#penelope is so so dear to me and i have somehow never drawn her so i am so glad i had the chance to for this :D

[moonpleaser]

my d20 exchange gift for @burn-towns-get-money !!! penelope everpetal my beloved <3

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[petriichvrs]

DAY SIX   :   one final word   /   a letter to noxtms.

dear :  alyssa, amanda, atlas, bee, beth, birdie, blo, cherry, chris, daisy, dew, gabi, gia, hunter, j, la, lex, lucy, maeve, mozzie, nancy, plume, r, rosie, sam and last but never  least, vicky.

here’s the thing. i try as much as possible to say how much i appreciate all of you having joined nox as often as i can, because i think as a person i have a tendency not to be entirely present of all the time, even while i seem it, and it’s important to me - as both admin and as someone who’s befriended what feels like everyone here - that you all know. the thing is, i’ve admined a lot of roleplays over the time i’ve been writing, some of them for longer than others, and i’ve met a bunch of you both in those groups and outside of them. i have a lot of experience, but i had never broken into the harry potter fandom ( in spite of it having formed such a key part of my childhood ) and i hadn’t realized that when i opened nox, i was going to discover such a community. 

it’s really not me just saying it when i say that nox wouldn’t be NOXTMS without each and every one of you. i’m proud of the work i’ve put into the group and i accept however much i’m allowed to of the praise for it, but i’ve put maybe more into other groups and never had them feel the way that nox does. we’re all aware, obviously, it takes every writer in a group to make it something special, and i think that it’s every single one of you who has turned this group into my absolute favorite. there’s things in nox right now - like the marauders verse, but even just movie nights and a successful points system and little ic meetings - that i never could have done in another group because they just wouldn’t have worked, the combination wasn’t there, but i feel like... i struck gold with each of you, as members ? i feel like i got beyond LUCKY, and i have a tendency to over worry about nox, but you guys always make me feel a little bit safer in the knowledge that the group is okay, it’s doing good, and it’s everything i could have ever wanted.

i tried to find praise in other places for you all over the course of this meme, but i’m just going to go for one quick fire round. alyssa, you really are so fucking funny, and you created something really special with avalon and the king arthur myth thing she’s got going on. amanda, mary is the most thought out oc i’ve maybe ever seen and we might’ve had to wait a while for a ron, but he’s brilliant. atlas, you have a tendency to not see yourself the way you ought to, but heather and jo are two showstopping characters that we’re so lucky to have, and you yourself are a wonderful member who i’m so glad came back. bee, i’ve seen what you can do with harry elsewhere and i have you to thank for the fact nox even exists, really : you reminded me through your writing how much i love the world, and your takes on marietta and charlie are perfect. beth, lavender is such an unfairly hated character in canon, and she deserved someone like you picking her up and breathing fresh life into her, which you’re doing amazingly. birdie, for someone who likes to admit they haven’t done much in groups, you’ve really slotted yourself right in here, and i can’t pluck one character from your lineup - you do something admirable with all of them, and i really do hope you’ll RECONSIDER your stance on a fifth. blo... i love everything you do, i really always have, and your writing is a testament to just how talented you are, but i don’t know one person who puts as much continuous thought into their characters as you do, and it really shows.

cherry, i made a joke once about how if you could do something special with jughead jones i shouldn’t be shocked about what you can do with better source characters, but it’s not even a joke anymore... what you started with hermione you’re continuing with lucius and percy, and i love everything about them. chris, this is the second time you’ve joined nox as someone who doesn’t know much about it, but i’m so grateful you did it as my characters kid - i love when we get to play family dynamics most of all, and oriana is an absolute gem. daisy, chatting with you is a dream, and your mind is just... amazing - you do something with george that plays into my favorite sort of character tropes, and zephyrine is something so different and fun that i can’t wait to write with them too. dew, not just anyone would pick up gregory goyle and try and do something amazing with him, so i’ve been not-so-patiently waiting to toss everyone i’ve got at him since your intro. gabi, knox is one of my favorite ocs and for someone who only brought in an oc, to start with, you’ve managed to slot her in brilliantly. gia, what can i even say for you... as always you bring everything you have to the table, and i get to write not just connections that are genuinely FUN ( damien and niko, anybody? ) but also my favorite sort, which comprise of... family and friendships like molly / ginny & tonks / ginny with one of my favorite writers, yet again. hunter, i’m so glad i borderline peer pressured you into picking up pansy, because she’s been a joy to see in action, and a pretty great addition to your roster of characters - that already includes angelina and mason, two characters i love reading the replies of. 

