#the one render of him i keep seeing has his head at an angle so it looks a lot slimmer than it really is

[subsequentibis]

khamsin redraws from the one cutscene to get the Feel for him better and also bc he pulls some great faces

[fxstpace]

how you get the girl; teaser (yoon jeonghan)

summary: when you lose a bet against your brother and he forces you to go on a blind date, the last thing you expect is to find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep, with a bouquet in his hand and a confession on his lips.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au (ft. brother!joshua hong) teaser word count: 0.6k

⇢ warnings: profanity (full warnings tba)

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for the shower.”

“No problem.” You swallow the hitch in your voice, gripping the chopsticks in your hand tightly. “I hope the water was warm.”

“It was.” Jeonghan hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering all across your kitchen before finally meeting your gaze. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m just making ramen. Couldn’t find anything else, sorry.” 

You hate the way your throat dries and your mouth clams up. You rest your hip on the counter, keeping your body angled sideways so you can keep one eye on the stove without appearing rude. All these weeks, and Jeonghan still manages to render you speechless. It’s almost ridiculous.

He jerks, a movement bordering a shrug and a grimace. It’s rare to see Jeonghan so awkward, rarer still to see him floundering for words. If there’s one thing Jeonghan is, it’s a smooth talker. He can charm his way into anything, putting that honey-rich timbre and smooth baritone of his voice to good use. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but,” he finally says, “I put my jacket to dry by the washing machine. The rest of my stuff is in the hamper.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. Of course he remembers the exact layout of your apartment—he had been there when you went house-hunting, after all—but it still serves as a sharp reminder to what you used to have and everything you couldn’t salvage. You give the ramen a small stir.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk.” Jeonghan sounds casual, but you know better than anyone it’s just feigned. “Because of the rain, and all.”

“...Right.” You turn off the stove and carefully tip the ramen into two bowls. 

“How have you been?”

You force out a chuckle. “That’s redundant, Jeonghan.”

“Just being polite.” He is still calm, and it irritates you.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Jeonghan lets his head drop, his long bangs falling onto his forehead. He’s let his hair grow out; it almost brushes against his shoulders. He still has the same lean, lithe figure he’s always had, though. It’s slightly disconcerting—familiar yet foreign at the same time.

He moves to lean on the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t meet up with an old friend?”

“We both know your only friend is Joshua.”

“Ouch.” The laugh he barks out is dry. “I have lots of new friends now.”

Your fingers curl into your palm, nails digging into your skin. A tense silence fills the space between you both. Mechanically, you hand him a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. He takes them wordlessly, nodding his thanks. 

You pick up your own bowl and walk towards your small dining table. You don’t gesture for Jeonghan to follow—you know he will, anyway, just like how he walked into your life with no warning. Your first bite of ramen nearly burns your tongue. You bite back a yelp. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jeonghan warns, a hint of a smile on his lips. You glare at him and it vanishes immediately. “Sorry. But I’m serious—how have you been? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Still the same, I see,” he says, chewing around a mouthful. “I’ve been good too, thanks for asking.”

“You’re an asshole, Jeonghan.” Your grip on the chopsticks falters. They clatter onto the table, but neither of you pay any mind to it. 

Jeonghan rubs some broth off the corner of his mouth, finally averting his gaze to his bowl of ramen instead of looking at you. You sigh, fighting the urge to crawl back into your room and pretend this isn’t happening.

⇢ a/n: thanks for reading! please send an ask/reply if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

[heartfullofleeches]

"A tour of my room :)"

-

"Is it on? The red light is flashing so..... Hi! It's so nice to meet you whoever you are... My name is Y/n and..... This is my room! Red gave me permission to record this video after they told me what a camera is. My head still hurts a little from all the crying I had to do to convince them to let me keep this- but I'm okay! What should I show you first?....hm...."

You take a quick look of your surroundings - the hollow ping of metal hitting the poles of your bed catching your ear, steering your gaze towards your weighted wrists.

"My bracelets! Red gave them to me my first night home. The leash is to make sure I don't wander off. I used to do that a lot actually. It's long enough I can comfortably walk around the kitchen, the bathroom, and Red's room. Those are pretty much all the places I need to go. If I pull my bed away from the wall, I can almost touch the front-"

Knock- knock- knock-

Only three... Not them....

.....

"Moving on! As you can see under me, this is my bed. I don't use it much since Red likes when I sleep with them. If you look really close riiight there - you can see Red carved our names into the headboard. They've carved our named into a lot of things we own. I think it's their favorite hobby."

You point upwards at your caretaker's beautiful craftsmanship. Heavy pounds channels through the walls - the frame of your bed imitating the knocks at the front door as it taps your bedroom wall in an that dreaded sound-

Knock, knock, knock-

"Over here is my dresser, where I keep most of my things."

Sliding off the edge of the bed, you recenter your new camera towards your dresser. You knew Red cleaned while you were asleep so there wasn't much on top of the furniture besides a stuffed fox they gifted you your first night home, and a spool of wool rendered useless due to sharp tears in the fabric. There were some picture frames as well, but those were more for Red than anything. The less you had to see your face the better

"I really wanted to try knitting like Red does, but my claws always tear the wool. Next to that is Mr. Rabbit. Red said they got him when they were little and it helped them feel less scared - so they gave it to me to make me free better. I don't want to hurt him so he sleeps here. Above my dresser is the list of rules Red has for me. It's really short - because they said I'm a good person. Red is still teaching me how to read, but i still remember what they told me-"

You pick up the camera, angling it up at the tapestry as you speak

"No eating on the couch-"

"Clean your teeth after every meal."

"Ignore any voices that are not Red's."

"The only time you're allowed to enter the basement is if your teeth start to feel itchy."

"And lastly.... Do not open the front door unless you hear the special knock we created together."

The last one is easy to follow.

"Help! Please, somebody- help! My boyfriend is hurt, I can't stop the bleeding. We were attacked some maniac in this... fucked up mask. Please - open the fucking door!"

You walk to the opposite side of the room, facing away from the window.

"Red.... Red doesn't let me do a lot of things. They were so mad at me when they found me cleaning the storage closet, but their mood changed so fast when they saw I found this... They said it's a music player. I like when they play music from their phone. They said when I'm too scared to watch t.v in the living room to drown out the noises I can just play one of these these...re....reco...."

Knock.

"Go away!"

Go away, go away- Why can't they just leave you alone. Why can't they understand it's better this way? Whatever Red will do.... It's better than..... Red. Where's Red? Why aren't they home yet? You're scared. Scared of what you'll do. Where is Red? Red - Red, please come home. I'm so hungry.

Dinner... Dinner is right outside, but you're a good person - just like they said. You'll wait for Red. They'll probably be home at any second - cries that loud could be heard for miles in a place like this. You just have to wait.

"I.....I guess I just put the record in here, then. Red is gonna be so proud of me for doing this by myself. Thank you for everything you do for me, Red..... I hope you all liked my tour!"

[1-800-deactivatednearu]

click to see the first image at full size!

