7, 12, and 14 please?”

Fluff prompts:

5. ”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.”

7. “I feel like i cant breathe when i’m around you.”

9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”

12. “I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!”

14. “I don’t like to pretend we’re not together.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of fights, mention of post-traumatic stress, fluff too.

Word count: 2k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like. I changed some details a little, hope you don't mind

Normal Rules. Smut Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — —

Fissure. That's what mercenaries, thieves, assassins and his enemies were looking for. A fissure to drive Kaz Brekker to ruin. Burn his empire, wood for wood, until there is nothing left but funeral ashes swept away by the winter wind. Even the most infinitesimal fissure would ensure that his enemies infiltrate, like hungry parasites, into the heart of the dungeon of his deepest secrets. Swallowing, absorbing, any hint of what could do the infamous the Bastard of the Barrel down to his own knees.

And Kaz Brekker feared that if they looked into the most secluded corner of his dungeons, where it was reserved to hide the greatest truths of his soul, they would find the one only thing to beg on his knees for would be something he would do without hesitation.

You.

You were like the last summer solstice in a world ruled by darkness, cold and empty. Which he kept in a chest locked with seven chains.

If he had to describe you with the five senses, Brekker would remind that, when he was in the bitter cold of the ocean, clutching the stiffness of dead and putrefying flesh like a lifeboat, a ray of sunshine, warm as the summer, it opened up through the thunderclouds and came down to his face, warming that spot of skin like a kiss from the sun.

And it would be with that memory that he would describe you.

Kaz Brekker shouldn't have fallen in love with you. He was the person who most understood the disastrous consequences if he let himself get carried away by the way his heart sped up whenever he saw you. If he allowed herself to taste the way all of your heat radiated into his body and made him feel alive. But he fell in love.

Everything was all too much. The feeling of life every time you said his name, like a devotion, something religious, lyrical. The sweetness in your eyes, the warm voice. Everything had been too much.

And what should he do? Tell you he missed you every time you went on a mission? Saying that he were jealous and envy of Jesper because the man managed to make you laugh with a silly joke and hug you tight, something Kaz still hadn't been able to do? Tell you it was almost religious the way he venerated your smile? Of course not. Because all these things would have been sensible, and Kaz couldn't do anything sensible around you.

Because when he saw life offering him, with such joy, the one thing that had been denied him all his life, and that he swore never to crave, his first impulse was anger. Stupid, irrational anger.

So, for the first few moments, his entire reaction to you had been cold, distant, almost avoidant. Because the way his whole body shook in hot spasms when, in that summery tone, you called his name, it was too much for Kaz to handle.

“Kaz!” You call, one night.

He heard your voice from across the crow club, and had to close his eyes tightly at the way his heart leapt in his chest.

"Hey, hey." You appeared beside him, your cheeks chased away by coral red, the happy smile and the sparkle in your eyes as someone who have the path to true happiness. "Jessy said you were wanting to find a new way to invade that bank."

Oh perfect. In the same way his body exalted when he heard the sound of your name and your lips, hearing you call Jesper by that infernal nickname had a much more destabilizing effect. And fierce.

Kaz raised an eyebrow at you, in a nonchalant gesture but inviting you to keep talking.

“I happen to know of an underground path.” For an instant, the pride in your smile made Kaz want to smile too. “You and I can put together a map today and we'll be right tomorrow to go.”

That was one of the times Kaz should have made some dry, disinterested, trivial comment, something that made you not want to spend time with him, something that made you turn around and walk away. He should have turned around and left. He had done this over a thousand times with other people and knew it to be one of the best outings.

Still, the acid comment didn't come and he couldn't turn his back on you.

So, like the idiot he became whenever it came to you, Kaz couldn't help but spend an hour in your company. Even if it resulted in him lying in bed at the end of the day, alone and feeling the guilt gnawing at him more and more.