j, most astoria’s i’ve seen have gotten lost on the ‘draco’s dead wife’ thing and have forgotten to turn her into her own, unique character - the same can’t be said here, and astoria has fast become one of my favorite individual characters because you’re at her heart. la, i haven’t gotten to see enough of beatrix yet, but i think anyone who wants to play into an umbridge family is so brave and so talented, so i can’t wait to see and do more. lex... absolute love of my fuckin life ? not many people would join a group even though they don’t know much of the source material and absolutely immerse themself in it, but you’ve done this now... more than once- and each and every time, you manage to craft characters i really do ROOT for and love so much. please be fuckin nicer to yourself always, you’re so talented and i love you so much. lucy, gabrielle deserves to be given a character arc beyond ‘damsel in distress’, and so far, i’ve loved everything you’ve done with her. she’s a breath of fresh air on the dash and i think we’re lucky to have you ! maeve, LISTEN. LISTEN TO ME. I’M HOLDING YOUR FACE BETWEEN MY HANDS RIGHT NOW, BECAUSE THIS IS SO UNBELIEVABLY EMBARRASSING: YOU ARE SO TALENTED, YOU ARE SO IMPORTANT TO THE FUNDAMENTAL SOMETHING THAT MAKES UP WHAT NOX IS, YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME CHARACTERS I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW I NEEDED SO BADLY ( HELLO THEO N OLIVER ) AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, YOU’VE DONE SOMETHING SO WONDERFUL WITH EVERY PORTRAYAL AND YOUR AESTHETICS FOR DENNIS MADE ME CRY.  mozzie, you are ALSO so fucking funny, and you are yet another writer that i feel.. so lucky has been drawn to nox - blaise and luna are fascinating characters in canon, sure, but you have done something so much BETTER with them here and i cannot stress that enough to you. nancy, selene is such a fun oc, and i really, really mean that. she’s something different to the status quo, and i feel blessed that i get to have as close a connection as i do with her. 

plume, you yourself have been nothing short of the most lovely ooc presence, and i’m so glad that it’s someone like you who’s bringing parvati patil ( the noxtms variant ) to life, and so happy whenever i see her on the dash. r, i could go on for paragraphs on you alone - you were always one of my favorite writers in eq, and i was always so HOPEFUL you would finally cave and join nox. thank you for being here, and thank you for my daughter, thank you for my sister, thank you for these characters i love. rosie, you haven’t gotten a chance to even settle in yet, but that isn’t going to stop me from expressing how excited i am to have a bill weasley, finally, and to see what you do with him ! sam, the other love of my life... you don’t get enough CREDIT for just how brilliantly you’ve characterized viktor krum, especially, but you also don’t get enough for how you gave us the loveliest child of severus snape we could have ever asked for, and the hottest dowson i ever did see. you go through it far more than you should have to, but you’re such a talented writer and such a staunch friend who i feel lucky to have made. and vicky, once again : last in alphabetical order, but certainly not in my heart. did i expect in 2020 to bond with someone over buffy ? not even a little. but i really was so fuckin’ DELIGHTED to have something i could talk to you about cause you’re just... cool, vicky, you’re so so cool, and you’re so talented at seemingly... everything ? making gifs, being a pal, writing characters like dudley dursley but also somehow making alicia and penelope equally different and fascinating and cool ? have i said cool ? have i said it ENOUGH ? 

i don’t want to be done, here, but i didn’t expect for this to take so many words, so i should probably wrap it up fairly snappily : thank you all so much for joining this group i love so much, and please know regardless of all else, i love everything you’re all DOING, and everything i see. i don’t say that enough, for certain, but i’m going to try and be better about it. beep beep, bitches : it’s my undying love and affection. 

not to sound like severus snape but like. always,

rachel.