[image description: two digital drawings. first is of scout's ma as a drag queen. she is posed like the engraving on the side of the ambassador, standing with one leg bent slightly and a smug smile. she holds one open fan in front of her thigh and the other behind her head, both blue and with "Bang!" written in white cursive. the front fan is slightly bloodstained. she wears a navy pinstripe sheath dress that buttons up the front and a detached shirt collar and bow tie. the collar is square, with lapels like a suit jacket. she has blue eye shadow, red lipstick, and sharply contoured cheekbones.

second drawing is of spy sitting at her feet as she lights his cigarette, holding his jaw in her hand. scout's ma wears a lighter blue dress with long sleeves and a back cutout, striped with yellow and dark blue. spy is a drag king is a large black furry coat with light brown trim, a straw hat, pink pants, and a leather harness. /end description.]

shes mama but she also responds to mommy ;)

(she/her pronouns for mama, he/him pronouns for james bondage (drag king spy)!)

the thought process talk got a little long, see more under the cut!

the main inspiration was honestly her beehive and the hand fans in the ambassador engraving and then i ran with it :) was looking at her and thinking that her design is so distinct its fairly easy to keep recognizable (for anyone curious, its the beehive, headband, mod dress, square neckline, belt)

the first design is based off spy films! the ambassador was an incredibly strong influence . i would not call this a masc look by any stretch of the imagination but i was aiming for relatively more masc . i was somewhat inspired by james bond i think? but its not too unique of a look . it can be any spy . it could even be tf2 spy! which is why she has a matching belt and watch

a bit of a relic of the past (as in ideas on the cutting room floor) is that her sleeves are so puffy because i was considering having her dress be made of a shiny material and i like how light looks on scrunchy shiny material :)

the fans say bang because i think it would be incredibly funny to snap them open . dont worry about the blood . i was planning for her to have a gun strapped to her leg but theres no space for it, unfortunately :(

the second is the result of challenging myself to vary her dress a little more while keeping the same silhouette . its not too exciting in changes construction wise! but the back cutout is because i love rendering skin and if the angle permits it then... i was leaning more into the mod dress look with the patterning this time around, its a lot lighter this time around in colors because i deserve more fun coloring this time around! tossed in yellow as the popular accent color of choice .

james bondage is far less inspired whoops . the plan was more or less "i want to make him look like an expensive cat" . the leather harness was realizing i have got to capitalize off the bondage part . i do not know how to feel about the wearing it over a jacket that big

with james bondage i went pose first, then clothes, then clothes on the pose. which is to say, this outfit is probably more exciting without the jacket . whoops!

[image description: digital sketch of spy's full outfit from the drawing of him with scout's ma. obscured details: his black gloves are at opera length with belts attached, the straw hat has a ribbon that match his pants, the pants have two buttons as opposed to one for the fly, and he is wearing ankle length boots with stilettos and red soles. end description.]

[one-flower-one-sword]

"Feng Xin, however, cut straight to the point. "You don't need to pretend anymore! We know this is your old lair. We've already seen what those divine statues are, and the murals too - we've seen everything!" Hua Cheng wasn't directly facing them; he stood at an angle. The hands tugged behind his back seemed to jerk at Feng Xin's words, and two of the fingers curled stiffly inward.

"His Highness... saw it too?" he asked softly, inclining his head. His voice was very, very quiet. While he still sounded unfazed, his voice was slightly cracked and obviously strange."

TGCF Volume 6, page 62

This, to me, is one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the entire series, because of how violating it is what both Hua Cheng and Xie Lian go through. But there have already been many posts about how Mu Qing and Feng Xin take away Xie Lian's agency and autonomy and belittle his intelligence by kidnapping him away from Hua Cheng, trying to take the red string from him, and slapping the command talisman on him that rendered him mute and paralyzed. So what I want to focus on is Hua Cheng's side of it because what he goes through is also violating, just in different ways.

Given that this is Mount Tonglu, it makes absolute sense that Hua Cheng assumed that Xie Lian would never see any of the statues or murals, nor would anyone else connected to him, since gods and heavenly officials usually never go there. It also needs to be kept in mind that the statues were covered by veils and the murals covered by butterfly silk - whether this was done to hide them or to protect them from decay is beside the point, which is that they were covered and that Feng Xin and Mu Qing tear all of those covers down and then get offended by what they find under them - which are Hua Cheng's most private and intimate thoughts and feelings and memories. They might as well have torn open Hua Cheng's heart and soul and dissected the contents only to spit on them in disgust.

So now, not only have two of the people Hua Cheng hates the most uncovered Hua Cheng's most private feelings regarding Xie Lian, they also revealed them to Xie Lian without Hua Cheng's consent. And judging by the above description, Hua Cheng is terrified of Xie Lian's reaction. Usually, he has to be pushed pretty far to ever lose his composure - he evidently has very strong emotions, but most of the time he's suppressing them beneath his laid-back, unshakable attitude. Xie Lian himself remarks at some point on how Hua Cheng smiling doesn't necessarily relate to what he's actually feeling at all since it's just this condescending fake smile he aims at others (well, anyone other than Xie Lian). But here, now, Hua Cheng's hands jerk in shock. His usually confident voice is quiet and actually cracks with how afraid and distressed he is.

Also, though this is more in the realm of speculation because the text isn't clear on it - it's mentioned that he's not facing them directly but standing at an angle, and the look in his eye is actually not described at all - this could be taken to mean that he's deliberately standing in a way that has his blind side facing them more than his seeing side, since very often it's the look in his eye that's giving his emotions away the most. It would make sense that he's deliberately standing like this to try and conceal how hard he's struggling to keep it together.

Aside from losing Xie Lian again or not being able to protect him from harm, this has to be one of Hua Cheng's worst fears - for Xie Lian to be scared of and disgusted by him, to reject Hua Cheng's devotion. Back when Guoshi divined his fate and called him toxic and dangerous and demanded Xie Lian to send him away and not even touch him at all, when everyone was treating him like "poisonous vermin" (volume 2, page 380) and trying to separate him from Xie Lian by force, Xie Lian was the only one to not be scared of and disgusted by him, the one who instead held him and soothed him, who kept insisting that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't misfortune and disaster. But now with the command talisman making it look like Xie Lian "was afraid to face Hua Cheng and refused to speak to him", this one of Hua Cheng's worst fears seems to have become reality, and it's breaking him apart to a point where he seems to actually be close to tears.

[littleliterarylesbian]

Dear James - 3

| part 1 part 2

(cw for: accidental misgendering, prob the last part that will include this)

Hatred fills every part of him for almost no reason most times. He looks at James, his best friend in the whole world, and sees the last person who saw his sister alive. The person who she reached out to before she died and he didn't respond. And Sirius hates that. Hates him.

Sirius looks at Moony, the love of his life, and can't help the rage that bubbles up in him and he has no idea why. Maybe it's because Sirius doesn't understand how someone can love him after everything he's done, the words he's said, maybe it's because Remus was simply just a friend of hers once upon a time ago.

Sirius just hates Peter in general. How dare that man breathe in this universe after what he's done, after the friends he's killed. Sirius and Peter used to be close, but now every time Sirius sees him, in the newspaper, in old pictures of them, he wants to claw Peter's eyes out before shoving them so far up his arse they reach his intestines.

Sirius doesn't say anything though, he keeps it bottled up, it's better this way. He only unscrews the cap slightly with Remus, during sex mainly, when he can claw and scratch and bite without worry.

He doesn't tell anyone of the dreams, the dreams of a little boy with his sisters eyes and sharp angles and James' hair and smile, a boy that grows up happy and loved.

Sirius still remembers how the face became prominent in his dreams.

Sirius and Remus got into a row again, Sirius stomping out of the flat with harsh words and a 'don't wait up.'

He huffed down the street and does what he does every time he storms out. He stops at the local park. Sitting on a bench and watching children play, like he does so often; too often.

Sirius had always wished that he could be here with another purpose for once, maybe if his sister were still alive he would be here as an uncle, watching a little sprong run around with a big smile and a loud laugh.

He was lost in his day dreams when a body slammed into his leg.

Sirius blinked in shock when small arms wound around him and a small voice, one that clearly has a smile, spoke and Sirius was rendered speechless as he looked down. Dark skin and messy brown hair.

"Papa!" The little voice was French, or at least had a slight accent and Sirius' heart squeezed, "You're back early! How did you-" The little body looked up finally and froze.

Sirius' breath left him. Those eyes were so similar, eyes that Sirius had always hoped to see again.

The boy stepped away with a small frown, one that looked so cute with the baby fat on his face, round cheeks that made Sirius just want the small boy to continue hugging his legs because he wanted to bottle up those eyes, those familiar features, forever.