So, before he even knew it, Kaz was already in his office with you, listening to you chatter about things he knew he should have been paying attention to. But the way the crackling of the fire flames in the fireplace flashed across your face was a distraction of unimaginable proportions.

“Jessy and I…”

“You want to stop.” He found himself saying before he even realized it. “That nickname is already exasperating me.”

“Why? Jealousy?” You joked, oblivious to the truth.

Kaz looked at you like your comment was the most pathetic thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to screaming: ‘I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!.’ But he didn't. Instead, the words that came out were:

“No. It's childish and immature, and it doesn't fit with...”

"What if I call you ‘Darling’?” You rested your chin on both palms of your hand, your elbows resting on his desk in his office.

Kaz's heart skipped a beat.

“That way you won't be jealous of Jessy's nickname and…”

“It's not jealousy!” He countered, and too late realized that he didn't disagree in the first instance about the nickname, but about the green color that emanated from his body.

And you didn't let that go either.

Your eyes took on a caustic gleam that you quickly hid, turning to the map on the table and going back to drawing the paths. “Okay, Darling.”

After that night, Kaz's self-control began to crumble.

He gave you death glares whenever you called him that nickname, but he never dared contradict or scold you. Much less deny it. The truth was, the core of his soul wanted this. He wanted every part of your caress warm as summer. He wanted to appreciate how perfect you looked when you called him that way. As if that nickname was born just to be used between you.

Something unique.

Over time, his body's physical reactions began to be stronger, coercive and overwhelming. Kaz felt dry, burning, and you soothed and inflamed him at the same time. You were the breath of peace, and also a glass of hot brandy.

And everything that he once felt dead, frozen or putrefying, slowly began to blossom, reborn and shine.

"Darling." You said, going behind the chair Kaz was sitting in, submerged in the Krisha security system sheets in front of he. “You've been there for hours.”

He ignored you, though his body was all too aware of yours behind him, the way your breath hit the top of his ear, how your heat hit his back like a high summer breeze. Kaz swallowed hard, ordering his eyes to stay on the pages.

“What are you reading?”

Your voice rang out from the top of his head, and Kaz felt his heart race into a cardiac arrhythmia the second your hands went to the back of the chair and your face tilted, chin hovering millimeters from his shoulder, your nose almost brushing his cheek.

Fucking Saints! You were hot! It was as if you had sun bathed, swam in the flames of fire, and been born into the summer.

Kaz lost his breath. His sanity. His soul.

“Do not do this.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

You looked at him, the furs not touching but breath hitting each other's cheeks. Kaz followed your gaze, and suddenly the world subtly turned hot. Pulsing and muffled.

“What?” You whispered, your heart so fast.

This was the time for Kaz to use the touche in a very valid argument. To make you move away as fast as you approached. To nip in the bud any path this interaction between you could take. He should have said about the touch. But he didn't remember. Kaz didn't remember his limitation, his traumas, his demons.

In that second, of insanity and magic, you couldn't do that just because…

"I feel like I cant breathe when I'm around you." He said.

After that day, Kaz realized that life no longer made sense without having you by his side to share it. Money didn't have the same value anymore if you weren't there, the robberies didn't make sense anymore if he couldn't tell you how it was at the end of the day, or have you by his side to fight.

Very quickly, Kaz Brekker realized that he had lost the battle against his own feelings. Loving you was inevitable. And having you close to him was made as essential as breathing. That's when things between the two of you developed faster, more solid, more right. The weeks turned to months, the months to years, and your relationship fortified as gloriously as the hilt of a sword.

Kaz still had very difficult moments with touching, days when a single brush of fur was unbearable and the mention of a kiss was impossible. But you stayed there. Firm and unshakable. Giving your summer smiles,your warm winks, and his nickname that had the power to soothe every nerve in Kaz's body.

However, the more Kaz understand that he was need you to he still live, the deeper he hid any trace of public affection for you. Any clue that could sparked the theory in someone that you were the reason, for Brekker, for the sun rose every morning. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Never.