[nelllraiser]

memento mori | luce & nell

TAKES PLACE: after this self-para. PARTIES: @divineluce, august (npc), @nelllraiser.

It was time for the ceremony that Nell and August had been preparing for in the forest when they’d searched for herbs— the same occurrence that had put Nell on edge for the last few days around the young man, worried that perhaps somehow, something had been knocked loose in his head that shouldn’t have been. To be honest, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. After all, she’d botched the magic to begin with...hadn’t she? Memories and the like had never been her forte, and her panic at the time of casting the spell couldn’t have helped. Trying to ignore all that, she focused on Luce’s hand gripped in her’s, and the words they were chanting around the epicenter of their magic, the altar perfectly set with all the elements they’d collected. Her other hand was linked in August’s a cruel twist of fate, but one she’d told herself she would handle. Around them were the rest of the coven, hands linked in an impressively large circle, all chanting in unison. When there came a break, Nell looked to her older sister, much preferring a conversation with her over whatever might spring from talking with August. “How you doing? Are you as hungry as I am?”

Coven business was boring, but there wasn’t much that could be done for it. The gathering of ingredients, the chanting, the holding of hands. Luce had done it hundreds of times before and would probably be stuck doing it hundreds of more times to come. When the circle broke and they were able to take a break from the ritual, Luce attempted to sneak off away from the rest, hoping that she could cut and run as soon as this was all done. But, the attempt was in vain when Nell seemed keen to keep an eye on her. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m starved. I always forget how long these things take. You’d think I would after doing them for fucking forever.” She said. Off to their right, one of the older women of the coven sniffed in mild disdain at her use of profanity. Rolling her eyes, Luce turned her back on the old crone. “What about you? Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated and all that jazz?” She said, waving her hands exaggeratedly. 

As soon as Luce made her hunger known, Nell was sneaking a little bag of Takis from her pocket, even though food was generally not allowed during castings. Too much of a distraction. It only took a moment to offer one to Luce, though. “Quick before someone-” It was too late, and it seemed that August was quick on the uptake. “Penelope, you know you’re not supposed to have food.” She turned to face August, expression twisted into annoyance with a flash of anger as she retorted, “And you know you’re not supposed to-” The end of her words would never be heard, though. As soon as August saw her face, a bloodcurdling scream seemed to erupt out of him from nowhere, his knees buckling underneath him. Nell hated the man, but still she lurched forwards, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Luce, help me get him up!” The coven’s attention had been drawn as well, and Nell could see Nisa already moving towards them, a pit of dread forming in her gut as their mother closed in. As quickly as the screaming had begun, it stopped, and August was left pointing an accusing finger at Nell, tortured eyes finding her’s. “You! You fucking bitch!” 

As Luce was about to grab a taki from the bag, leave it to fucking August to catch them in the act. Rolling her eyes, she folded her arms across her chest but was startled when August let out an awful, wrenching scream. “What the fuck.” Not needing to be told twice, Luce grabbed August, hefting his weight up onto one of her shoulders. His legs dragged against the ground for a moment before he righted himself, and swore at her sister. What the fuck? Glancing over at their mother in the crowd, Luce gritted her teeth. “Nell. What the fuck is going on?” She asked under her teeth as she waved some of the nearer coven members away from them. “You know how coven rivalries can be. August lost a bad bet, Happy Beltane everyone.” She said with a nod and a smile as she dug her hand into the man’s arm forcefully. Whatever his deal was, it could be handled without screaming blooding fucking murder in front of the coven. 

“Get him out of here,” Nell said hurriedly, utter panic in her voice. More panic than she’d had in her words for longer than she could remember. “Get him out of here!” she repeated as her only answer, grabbing onto August’s legs to help Luce carry him as she magically tidied a gag onto him as well, fear gripping her for once in her life. Nisa sent that icy stare in the direction of her youngest daughter, but her duty to the coven kept her set in place, and soon enough her voice was carrying over the circle, gathering the magic-folk together again. “Don’t worry, everyone! I’m sure my daughters and August are more than capable of sorting out their differences.” Without even realizing it, she was helping Nell and Luce’s escape. Nell hurried along with the man between her and her sister, calling out “There’s the storage shed! We can put him in there.” And then what? Now what the fuck was she supposed to do?