"You're not Papa." When the boy furrowed his eyebrows in an act that so reminiscent of the dead he once cared for so much he felt like screaming.

He tried to keep it together.

"Who is your Papa?" Sirius asked, and he pretended that his voice didn't crack. The boy didn't notice, or if he did he didn't say anything.

Instead, the boy squinted at him, tilting his head like a dog, like James, "I dunno if I should tell you." the boy said, "Papa isn't very pop-u-lar."

Sirius still couldn't stop looking. Looking at the grey eyes that seemed a bit too big for his face, and the baby fat covering what seemed to be pointed features, and messy hair in a familiar dark brown, and dark skin that seemed to be only slightly lighter then James'. Though it was a cloudy day, so what did Sirius know. It could all just be his mind, playing dirty tricks on him like it always does.

But Sirius still forced a smile, he thinks he was too shocked- haunted maybe- to cry.

"That's alright." Sirius shrugged, "I'm not too popular either."

The boy shook his head, "I dunno. Papa doesn't want strangers to know."

Sirius felt like his skin was crawling. An itch he couldn't escape, because now he has to know.

"How about I tell you my name, then you tell me yours. Then we won't be strangers."

The boy thought about it, but clearly didn't see a problem with Sirius' logic when he puffed up his cheeks and nodded.

"My name is Harry"

Sirius smiled, it was wobbly and his face felt heavy, but now he had a name to attach to the boy's face, a face that he knew he will use in daydreams and sleepless nights.

Sirius is aware of how weird that sounds.

"My name is Sirius."

He watched as the boy's toothy smile turned into a frown, Sirius watched as the boy looked him over before Harry's eyes widened and he took a step back.

Sirius watched as the boy looked to the sidewalk, almost in fear, and Sirius doesn't know what he did wrong.

Harry looked back, "Oh, um, I-" His eyes flicked back to the sidewalk and he cut himself off, eyes widening further and Sirius couldn't look away when the smile bloomed on Harry's face again. The boy started to run away, vaguely shouting back an apology. Sirius was sure he was already forgotten in the boy's mind.

Sirius watched him go. He watched as the small body slammed into a short man, he watched as the man looked down before he leaned down and picked the boy up.

Sirius was too far away to see the man properly, and even if he moved closer all he would see was a vague side profile, but he couldn't help but watch.

Sirius still couldn't be sure as he walked a few steps forward anyway, but the nose looked similar. Like the one he saw every day in the mirror, like the one he saw in memories.

Sirius watched the man walk away with Harry and he felt crushed. Like something was taken from him with no reason for why.

He went home to Remus that day stumbling through the door, alcohol on his breath, and holding back tears.

James looks similar now, as he trips out of the floo, clutching a now wrinkled letter in his hand.

[n0v4t33z]

What Would Have Been?

Pairings: Former Assassin Choi San X Assassin Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Assassin AU, One Shot

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags/Warnings: For Mature Audiences, Mentions Death

@newworldnet

Minors Do Not Interact

Author's Note 💌: Hope you guys enjoy this one shot! I couldn't get this scene out of my head so I had to write it! Also, yes some of the terms I used were John Wick references! I've been wanting to work on an assassin au for the longest so depending how things go I may or may not make it a short series idk yet not sure. This isn't edited so I'll fix it later. Again, please be kind! - N 🌙

•································•································•

It had been years since I last saw San, which was also the last time I worked with him. Back then I had the biggest crush on him, so much so I'd make up any excuse just to talk to him which led to us becoming close. Out of fear for me accidentally ruining our friendship because of my feelings I gaslit myself into isolation, completely disappearing from everyone’s radar including his.

Now years later I'm standing outside of his small taekwondo school hoping he tells me where I can find the Grim Reaper. When I open the door I immediately notice small children no more than 8 years old practicing, they seemed so happy and excited to be there. I quietly look around and immediately see San, he hasn't changed at all. His taekwondo uniform makes his wide shoulders seem even bigger than they are and his black belt definitely made his waist look so small. He was always known to be well proportioned. His dimpled smile being as warm as the sun's embrace causing me to unconsciously swallow hesitantly, is he even going to remember me? Is he going to be upset when he sees me?

Just then while he was helping a student work on his posture I notice a little girl with short hair who runs over to San and let him know that someone has come into his establishment. He scans the room until our eyes meet, a look of visible shock paints his features. I give him a small smile whilst walking in his direction, he leans over and tells his assistant something most likely to keep watch of the class. Once he's done with that he walks up to me, his face lights up the closer he gets “y/n…What brings you here?”

I give him a pained smile “I need to talk to you. It's about the high table.” San’s expression grows dark and leads me to a small office behind the big mirrors the class uses to practice. There was trophies, some medals and a few pictures, it seemed like some of his past students and his family. He's married, with a child. A little girl. My heart sinks into my stomach causing me to let out a silent sigh lowering my gaze onto the floor. There goes My chance. He pulls a chair out for me then proceeds to sit on his side of the desk. “So..” San awkwardly breaks the silence making me glance up at him and meet his eyes, his expression still not fully comprehending it was indeed me in front of him.

“The high table summoned me. The thing is I’m not going to go through with it as they’re insisting I kill Rogue and I’m not going to do that, that man taught me so much as a rookie assassin. He’s like a father to me, the issue is I don’t know where he is. I need to warn him the High Table is going after him.” San clasps his hands together in front of his mouth, elbows resting on the desk whilst his eyes being the only thing visible from my angle. His golden wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent light. He goes on to stay silent for a moment until he finally says “You know i’m not associated with that stuff anymore...”

I understandably nod “I know, I see you’ve got a beautiful family now..” I glance back at the photo of San, his wife and daughter instantly rendering me silent from the huge knot in my throat. I could have had that chance had I not run away from my feelings. San looks back at the photo and looks back at me, his voice lowering “I don’t understand why you came here then.” I tightly hold onto my sleeve trying not to get emotional. I think he hates me now.

“I’m asking you to tell me where I can find the Grim Reaper, he knows where Rogue is…Please, I’m going to end this. I have to, the High Table has marked me an excommunicado. I’m basically marked for death. I’ve got nothing to lose now..” San swallows hard, his gaze turns into a sad one “y/n..” The knot in my throat gets tighter, making breathing extremely hard. So I look at the wall behind San unable to continue looking at him. “Do me that one favor before I die, please?"

We both sit in silence for a few moments until San finally speaks “South side of Seoul… the soup kitchen.” I slowly nod “Okay, thanks..” I get up and walk towards the door, before I’m even able to make it he grabs onto my arm “y/n, wait..” Hesitantly I turn in his direction, tears brimming in my eyes “Yeah?”  He lowers his face to meet my eyes “Why did you disappear? Where’d you go?”

I bite the inside of my lip to keep it from quivering and instead tears run down my cheeks “Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I'd rather you think I was dead than to come into terms with my feelings.” He gives me a confused blink then the saddened expression grows on him “What do you mean come into terms with your feelings?”

I sniffle and shake my head “It’s not important anymore, you’ve got a happy family now. So pretend I never said anything.” San grabs both my shoulders and squeezes them “Please tell me.. You can’t just drop that on me and not tell me. It’s been years since I’ve seen you..” I squeeze my eyes shut not wanting to meet his eyes anymore, those beautiful brown eyes. At least I can say I saw them one last time before i'm gone. “I can’t, I’m so sorry..” He gently raises my face up to meet his “Please.. At least do me this favor before you go. I deserve to know why my friend disappeared.” I hesitantly open my eyes again only to see a worried expression and for a moment I can’t bring myself to say anything out of pure embarrassment because what’s the point? Nothing will change.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been, I always will be. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to face my feelings and tell you how I feel, instead I hurt you.” San stares at me for a bit, becoming increasingly embarrassed of the potential rejection I stutter ”I-I’ll get going, again I’m sorry.” I pull away from his grasp leaving a shocked San watching me until he finally says “You know, I liked you too..” I come to a halt facing away from San, my breath hitches and I cover my mouth to keep me from breaking down into full sobs. I did this to myself, my fear of rejection screwed me over. “y/n?”