Kaz Brekker became very aware that his soul was harnessed to yours. And there was nothing in the world that would take you away from he. Not while he lived, and even seven feet from land, Kaz would still find a way to fight for you.

It was a logical decision when he said you two should get married. Kaz was still trying to maintain his serene posture as his soul burned in a fire too eager and excited to make official anything that said you were his. That he had finally managed to have that ray of sunshine in the midst of the atrocious ocean. You, unlike him, exhaled your happiness in excited squeals, little jumps of joy and a passionate, quick kiss on the man in front of you.

And Kaz understood, as perfectly as the sky are blue, that he would do anything, for the rest of his life, to be worthy of that overwhelming happiness that sparkled in yours smiles.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” He said, feeling himself smile because your happiness for the wedding was exorbitant.

And you, like the little tease you were who loved to make him piss off, smiled even more and hugged him. He love you. Unconditionally.

But, just like the ocean waves, Kaz and you have had your ups and downs. He wasn't a man who had a lot of patience, and you weren't the most obedient, calm woman in the world. You found him exasperating and he found you as stubborn as a door.

"I already said you can't do that!" And there he was, once again, lecturing you because you showed too much affection, in his mind, for him in a public situation.

And, as Kaz fucking Brekker liked to point out, ‘all walls have eyes and ears’.

"We've been together for six years, Kaz!" You tried to keep your blood calm, but you weren't a person to put up with sermons. “Is this going to be our life? Living as if we have the same connection as a boss and an employee?!”

“And what do you want, Y/n?!” He placed both hands on his office desk, looking at you from the other side “Want us to have a party and tell everyone?! Or do you prefer to hang a red target on your chest?!”

"I did not say that!" You were starting to get really angry. “I'm not asking for a billboard saying we're married and you know it! The only thing I'm saying is that you let me choose to sit next to you, take your hand, or tell you I love you when any of us go off on a dangerous mission!"

Kaz shook his head, impassable, his gaze flashing with anger. How did you not realize he was trying to save you?! Save everything you two built, your lives! And all this for what? Walking hand in hand on the street? It was ridiculous!

“This is indisputable!”

“Kaz…”

“I said no!” He slapped his hands on the table.

A less brave woman would have cringed. But not you.

“I don’t like to pretend we’re not together!”

“And I don't like a fucking girl who complains all the fucking time about something I do to save her! But it feels like I've been put up with it for six years, doesn't it?!”

The words hit you like a slap. Crackling, burning and electrifying. You felt yourself holding your breath and your shoulders instinctively tightening back. The room was silent. Loaded with tension, as if lightning had just hit the ground.

You looked at Kaz in amazement. And he pursed his lips when he realized what he'd said.

“Put up with? And you call me ‘fucking girl’ ?” You repeated, your voice low, serious and in a mixture of hurt and outrage. “Good to know.”

You turned your back, walking out of the office and slamming the door behind you hard, making the thud reverberate through the corridors of Kaz's soul.

"Y/n!" He called you, striding to the door "Y/n!"

But when Kaz pulled the doorknob and took a few steps down the hall, it wasn't you he bumped into. It was Nina, trying to hide, in a very terrible way, her curious and shocked expression. In female hands she carried a small stack of documents, probably something important that Kaz needed to check.

He had to check that out. But his eyes, restless and quick, wandered the great hall of the crow club below, watching your figure pass between the bodies, advancing towards the exit.

"Sooo…" Nina started, even though the attention wasn't on her. "Couple fights, right?"

But Kaz didn't think before nodding, trying to get past Nina to catch up with you. But of course the girl wasn't going to let Brekker get away with it that quickly. She was betting with Inej how long you two would pretend to have nothing. And now she was going to get the truth!

"So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" The smile of shock and excitement was wide open on her face.

Kaz muttered a curse, gently pushing the girl aside and moving towards the stairs, aiming to catch up with you. But not before answering:

"No, that girl is my wife!"