Hefting August’s weight, Luce grunted as she hauled him away from the coven. She could feel the daggers been sent in their direction from their mother, but it was all she could do to just keep her head down and keep moving. It was better to just fucking grit her teeth and get through this. Nell better have a good explanation for what was going on. “S’cuse us, coming through. Happy Beltane.” Luce nodded, hoping that keeping up the attitude would be enough of a disguise for the others to leave their questions alone. It was just another instance of the Vural daughters, acting out again. Kicking open the door to the storage shed, she glanced down and saw that August was mouthing things, terrible things, but nothing was coming out. Dropping him to the ground, she planted her foot squarely on his chest before pointing at Nell. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Thank god for Luce. Nell could have probably figured out a way to get August out of the center of attention, but with her sister here— it moved much faster. Once August was down, Nell paused to catch her breath, wondering just how she was meant to deal with the past coming to bite her in the ass. “I don’t even know how to- I can’t explain it,” Nell began, not wanting to reveal the truth to her sister. Bea and her were already on thin enough ice. She didn’t need to add Luce to the pile. Instead of explaining, she let loose the invisible gag with a snap of her fingers, hoping that would be distraction enough to keep her sister preoccupied. It was a mistake.

As soon as his binding was loose, August was yelling once again, trying to scramble to his feet underneath Luce’s foot. “You fucking took my memories! Fucking months of them! Everyone thought I was fucking crazy just because you couldn’t have people knowing-” Promptly, Nell harshly punted August in between his legs, panic showing her no other option as he prepared to spill her secrets. The ones of demons and the Ring that she’d swear no one near or family or the coven would ever know. 

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Nell hissed as August groaned in pain, his words successfully cut off. 

Raising an eyebrow, Luce glanced down at the dude she had pinned underfoot. “You can’t explain? Define, can’t for me there.” But, before she could say anything more, the spell that Nell had put on him faded and suddenly August was yelling, screaming, saying things about memories. Stolen memories. All because of Nell not having people know-- Eyes hardening as her sister gave him a solid kick to the dick, her lip pressed together into a thin line. What the fuck was August talking about. Crouching down so her boot was pressed firmly against his sternum, the weight growing as she bent low, she stared down at the man. “No, c’mon Auggie, go ahead. Share with the class. Why do you think my sister took your memories, huh?” She said before turning her gaze up to her sister. “Unless you can find a way to explain it to me yourself?” Luce asked, the ultimatum laid bare. Either way, she was going to find out what was going on here. 

“It doesn’t matter!” Nell shouted as her own answer to her sister’s question that was obviously not meant for her. That was more than enough to get August shouting again. “It doesn’t fucking matter, my ass!” The words ended in another blood curdling scream, not unlike the one he’d let loose in the coven circle. Apparently...having memories that were once lost to you rush back in droves wasn’t the most comfortable experience. It was most likely too much for any human mind to handle, Nell’s botched magic finally having worn off after all this time. Too many memories, too much information for the fragile psyche to handle all at once. “I took his memories! Alright?” she exclaimed, facing Luce with every crevice of her face etched in slight hysteria. “I didn’t mean to take as much as I did! I fucked it up! I wouldn’t have done if it I knew it’d get fucked up!” But wouldn’t she have? What extent would she go to when it came to protecting her place in the coven, and the last of the love her family had for her? 

August’s screams rattled through the storage shed and Luce looked around, frustrated. This was a goddamn shed-- there. Grabbing a rag from a bin, she shoved it into his mouth. “Don’t bite your tongue and you’ll get to keep that too.” She said to him before turning to look at her sister. As she listened, as she saw the panic, the fear and heard them in her words, Luce’s concern only grew. Why the fuck had Nell taken August’s memories? Why? What was she trying to hide? “Nell, keep your voice down, otherwise the entire coven will find out that you took his fucking memories. And they’ll all come running to see what can be done for dear little Auggie’s brain.” She said, nudging him with her boot, as he continued to writhe on the ground. “What do you mean, you fucked up?” She wanted answers, now. Why was Nell so freaked? Why had she even attempted something as dangerous as messing with memory? What could be that bad?