He reaches over to rest his hand on my shoulder, his warm hand gently squeezing it trying to comfort me. “Were you afraid that I didn’t feel the same way?” I quietly nod my eyes blurring with tears again. He carefully approaches me and pulls me into a hug gently cradling the back my head. Hesitantly I hug him back, my tears spilling onto his white uniform. "I'm sorry I never gave you that reassurance, and that because of me you led a life of loneliness." I bury my face in his chest feeling his other hand gently pat my back.

I stay in his arms for a little bit until I finally pull away and respond “Thank you for everything, I’ll be going now.” San reaches for my hand and holds it tightly "You remember that blood oath we took years ago? Call me if you need me, i'll be there. I promise." The knot in my throat renders me silent again where as I only manage to hum in response. As I walk away a broken woman, I realize how my fears defined my life and took something from me that I yearned for. A loving husband and a small happy family. That fear instead turned me into an on the run excommunicated former assassin who was destined to be alone.

•································•································•

Please reblog if you liked it! 🔁

If I catch anyone plagiarizing my work just be warned I don't play with that kind of stuff so don't try me.

[fleetingcalypso]

Work In Progress - Henry Winter x AFAB!Reader.

≋ Greetings, my darlings. I have been absent for some time, and though my heart has always remained anchored here I apologize for having disappeared in such a way and wholly thank you for your patience. Alas, I've had little time to write, but I haven't forgotten you, my companions, my heroes, my world. I'm working on new stories that I hope you'll enjoy, so as proof that my soul has never strayed too far, I present to you a small part of what I'm currently busying myself with. It is not much, but it is enough to show my devotion to our heaven.

≋ Word Count: 700 words.

≋ CW: hallucinations, afab!reader but no feminine pronouns are used while referring to them.

Unfortunately ‘good things never last’ is a hymn I’ve grown to fully comprehend a lifetime ago, the very moment I heard the gut wrenching, bone chilling noise Bunny’s body made when it was done falling off that damned cliff. I still hear it sometimes: sitting on the porch of our villa – another, perhaps too kind, gift by my now mother-in-law – sipping a warm cup of tea, watching the birds fly back to their nests after a long day of losing themselves in the thrill of flight. As always, Henry is in his study, surrounded by inks, papers and documents I do not much care about and for just a second my insubordinate mind drifts to the past, to an echo of what once was laughter and academic conversations, now turned deafening silence and haunting guilt. It only takes a second, a fleeting moment of reminiscing for me to feel Bunny’s thud right next to me, on my porch. I do not dare move a muscle because I know he is watching me with glassy eyes, his glasses broken and his head turned at an inhuman angle. I don’t have it in me to sneak a peek and give into my hallucinations. Allowing him the pleasure of plaguing my reality, as well as my nightmares, would drag me too deep into culpability.

I’m sure Henry sees him as well, at times. He will never admit to it.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back into a most heavenly and cruel present: Bunny is dead, my friends have drifted away, I am somewhere in the countryside alienated from society, but at last, I’m with my lover who cares deeply for me and handles me as if I’m made of crystal. “Dearest, come inside, it’s getting dark.” Wordlessly I follow my husband into our home. It’s an arduous task for the terrors to follow me when he takes my hand in mine ever so gently and guides me to safety, like a knight in shining armor. My savior leading me through our own private pearly gates.

Dinner is eerily silent, the only noise being cutlery scraping against porcelain plates and ice cold wine being poured in glasses. I scattered the quiet that has settled upon us with quite the daring observation, "Are you happy?" 

His arm stills mid-air as he was bringing a fork to his mouth. The look he gives me through his glasses it's as if I am an open book and he could recite every single one of the inked paragraphs inside of me. 

I insist, "Are you?" And finally he sets his fork down. I hold his attention in my shaking palm. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a small muscle in his jaw that twitches before he speaks and his voice fills the calm of our dining room.

"I am."

"Despite us only having each other, with not a single soul around for miles?"

“Where is this coming from?” I don’t miss the accusative tone buried in what appears to be an innocent question, only a fool would be capable of ignoring it. His gaze pierces right through me, it renders me unable to ever look away, the ocean blue of his eyes is a sea I would gladly choose to swim into until my limbs no longer could keep me afloat and my lungs were filled with him, only with him.

"I'm not too sure," I lie with not little difficulty, it all tastes far too bitter on my tongue, "I suppose I was wondering about our future. Are we to bury ourselves in our solitude for the rest of our lives?" The absence of our friends is more than noticeable, Bunny's absence even more than that. Living like this, pretending we did not murder our friend and abandon the rest to their fate is an herculean feat. 

"What if I said yes? What if that's precisely what I want? For us to only have each other, for the rest of our lives, until our home is but dust and ruins with the only thing remaining of us being our bones entangled with each other in one final hug. Wouldn't you like that?" 

[genericpuff]

Absolutely love the rendition to the panel of Hades holding Persephone. Lovely to see it rendered as a more mutual act with Perse holding onto Hades instead of just letting Hades hold her, and ofc seeing Persephone actually look like an adult woman. (Not to even mention the colors and rendering because whoaa those were lovely)

And I have a question about this new rendition if I’m allowed to make it! The original had very dramatic and sharp composition with the angles and being off centered which conveyed much of the emotions and style that made early LO very striking. In adapting it, was it a conscious choice to change the composition or what were the deciding factors that made you and banshriek decide centering Perse and Hades worked better in this situation? :0

Ahhh thank you ;w; It took a few rounds of sketching to get the pose just right, the flats thankfully weren't as difficult as I was worried they'd be, but the challenge was definitely in trying to get the pose right while maintaining the height difference that's there.

As for your question, a lot of the posing and sketch composition is something I do, and then Banshriek typically goes wild with the backgrounds while making adjustments to those compositions if necessary, often times I leave the backgrounds up to their discretion as they're 10x more skilled at that sort of thing than I am and they often bring new perspectives to the table. This means that it often ends up being a game of give and take between what we contribute, sometimes I'll have sketches that they feel need to be adjusted, other times I'll have to add little tweaks to their backgrounds if it's missing something. We're both working off a base rough sketch, but we both get to contribute to the final scene in our own ways; splitting it between background and character flats has been a happy middle that's worked well for us :)

Depending on the scene, sketches can range from minimal to more detailed. Here's the original base sketch for that scene:

So originally there was a larger tree working over the side but I didn't really know how detailed we wanted to be in the actual full background, much of it depended on how complex Banshriek wanted to get. You can also tell that Persephone's face was originally buried into Hades' chest in the original panel, which I originally flatted in, but then wound up changing because I wanted her eyes to be visible to reflect both of their expressions of relief at the same time.

That said, with the pose changing from what it was in the original (from Persephone almost laying on Hades vs. him holding her and lifting her up) the composition had to change with it so I decided to just make them a bit more centered, that way the focus would be fully on them and the balance of the scene wouldn't feel "off" due to the pose change. I tend to follow the Rule of 3 here !

So yeah! That's pretty much why centering it felt a little better in this case. Though part me of does wish I was able to keep the original pose, when breaking that scene down into its bones I found it had to take a lot of liberties with its anatomy and proportions, as many LO scenes do. You can't really tell just on a surface level but Persephone's head is huge and the rest of her body is tiny (her hips literally come up to Hades' sternum and her feet meet at his knees). With the character design changes made in Rekindled to make Persephone a little less tiny and more consistent in her body type (while still maintaining the size difference between them) and to reflect their character arcs at this point (as I'm not rushing them into intimacy quite like the original comic did) certain things have to change to balance it out and accommodate. If you're a math person, think of it like solving algebra equations - what you do to one side of the equation needs to be reflected and adjusted on the other side.