It was strange, being the one needing reminding to lower her voice. Nell was so used to being the voice of reason in supernaturally charged situations, but this was her own fuck up. Not some random person’s that she could dive into and fix for them. And it seemed she hadn’t the slightest clue how to fix her own problem. Looking down at August, she watched as he tried to work his way around the cloth, wishing she could wipe him from the face of the planet with the force of her disdainful look alone. Finally, she seemed to calm, finding a strangely serene place as she spoke, knowing what she needed to do. “I took too much. I meant to take the one memory. I took...more than that. It was in Peru. That’s why they found him there when he went ‘missing’.” If only he could have stayed missing. August wasn’t worth this. He’d always been jealous, vindictive, petty. Fuck him for sticking his nose in her business in the first place. She have to choose, she realized. Luce wasn’t going to leave this shed without more of an explanation. Nell recognized the look of determination on her sister’s face, knowing it well because of how often she’d seen nearly the same expression staring her back in the mirror’s reflection. The Ring or the demons? The answer was obvious. One would get her kicked from the coven, and possibly earn her family’s hate. The other...hopefully just disapproval when it came to Luce. “He caught me doing something he shouldn’t have. Something I don’t want people to know about.”

“What happened in Peru?” Luce demanded. What the fuck had her sister gotten into on her travels? Nell had left White Crest and when she had, Luce had hoped that her younger sister would have found some big, bold adventure that suited her. Something that matched her spirit. And maybe she had. And maybe this adventure of hers had followed her home, hell-bent on dragging Nell back with it. Either way, the situation made her feel on edge. As much as Luce liked to joke about saying fuck it all to the rules, as much as she enjoyed blowing up buildings, and getting into fights with shitheads-- she hated lies. She hated lies and secrets and hated the idea that her sister was hiding something from her. “What is it? I’m not leaving until you tell me. You can’t expect me to just drag this dude into a shed and be cool with it. What did you do?”

Normally, Nell would have balked at her sister’s tone, giving it back in return without hesitation. But this was too serious of a matter to let herself be ruled solely by emotion. Though, if one looked closely...she was still being steered by the single emotion that was paired with making sure no one close to the family or the coven ever found out about her dealings with demons. “You can’t tell Bea, Luce. Or Mom. Or Dad. No one would ever let me hear the end of it. You know how this family is. You get it.” If she had to protect herself by appealing to her sister’s sympathies, she would, though it wasn’t even manipulation so much as the truth. There were plenty of reasons she hadn’t wanted her family finding out about the Ring. “And I...people wouldn’t understand. They’d- they might hate me.” She’d seen the way Hunters were treated, and even she was sometimes guilty of condemning them. And was she really that much better than them with what she did? “Have you ever heard of the Ring?”

The longer Nell continued to talk, the more Luce felt uneasy. What the fuck had she done? There was tons of shit that she didn’t want the family to know-- she didn’t want them to know why she was so reluctant to branch out from her styles of magic, she didn’t want them to know why she had stayed in White Crest for as long as she had, she didn’t want them to know about her ambitions and desires and dreams. But none of those ever required her to take the memory from someone. “Okay. Fine.” She said, arms still folded across her chest, but the gesture was growing less and less authoritative and more as though she was trying to keep herself together. Frowning at Nell’s words, Luce blinked. “What, the shitty Japanese horror movie?”

Nell saw her sister loosening in the slightest and latched onto it for dear life, hoping this meant that...maybe she could still save this, somehow. “No, not the movie.” August continued to struggle on the ground, as adverse to this conversation as ever, wishing dearly he could be rid of this gag, and these waterfalling and returning memories, and shout the truth to the mountaintops. It hadn’t been the Ring that he cared about. It was the fucking demons. That’s what had been his golden ticket to getting rid of Nell once and for all before it had been ripped from his grasp, straight out of his skull. Nell paid his struggles no mind. “It’s a supernatural fighting ring. Underground in White Crest. Pretty illegal. I...August caught me catching monsters for them. Taking them in to fight for the Ring.” The news seemed to fall heavy from her lips, but Nell knew if she didn’t reveal this in one go, she might not be able to do it at all. “That’s...why I didn’t want anyone to find out. That’s why I tried to take the memory, though. I didn’t want to take that much, though.” She could have tried to give them back, she supposed. But she’d been too worried that doing so might give him the memories of the demon as well.

Ignoring the way dear old Auggie squirmed below them, Luce focused in on her sister. Whatever the fuck she was going to tell her about this ring thing, it clearly mattered. And as the words came out, her lips pursed together in a tight line. A supernatural fight club. And her sister, was out there, nabbing monsters to fight… and presumably die, in the Ring. Shaking her head, Luce frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she processed what Nell had told her. She didn’t care much for monsters-- look at Mr. Blume. She’d had no problem murdering his fucked up fext ass. It was in the name of eliminating a threat, getting rid of something that could harm the people she cared about. But throwing them into a fighting ring, watching them duke it out? That... that was something different. “No wonder you don’t want Mom and Dad to know.” She said with a sardonic laugh. “What now? Are you going to try and take his memory again?” And are you going to try and take mine, she wondered. If her sister had gone to such great lengths to hide this, then why was she telling her now?

“Yeah,” Nell simply stated, not knowing what else to say for a moment. Beneath the worry that came with baring the Ring to her sister, the anxiety that Luce might hate her for what she took part in, there also lay something else. The Ring was finally, decidedly, her thing. A part of the world she could keep for herself and not share with her sisters. A place where she wasn’t a Vural, or so-and-so’s sibling. She was just Nell. And that’s all people needed or wanted to know. Would asking Luce not to look for the Ring just make her sister more curious about it? She couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want her older sister near it. “I don’t know.” Again, Nell’s voice grew smaller, hating that she couldn’t figure out a path. There was never a time she couldn’t see a way forward, or find a way out. “I don’t know.” If she were being honest, Nell would have taken his memories again in a heartbeat, but with Luce here, with the eyes of another party watching… “I can’t take the memories. I don’t know what to do, Luce.” 

The tone of her sister’s words, the way she sounded so lost, so defeated. Luce couldn’t help but want to be the big sister who would sweep her up in her arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But, she knew she couldn’t. Because she didn’t know if things would be okay. Nell was involved in shit that would make Mom and Dad practically scream with rage and disapproval. And here was August, their loose end. “We’ll figure something out.” She said, the word choice deliberate. We. Together, they’d fix this shit. She wasn’t going to leave Nell out to dry. And she wasn’t going to let little Auggie go running his mouth. Crouching back down, Luce began to draw upon the fire magic within herself, her breathing smooth and controlled. The man stared up at them both, anger in his eyes, but something else. A seed of fear. “August. Whatever you saw my sister do, whatever you think you saw her do… It’s in your best interest to just forget about it. You know, memory’s a tricky thing. Sometimes you think you see someone doing something they weren’t meant to, other times it’s just a flash of the light.” At that, Luce’s hand erupted into brilliant blue flames, both cold to look at and unbearably, searing hot. Leaning forward, she grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt with her free hand and began to bring the flames closer to his face. “What was it, Auggie? A monster? Or a trick of the light?” He wasn’t going to threaten her sister. He wasn’t going to out her to their parents. He wasn’t going to do jack fucking shit if she had her way.

As she watched the fire glow between her sister and August, a stab of guilt stung in Nell’s stomach. Not for August, she had little regret for the pain she’d caused him, only upset that this has all boiled over and caused such problems. The discomfort in her gut was a product of watching her sister threaten a man for her, knowing that Luce was good, that Nell had tested all the things her older sister valued over the span of the last fifteen minutes, and Luce had chosen her. She should feel happy, relieved even, but mostly all she could think about was how she was dragging her sister down with her into this dark pit. “We’ll figure something out,” she echoed, adding a depth to the words for August’s sake. “I can promise you that.” If he thought they were willing to kill him, that was all for the better. With the cloth still in his mouth, August had no means to answer other than a hateful glare towards the pair of them, though his gaze flickered nervously between them and the fire. Finally, there was a near imperceptible nod that shook his head, and though the Vurals might have won the day, he promised himself that he would win the battle. One way or another.