And of course Banshriek did a lot more to really exemplify the mood shift in the almost labrynth-like forest Persephone grew within Tower 4. There are still trees and plant life everywhere, but instead of feeling like an endless maze with its tones of deep red that we saw Hades navigate, it now feels like a soft and gentle meeting point for the two. Like the original scene, the color change is used to change the mood of the scene and reflect the calmness of Hades and Persephone as they've found one another.

At the end of the day we did what we ultimately thought would work best for the way Rekindled is drawn, giving both Banshriek and I the freedom to fully utilize our respective skillsets. That way we were able to pay tribute to that original scene while also creating something new out of it <3

That said, I'm sure @banshriek can also chime in with their own design notes on this episode, if they have a minute to spare! I'm sure they'll have lots to say about the fun they had working with those new brushesヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

[alexturne]

A tiny fic in which Alex helps Miles with his makeup (707 words)

Alex straddles Miles in his dressing room. One leg on either side, a frown of concentration on his face, and his tongue slightly poking out. Miles is trying his hardest to stay still, but keeps dissolving into giggles.

"Al, you don't have to–"

"Will you sit bloody still?"

He harrumphs, moves slightly closer and clenches his thighs around Miles, sending him a warning to STAY STILL.

"Alright alright, I'll be still.." Miles mumbles happily and cranes his neck, giving Alex better room to work.

Alex leans in close, and with utmost precision he draws a fine black line across Miles' eyelid, finishing it off with a little flick.

"My little kittycat," he whispers under his breath, and Miles blushes and wishes he could see the work of art Alex is turning him into.

"Wait, I have to do the other one too," he says, repositioning himself in Miles' lap, and Miles has to try his hardest not to let himself become affected by his man and his luscious thighs and ass spread over him.

"It's hard to find the right angle with the other hand.." Alex complains and Miles can barely keep it together any longer.

Alex is simply too cute, all focused and concentrated, a pretty little pout on his lips as he tries to match the line on the other side.

He turns his head slightly, giving him better room.

"Is this better?"

"Yes, thank you," Alex says, and he is so close and Miles can count the eyelashes framing those gorgeous eyes of his.

He gives himself a moment to simply look at him, the love of his life, as he tries to draw a matching catlike flick.

The lines around his eyes, proving just how long it's been, how long Miles has gotten to love and cherish him.

The little marks below his lip, the ones Miles adores to kiss.

The sharp line of his nose, one he wishes their future kids will inherit.

The full hair, fluffy and messy, chestnut strands falling perfectly around his face, framing it in the most beautiful fashion.

The widows peak Miles can never resist running his fingers along. Something so unique, something so Alex.

His heart clenches in his chest as Alex leans back and admires his own work.

"That's it."

He puts the cap back onto the fineliner, and a satisfied grin spreads on those pretty lips of his.

"Satisfied?"

Miles feels oddly self conscious as Alex's gaze washes over him, taking him in. He blushes under those watchful eyes,

He has never quite managed to wrap his head around the fact that his baby loves him just the same.

"You look beautiful, Mi," he says softly, his tone so warm and charming Miles nearly wishes he didn't have a crowd full of adoring fans waiting for him to go on stage in a few minutes.

He wishes he could stay right here, under the warm gaze of his lover, his Alex. Wishes he could pull him into his arms, kiss him silly and tear him apart.

Maybe they'll have time later tonight.

"Absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks baby," Miles smiles and leans in to capture his favourite set of lips in a sweet kiss.

He can't let himself get too into it now, there's no time. But later. Later they'll have all the time in the world.

"I love you so much. You know that right?" Alex says coyly, as if the mere action of getting kissed by his partner of more than fifteen years still renders him sweet and silly, as if they were teens falling in love for the first time all over again.

Maybe they are. Miles definitely feels younger and sillier each day he gets to spend with his Alex. Nothing is as sweet as waking up next to him, knowing that there's no rush, nowhere they need to be.

It's just them, him and Al.

"I know, baby. I love you too. More than anything."

He gives him another kiss.

Humming happily he really wishes he didn't have to go. But he does.

"Now go rock the show, love," Alex says before climbing off his lap, sending him off with a final kiss and a slap to his ass.

"I'll be watching!"

[loverhymeswith]

Sweater Weather || Davin McDerby

Day One of the October Dreams 1K Follower Event

Pairing: Davin McDerby x F!Reader

Summary: Summer might be over but your feelings for Davin won’t fade so easily.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Drinking, language, Davin being tooth-rottingly sweet

A/N: This was partially inspired by the song Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood and my undying devotion for Davin. Shout-out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for assuring me the opening was ok, and to @runnning-outof-time as I know you love Davin too <3

Coffee, alcohol, cigarettes; the things you desire most are so often bad for your health. 

Davin McDerby is no exception.

You met him in the summer. A scrawny kid, thousands of miles away from home. Skinny ankles and pink lips unreasonably delicate for the harsh angles of his face, russet hair streaked with copper and pale skin turning darker by the day. He was far too handsome for his own good.

You still remember the white t-shirt he was wearing that first day on the Montauk beach. How it clung to his lithe frame as he wrestled with Robert in the sand. The silver chain peeking out from beneath his collar daring you to look twice.

And you had looked twice. It was impossible to avert your gaze, even if it felt a little too much like staring into the sun. Like so many beautiful but dangerous animals, the warning you beheld in Davin’s bright blue eyes was undeniable. 

Step too close and you might get burnt.

Because while his elegant veneer might have evoked the memory of a renaissance painting, in reality, he was an accident waiting to happen, all wrapped up in a pretty bow.

A self-proclaimed fuck up, Davin McDerby has the world in his hands but his head is firmly in the clouds. Full of overconfidence and bad decisions, he lives like there is no tomorrow. His sole purpose: the pursuit of happiness.

You didn’t want to be just a stop along the way.

He comes to you now after dark, a bottle of cheap wine clutched in his hands and a smile that lights up the October night sky. When he calls your name, you realise with a start that his pleasantly lilting accent has no less effect on you than it did back in the summer. 

“Could’a given me the heads up.” Without waiting for an invitation, he drops onto the seat opposite you at the picnic table. “Didn’t know you were back in town.” 

Music and chatter from your uncle’s bar drifts out into the cold night air, but you barely notice, so keenly attuned as you are to Davin’s presence. His company instantly drives away the chill and transports you back to the long summer days you’d spent together.

“Hello Davin. How are you?”

Despite your sterile, perfunctory greeting, his grin remains. He seems genuinely pleased to see you. “I’m grand. You comin’ to the party?”

“What party? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

This summer had been Davin’s first in America, but it quickly became apparent that he would have no trouble fitting in. The locals fell in love with him and it was only a matter of days before he’d sweet-talked your uncle Cormac into giving him a job beside you behind the bar. 

And just like that, your vow to keep your distance from Davin had been rendered obsolete.

He’d sidled up to you at the beginning of his very first shift, a dish towel slung over his shoulder and a twinkle in his eye as he’d asked, “do you know how to make a Sex on the Beach?”

You’d rolled your eyes at the cheap shot, but nevertheless had proceeded to watch in fascination as he mixed the drink with excessive flair and a distinctive laugh, his red shirt riding up to reveal a swath of pale skin. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice had pleaded, give him a chance.

Perhaps that had been your mistake.

Davin unscrews the wine before taking a long mouthful, straight from the bottle. When he offers you a drink, you shake your head, pretending not to notice how his plump lips glisten under the glow of the patio lights.

“Cormac gave me the night off. Some of the boys are havin’ a Halloween party. You should come.”

“Is it fancy dress?” you ask, though you have no intention of taking him up on the offer. You only came here tonight because you’re a glutton for punishment, knowing very well that Davin was likely to be around. 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“So where’s your costume?”

“This is me costume.” He gestures to his dark sweatshirt and pulls up the hood dramatically, his angular face standing out like a pale moon against the darkness. “I’m the Grim Reaper, see?”