[atlantic-riona]

modern Helen and Penelope, Sherlock, and Tempest Mac? (If you don't feel like doing all of these, please just pick your favorite--I'm just intrigued by ALL of these.)

ooh you managed to pick all the older ones! I am quite fond of these still, so I’ll do all three!

putting it all under a cut because it got quite long:

modern Helen and Penelope was a modern AU (as the name suggests), but there were still gods and magic and heroes, plus a bunch of other mythologies were included as well. basically, the plot sort of revolved around Helen, who’s going to be in an arranged marriage, deciding to abscond with Paris, which kicks off a whole bunch of other things (I don’t quite remember the details anymore, but I do distinctly remember that the Irish heroes got involved somehow, and the...uhhh...well, some other heroes got involved too but I never wrote any of their names down, so 😅). but it also revolved around Odysseus and Penelope falling in love, which I’m a sucker for. in honor of that, here’s the part I wrote with Odysseus:

Her heart skips a beat as she realizes who she’s looking at, and she hastens to finish before Helen catches on. “With—what’s his name, Odysseus, I think.”

“The island king’s son?” Helen sounds disinterested, and Penelope silently thanks any gods listening. “I can’t remember—is he one of the good-looking ones? They’ve all become a blur.”

“He—” Penelope’s tongue, usually so nimble, stutters to a halt. All she has to do is say no, and her cousin will move on. But she can’t bring herself to lie. Not about him.

Helen watches with growing interest as Penelope makes a few inarticulate sounds before subsiding into a blushing silence. “You know what? Maybe I should refresh my memory. Come on, cuz.”

She strides away, moving with easy confidence as Penelope, her stomach filled with dread, follows. 

Her cousin has the ability to be seen or to be Seen. In other words, there are times like now, where the two of them pass through crowds with barely a second glance from anyone, and then there are times when Helen is the center of any room she walks into. And she can switch back and forth with ease.

Odysseus and his friend are bent over a table covered with hastily drawn maps and pretzels acting as soldiers. Someone nearby laughs, loudly, and her heart pounds in her ears. Odysseus is shorter than the other boy, but has broader shoulders. Recklessly, Penelope decides that despite the other boy’s good looks and easy smile, Odysseus has a far better smirk. Neither of them look up as the girls approach.

“So you see, the king really ought to have placed his troops there.”

“Ah, but have you considered,” says Odysseus, picking up another pretzel and eating it, “that the river was too exposed for a stand against the invaders? At the time, the forest seemed the better option.”

Helen leans over to look at the maps. “Goodness,” she says airily, as if the very sight of the battle maps are too much for her, although Penelope has played enough strategy games with her cousin to know that Helen would wipe the floor with anyone at this table, not including Penelope herself. “All those pieces look so very lonely. Surely you cannot win a war with so few soldiers?”

“Well, they represent battalions, not individual soldiers,” says Odysseus absently, and then he looks up.

From the way that he and his friend become still, it’s clear that Helen wishes to be Seen. They’re transfixed, the way one stares at a comet or tornado. Penelope might as well be the air, for all they see her.

In a fair world, Penelope might have been considered beautiful.

In that world, Helen would have to not exist.

As it is, Penelope contents herself with being considered wise beyond her years, although wisdom seems a poor consolation prize in moments like these.

“Helen,” Odysseus says finally. He clears his throat. “Aren’t you supposed—”

She reaches out and covers his hand with her own. “Oh, that. Being cooped up all day is no fun, I tell you. So I convinced Penelope to take me here with her.” Odysseus’ gaze drifts to Penelope. He has very lovely brown eyes. Helen clearly doesn’t care for the shift in his attention, for she laughs prettily and Penelope does not exist again. “Let’s keep this our little secret, shall we? And by that I mean don’t tell my father.”

Odysseus nods slowly. He looks around, up, down, and finally settles on asking, “Won’t you sit down?”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtful,” Helen says, and promptly does. The other boy does as well, which leaves only the one seat—Odysseus’. 

“You and Penelope will have to share,” Helen observes, sharp gaze trained on her cousin.