It’s fitting, you think. Past experience gives you little doubt that his appearance is a portent of trouble to come. 

“Where’s your scythe?”

“Left it at home.” Davin shrugs. “So, what d’ya say? You wanna go?”

You turn your gaze to the ocean, the roaring of the waves echoing the rush of your blood as you remind yourself why going anywhere with Davin is a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah come on now. You’ve got to. Haven’t you missed me? I’ve missed you.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest he’s telling anything other than the truth. 

And that’s the problem. 

Davin has never been like the rest of the boys with their painfully obvious attempts to get into your pants. In between your joint shifts at the bar, the only thing he ever seemed to want from you was your company, dragging you along from one adventure to the next; pool hopping, surfing lessons, road trips. And now, Halloween.

Waiting for your answer, he taps his fingers on the table and pouts. “You finally grace us with your presence after all this time, but now you don’t wanna hang out? Come on, it’ll be a laugh.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “the costume is optional.”

“All this time? Davin, it’s not even been two months.”

“Yeah well, it feels like longer.” He takes another swig from the bottle and you find yourself inclined to agree. 

As the Manhattan trees started shedding their leaves and the end of summer bled into the beginning of fall, your thoughts never strayed far from Davin. You thought that after hightailing it back to the city, you’d be able to shake him, that the distance would somehow help you to forget. But like cotton candy caught between your teeth or the last grains of sand stuck in your sneakers, the memory of his rosy cheeks and freckled shoulders followed you all the way back to New York.

Davin lapses into silence, occasionally sipping from the bottle as he watches you intently across the table, the ghost of a lop-sided grin beginning to form across his lips. With every passing minute it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. 

Unable to conceal your unease any longer, you reach across the table and swipe the bottle of wine from his hands. “Would you stop staring at me?” 

“Now, why would I wanna do that?”

Before you can offer a suitable response, Davin rises to his feet and rounds the table, pulling you up from your seat. His hand is surprisingly soft and warm as he laces your fingers with his own.

“What are you doing?” Despite your protest, you make no attempt to shake him off.

“I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?”

“That you’re comin’ to the party with me. Won’t be any fun on me own.”

Something tells you that even without you, Davin would hardly be on his own. But against your better judgement, you let him lead you away from the bar, that little voice in the back of your mind traitorously gleeful that he’s managed to draw you in all over again, just like a moth to the flame.

The big, white-stone house overlooking the beach is crowded when you arrive, the party already in full swing. The music, loosely themed for the occasion, is too loud and you have to lean in close to hear Davin over the speakers.

“You want to drink or dance first?” he shouts.

“Drink first, dance later,” you reply, thankful that the party is so busy that no one will notice your lack of costumes. The guest list boasts a colourful array of witches, vampires and monsters; even with his hood still drawn up, Davin looks as underdressed as you.

“Fine, but you owe me a dance.”

The drinks flow freely over the next few hours, but the two of you spend most of your time talking, abandoning the makeshift dance floor to squeeze onto the end of a worn leather sofa, so close you’re practically sitting in one another’s laps.

“I’m glad you came back,” Davin tells you after a while, his warm breath tickling your neck as you battle against the rising volume of the sound-system.

“Temporarily,” you remind him, uncertain of whether it’s the alcohol or Davin’s proximity that is to blame for your current light-headedness. “Why’s that?”

He tugs down his hood, finally, and leans in closer, the lengths of his soft hair brushing against your cheek. “Well, after you left without sayin’ goodbye, I thought I’d done somethin’ wrong. It’s usually my fault, you know. Drivin’ people away. Story of me fuckin’ life.”

You draw back to look at him properly and find his usually carefree expression marred with concern. “It wasn’t about you, Davin. I had to go back to college. And I’m just…I don’t know. I guess I’m bad with goodbyes.”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

He shakes his head, as if he can see beyond your facade. As if he can read your innermost thoughts. “Ahh look, I know I made mistakes. And I feel bad about them. Really, I do.”

There’s no hiding the apprehension in your voice, or the pounding in your chest when you press him for more details. “What mistakes do you think you’ve made?”

Almost absently, his hand moves to your waist, specifically to the patch of bare skin below the hem of your cropped t-shirt. You suppress the urge to shudder. 

“Well, for a start I was so busy with the ‘pursuit of happiness’, I never noticed what was in front of me.” His gaze travels across your face.

On bated breath and hyper-aware of his fingers tightening - almost imperceptibly - around your waist, you prompt him to continue. “Which was?”

Davin blinks slowly, his blue eyes even more intense than usual. “You.”

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” He laughs, uncharacteristically nervous all of a sudden. “Cause I never got round to kissin’ you, did I?”

You’re certain you misheard him over the music, even as bells are clanging in your head. “What?” 

“Kissin’ you,” he repeats with more conviction this time, his lips twitching up at whatever he sees in your expression. “I mean, didn’t you ever think it was funny?” 

Your heart flutters, impatient for him to get to the point. “Think what was funny?” 

“That we never hooked up?”

Your mouth opens and closes at least three separate times as you search your whirling mind for something to say in response. You’ve given far too much thought to that very question over the last few months. In fact, it’s the reason that you ran away.

Even though you’d been painfully aware that Davin would wind up breaking your heart ever since that first day on the beach, you had been waiting on tenterhooks for him to make some kind of move. 

But the summer had worn on and nothing had happened. As far as you were concerned, he’d simply put you in the friendzone and you had no intention of trying to claw your way out, despite how much you were attracted to him. Despite how much it hurt. 

You knew he’d slept with probably a dozen other girls, so you couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with you. What were you lacking? He was content to spend his days with you, but not his nights. Not his bed.

“Umm. Are you gonna say somethin’?” Davin asks tentatively, interrupting your racing thoughts. “Cause if I’m honest, you kinda look like you want to murder me.”

“Don’t tempt me, Davin,” you warn, overcome with the urge to do just that. “Why are you only telling this now?”

He grins, squeezing your waist even tighter, something about your reaction giving him the confidence he needs to continue. “I always thought you were too good for me. I was scared if I made a move I was gonna fuck everythin’ up. But tonight feels like fate or destiny or some other spooky shit. And the way I see it, I might not get another chance.”

“You’re an idiot, Davin McDerby.”

He captures your face in his hands. “Of course I am. Don’t sound so surprised.”

Slowly but surely, he closes the distance, his lips as delicate as petals as they brush over your own. You’re no longer aware of your surroundings, the lights and music fading into the background. The only sound is the pounding rhythm of your heart. The only sight is Davin, wide-eyed as he withdraws to study your reaction, uncertainty cast across his striking features.

You loop your arms around his neck and pull him back in, deepening the kiss that you’ve been waiting for, all this time. 

When the two of you finally part, Davin rests his forehead against yours, his eyes soft as they meet your own and his smile warm and gentle. “Now you have it.”

October Dreams Taglist: @zablife @a-reader-and-a-writer

[wordsandrobots]

I also REALLY like how you had the Ariadne networks go down, it really fit in well with the whole “the world (as we know it)” schtick, and it’s such a cool concept to explore besides!

A lot of interesting things can come of devising a way to keep people from talking to each other at plot-important moments.

In general, I spent longer than was necessary obsessing over the various means of communication shown in IBO. I didn't stress much about the Ariadne Network appearing to enable FTL messaging, but things like whether civilian wireless communication is a thing in the setting (we see people physically plugging their handheld devices in on the Dorts, but is that just a space-colony necessity?), how big a problem Ahab wave disruption is (ships function fine, as do mobile suits, we know it's possible to shield against the radiation, what does that say about colony infrastructure?), and just how laser communication works in the middle of battles (. . . is everyone constantly broadcasting in every direction at close range?) all gave me considerable pause for thought.