Penelope takes a deep breath. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

may actually pick this one up in the future, idk

Sherlock was a mini-play I wrote for my high school; they were doing a play (with Sherlock Holmes) that needed a “fake start,” one that was really ridiculous, so I wrote one for them that I thought might fit the bill. I have a lot of favorite ridiculous moments but here are a few:

SHERLOCK (abruptly): How’s Mary?

WATSON: //children...oh, Mary’s fine, she’s fine - so’s Henry’s two little sisters, Emma and Jane. Right terrors they are. Twin disasters, you might say. (He chuckles.)

SHERLOCK: Twins?

WATSON: How did you -

SHERLOCK: Your enjoyment in that atrocious and badly delivered pun gave up the game.

HENRY: The kids nowadays call that a dad joke.

---

HOLMES: You took your time slinking out from the woodwork again, my old enemy.

MORIARTY looks embarrassed. 

MORIARTY: I had to make tenure. My apologies for delaying our little games, Holmes.

HOLMES: Quite understandable. You cad.

MORIARTY: I deserved that one, I’m afraid. But not anymore than that, Holmes!

HOLMES: I apologize. I had to get it out of my system.

MORIARTY: Of course.

---

HOLMES: To answer your question…

He realizes that he doesn’t know her name.

HOLMES: ...er, dear, Moriarty is in fact about to offer us tea.

MORIARTY: Quite right. I put the kettle on before you woke up. Two sugars as usual, Holmes?

HOLMES: Once again you try to trick me, old enemy. You know perfectly well that I drink it black.

MORIARTY snaps his fingers.

MORIARTY: Foiled again, Holmes!

it was meant to be really bad, because Holmes (the real one for the play) comes out and demands to know what Watson (the real one for the play) is writing, at which point the actual play would start 😂😂

Tempest Mac is, I think, the only sci-fi story I’ve ever written?? it’s about this little girl in the future, in space, who’s Catholic and who meets an alien, while also solving important mysteries (like where the cookie jar went 😂😂)

that...was pretty much all the plot I had planned out, I think

but here’s what I had:

Someone had moved the cookie jar again.

Tempest Mac made a thoughtful face as she considered the scene of the crime. Then she went and fetched a tall stool, a flashlight, and a thick book detailing the customs and mannerisms of the Hazien people (which she was only a quarter of the way through, having only started at breakfast this morning). One never knew what might come in handy.

Just as she had gotten the book settled in place on the countertop, with one foot balanced neatly on the stool and the other on the book, and was peering into the highest cupboard with the flashlight, a shrill, startled voice rang out behind her. “Tempest! What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Finding the cookie jar, Aunti,” Tempest replied calmly, still shining the flashlight into the cupboard. In addition, they weren’t on Earth, they were on Haz—a few hundred lightyears away—so really, Aunti should have said, ‘What on Haz do you think you’re doing?’ but she knew when to let things go. “Somebody’s moved it again.”

“You don’t need a cookie right now, you’ve just had lunch,” her aunt scolded, lifting her off the stool and onto the ground without hardly any effort. “Wait until after dinner.”

“I don’t want a cookie, I want to know who keeps moving the cookie jar,” Tempest protested, but Aunti paid her no heed and sent her out of the kitchen to water the small garden out back.

Tempest Mac was six years old, small of stature, and what some people referred to as ‘precocious.’ Tempest gently argued with these people that no, she wasn’t precocious, she simply thought thoughts in a sensible way. Nevertheless, her grave eyes, quiet way of asking commonsense questions, and aptitude at reading far above her age level made the debate moot, as far as people were concerned.

Most people would rather chalk up things and people who don’t appear to make sense at first as anomalies, rather than investigate further. But then, this is because many people see the world like a black ink stamp pattern on a clean sheet of paper—easy, simple and pretty, in an orderly, bureaucratic sort of way. If the world is ordered and lovely in its organization, then so too can lives and people be the same way. If the world is a jumbled, chaotic, sloppy finger-painting done by an overenthusiastic four year old, then it is much harder for people to convince themselves that their lives may be ordered and simplistic. Such is life.

There’s a reason “Aunti” is spelled the way it is, but for the life of me I can’t remember why