But the Network represents a major backbone of how the setting functions. It's another lynchpin of Gjallarhorn's power, allowing them to channel space traffic through predetermined, heavily surveilled paths and make everyone pay for the privilege. Just as importantly, setting up for it going wrong at the climax of the series allowed me to drop my darling manga spin-off characters into the mix. The Moon Steel manga provides more context and information about how Gjallarhorn exploits the network as a means of control, so it only felt right to have a full-blown crossover to lay the groundwork.

As I noted elsewhere, my original plan was to have Ride's group muck about with the beacons and that later lead into the Network being accidentally rendered inoperable at a crucial moment. I do think dropping this angle was ultimately the correct choice, even if it left me with a bit of a vestigial plot thread. It's certainly more thematically neat to have Gjallarhorn screw things up for themselves by trying to reinforce their position in the wake of the whole 'McGillis Fareed Incident' wobble. I love a good self-sabotaging antagonist and while it's possible to overdo that as a resolution, I harbour a lot of disdain for military R&D and its long string of unnecessary failures, so I figured one more wouldn't hurt. Glad you enjoyed the end result!

Now, I hope you won't mind if I respond to your second ask under a cut, on account of the major spoilers for WoSH it involves.

OH and while I’m sending asks! I LOVE how and that you killed Rustal Elion! I loved seeing how Julieta adjusted to him being gone, I’m so glad you made her figure out how to be her own person rather than just an attack dog!

I spent *ages* working out Elion's death. Seriously, I think that's the part I over-thought the most.

As a narrative beat, it's a fairly simple proposition. Elion is a point of stability, an untouchable, antagonist force that is nevertheless ordered and predictable. He has set lines along which he runs and he's not unreasonable. This is one of the things I hold to quite strongly about him as a character in the show: what he is doing is entirely sensible for a man in his position and while it's undoubtedly callous, it's not actively cruel. He gets what he wants in terms of the public, propaganda victory and then stops, seemingly going on to relinquish Gjallarhorn's hold over Mars with good grace. While he'll never be a 'good' person, he's a part of the system someone like Kudelia can work with, to make important gains.

Thus, from the point of view of creating Conflict, he had to go.

(I'm stressing that as the reason because if I'd thought it was more interesting for him to survive, he would've done. But while I had a fair few things to say about him, his removal generated more drama than keeping him around.)

However, the question of how to do it was a vexed one. Being the head of a miliary organisation with its own fortress island meant 'just shoot him' was out and in any case, I wanted something in line with Almiria's slightly macabre and detached way of thinking. The idea of using nanomachines was a good one, if I do say so myself, as it meant she could do something absolutely appalling for the sake of killing one man. It was suitably impersonal, too -- I don't think Almiria ever really saw Rustal Elion as a person. Just an object of her hate and another piece to remove from the Jenga tower. I'm unsure if they ever directly met, prior to him expiring on the floor of that corridor. He definitely dies without knowing who's responsible.

Having hit on the overall method, I had to justify it. And that's where the overthinking came in because I was going 'well, surely someone's considered poison, so what defences does this plan have to break through?' The obstacles in stories are always as problematic as they need to be for the plot to work, but you do still need to pitch things towards being satisfying. So I went round and round tweaking the idea until I had something that felt like just the right amount of overcomplicated to work in context. Nice to hear that it did work, honestly!

And all of it in service of forcing Julieta out of her comfort zone for good this time.

She's such an interesting character. A hollow, cracked-mirror version of Mikazuki. I approach things in full belief there is reciprocated respect and affection between her and Rustal. I think he genuinely admires her and cares about what happens to her. But she is his tool and their relationship is built on that. For Mika, the devotion precedes Orga using him as a weapon. For Julieta, being Rustal's weapon comes first. It shapes her and prevents her growing to be her own person. She bends herself in knots to square her instincts with the greater good he defines for her. Even Gaelio, the closest thing to a positive influence in her life, was never going to be able to break through her choice not to have an existence apart from the one Elion chooses for her.

So the issue needed to be forced and the results were as messy and self-destructive as they were always going to be. Obviously I gave her a second chance, though I can't really say it was her own choice, in the end, so much of a series of people throwing buckets of cold water in her face. Sometimes that's the only way.

I have a few vague notions about what comes next for her. I don't think she'll be able to hold Gjallarhorn together. But I do think she'd begin to focus more on looking after the people caught in the storm, so that when things inevitably collapse, she might be able to save something of the ideal from the wreckage. I suspect she has a better chance at that than most anyone else.

Perhaps she'll wind up on the doorstep of her former enemies and find refuge in the once-Dort Colonies. The idea has a pleasing irony to it.

[thedragon-and-hisboy]

Two Bad Choices

Hiccup is aboard a Dragon Hunter ship and afforded two bad choices by Viggo.

The darkness was comforting. It offered assurance that whatever he opened his eyes to would be worse than it. 

He opened his eyes anyway, or tried to. It was more difficult than he was used to. He was in a ship’s cabin which swayed gently with the waves underneath. A desk bolted to the floor held maps, charts, and dragon bones. A banner hung on the wall behind it, depicting a flaming fist. No one else was in the room, and, most unusually, Hiccup found that he was not bound in any way. He was slumped in a corner of the quarters, divested of his sword, his leg, and his shoulder armor. His neck ached, both from its unnatural angle, and more acutely on one side.

Footsteps thudded outside the door, then it burst open. Ryker stormed in, glared around, and found Hiccup. His eyes narrowed. “Why isn’t he bound, Viggo?” Hiccup’s fists clenched, but his limbs felt leaden. Why couldn’t he move?

Viggo appeared in a more leisurely fashion behind his brother. He smirked at Hiccup before answering. “No need, brother. The elevated dose of sedative in his system has rendered him quite, aha, helpless.” Hiccup’s face burned. Drugged. Of course, that had to be the reason. No wonder they didn’t have to restrain him, he couldn’t even lift a finger. He could barely keep his head up.

Ryker squatted in front of him. “Helpless, eh? I’m sure my men would like that.” Hiccup’s mind went white with panic and Ryker smiled.

“Now, now, brother,” Viggo snapped, settling himself at his desk. “No need for that.”

Ryker snorted. “What? He’s sunk and killed enough of my men that the rest of them deserve to beat seven kinds of hell out of him.”

“Be that as it may, we have other plans for our guest.” Ryker grumbled and sat down. “Is the Night Fury secured?”

“It was, up until about ten minutes ago,” Ryker snarled. “That damn rider girl blasted a hole in the cell, got on the Night Fury, and rode off. Her Nadder, too. I’ve already punished the lookout on duty for that.”

Hiccup’s heart leapt. Astrid had rescued Toothless! They knew he was in trouble! 

“No matter,” Viggo said with a wave of his hand. “It would have been nice to keep them both, but I am more prepared to deal with the loss of the dragon than its rider.” He smirked at Hiccup again. 

“Don’t see why this runt is worth more than the last Night Fury,” Ryker grumbled. “For a mug of piss-poor ale I’d’ve shot that girl out of the air.”

“Patience, Ryker,” Viggo intoned. “He is more valuable than you give him credit for. The Night Fury cannot fly without him, for one thing. I need not explain to you why this is a benefit to us. Those other riders are followers, not leaders. They cannot conduct an effective attack on us without Hiccup, especially if we are using him as a bargaining chip.”

“That’s more like it,” Ryker said. “What are we demanding? Gold?”

Viggo laughed. “Don’t be so small-minded, Ryker! Gold and treasure, while nice, are not exclusive to the riders. We can make them catch dragons for us.”

Hiccup’s stomach sank like a sundered ship. Oh, gods. They’ll be forced to capture dragons and deliver them to certain death, afraid they’ll kill me if they refuse. I have to get out of here.

“What about some sort of tithe?” Ryker was musing. “I wouldn’t mind clipping Berk’s wings. A thousand gold pieces a month, do you think?” Already sunk, Hiccup’s stomach clenched. And they’ll bankrupt Berk at the same time. I’m not worth it! 

Viggo chuckled. “All in due time, brother. Hiccup, are you awake enough to join us?”

Hiccup didn’t reply at once. He wanted to spit fire in their faces, but the drug still held him down. “They won’t do it,” he managed, raising his head with effort. “They won’t hunt for you.”

“But will they hunt for you?” Viggo asked. “Ryker, bring him.” The other Grimborn approached and lifted Hiccup bodily from the corner. Hiccup hated how his limbs flopped, but he could do little about it. Ryker set him in a chair facing Viggo, one with armrests and a curved back that kept him from sliding to the floor. 

“They’ll get me out of here,” Hiccup said. Anger and no small amount of fear was making it easier to function, despite the drug. “You’ll regret all of this. My friends aren’t stupid. They’ll see through your blackmail!”

“Not blackmail, in point of fact,” Viggo said, raising a finger. “The word is ransom, dear Hiccup. We are demanding a ransom for you. It is not something that you or they are in a position to refuse.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Ryker chimed in nastily.

Viggo permitted himself a smile at the insult. “That being said, Hiccup, hostages are ordinarily kept incapacitated. I see that your dose of sedative is wearing off, and we cannot have that. I will, however, give you a choice: Another dose, just to keep you weak, or restraints. I must say, it’s not as though you could run.” He tapped Hiccup’s leg on the desk. “So, shall Ryker fetch the bottle or a rope?”

Hiccup gritted his teeth and glared at Viggo. Two bad choices. He hated being tied up and helpless, especially without his leg, but he knew that being unconscious and at the mercy of a ship full of dragon hunters was worse. “Get the rope,” he snarled.

[palespawn]

palm curls along the side of astarion's neck, he brings them down until their heads are not joined but eclipsing. he momentarily remembers that his grip could be like a vise. he loosens up. but keeps his fingers pressed into boundary of his hair. half of his mouth against the other's cheek before he angles it fully, if only for a moment ( from clive 🥺 )

with the battle at moonrise fast approaching, there was an inevitable shift amongst them and their companions. what the idea of death brings out is an amalgamation of honesty, fear and fearlessness intertwined. if they don't believe they'll see another day, why waste what few hours of freedom they have left? astarion had been in this limbo of uncertainty as he stared at the smouldering logs of the nascent campfire, mind troubled with thoughts of what the city still had in store for them, that their journey couldn't possibly end at moonrise when there was so much more left to be done.

it's enough of a distraction that clive's hand initially goes unnoticed, until it touches the side of his neck. a moment that, much like many others they've shared, huddled around the same campfire; the stars above, the rise of smoke, the shift of a crisp breeze as toril readies for the winter solstice, changes for the first time. there's a firmness to his grip that would usually give astarion cause for alarm, if it weren't him. if he didn't trust him implicitly by now. even so, it becomes a tender gesture― and in that alone, there was a strange sense of pride to be had in rendering such a response, in being the one to stir this moment of vulnerability from him.

in the same vein, guilt begins to pool in his chest. he's not the one @outdraws should be depending on for comfort. he doesn't know how to provide him with anything less than desires of the flesh. yet, what worries take hold are shoved down as lips caress his cheek, a fleeting touch, that seeks his mouth for a singular moment. it's a chaste thing, and not at all enough.

in a bid to chase the disappointment away, astarion leans in for another. his fingers hook into the cut of clive's shirt to keep him there, lest the reality of the moment sink in and spook him back to his tent. his nose presses to his cheek and his desperation to seize the moment, so to speak, has him hastening the kiss with a fervour befitting anticipation of more to come. it's only when they part for breath, that he wonders if he's well and truly overstepped. it wasn't exactly something he was used to, after all. taking things slow. “ i― well. excuse my ... excitement, i've only been waiting to do that since well before we arrived, ” among other things. astarion clears his throat and withdraws his hands into his lap, “ but, that was nice. you're sweet, you know. ”

[skcirthinq]

So, did y'all know they changed the Gatorade bottles? Like. Different shape. I didn't.

Anyway, I read @story-monger 's 'by touch, by sight', and the pictures they paint with their words are so vivid! And the characters are so well done too.

Like, the passage from chapter 19, that the rendered piece is inspired by? I had to draw it.

I. Also. Had to draw a bunch of other scenes. Too many, and now I've hit image limit.

Anyway, check out the fic, it's post-movie, dealing with the aftermath. Descriptions under the cut.

Image 1: Fully rendered illustration of a scene from chapter 19. An emaciated and unseeing Leo is stumbling through some of the sewer and access tunnels under New York. He's thin, and dirty, and covered with healing cuts and scars. His one leg has broken, and healed badly, and he's leaning heavily on the other to keep moving. His face around his eyes is blanketed in scarring, and his eyes are pale. Dirty, loose bandages ring his waist, with some fruit snack wrappers and a grape Gatorade bottle tucked into them. Detritus and moss gather in the corners and in the walls and floors around the area he's in. He's stopped, frozen, just under a grate letting in light, and the sounds of New York, above him. The rest of the tunnels are dark. Leo has his face turned up towards the light, and looks confused and shocked.

Image 2: a sketch- Raph, Donnie, and Mikey have just pulled Leo through the portal out of the prison dimension. They are huddled around him, looking at each other in shock and concern. All of them are visibly injured and battle-damaged. Mikey's arms are deadened at his sides. Leo is laid out on the ground, seemingly unconscious, with his head cradled in Raph's hands. He is covered in injuries; a leg bent at an angle, his face and eyes have been burned. He's also extremely thin. I'm sure he's fine, and nothing unexpected has happened at all.

Image 3: sketch- The whole movie cast is grouped together in the lair, treating injuries. They're all in various states of injury. Casey Jr. and April are checking Donnie's back for residual kraang traces, Mikey is crouched next to Donnie, with Raph on Donnie's other side, holding his hand. In front of them all, a crouched, crawling Leo has made his way out of the med bay bed, accompanied by Splinter and a hastily rigged iv drip. Leo doesn't seem to be able to see very well, or communicate, but he's desperately patting his family down to check for injuries. He has a hand on Mikey's shoulder, and is swiping his other hand in Raph's direction.

Image 4: sketch- an emaciated Leo is hissing with his mouth wide open, showing off his teeth, at a shaken Mikey. They are both in profile, facing each other. Leo has a harsh grip on Mikey's wrist, and Mikey's got his other hand up towards Leo's face, trying to use scent to show Leo who he is. A bowl that used to contain broth is sitting empty on Leo's blanketed legs between the two.

Image 5: sketch- a teary and upset Mikey is curled up, and away from Leo, cradling his recovered wrist. The pov is over Leo's shoulder, and so only a portion of Leo's face is visible, but he looks embarrassed and unhappy. Takes place immediately after image 4.

Image 6: sketch- a crying Mikey sits cross-legged on one of Donnie's work tables in his lab. Donnie is holding both of Mike's wrists in his hands, gently, because Mikey has a new ring of bruises around one of them. Donnie is upset and concerned, leaning towards Mikey. There's various items scattered behind Mikey on the work table. Donnie is shown from behind in a three-quarters view. Mikey is shown from the front.

Image 7: sketch- Raph, bandaged and tired, sits with an emaciated and injured Leo in his lap. Raph is cradling his brother as gently as possible, pressing his mouth to Leo's forehead. Leo, in turn, has his arms barely reaching around Raph's shoulders and neck in his best approximation of a hug.

nothing will stop these turtles from hugging each other.

image 8: sketch- An emaciated and unseeing Leo has pressed a visibly upset and teary Donnie to his shoulder, trying to comfort his brother. April has joined in on the comfort, sitting next to Donnie and facing the boys, with a hand on his shoulder. Leo has an almost smile on his face, while April is softly grinning back at him.

The hugging continues.

Image 9: sketch- Donnie is facing the camera, with Leo crawling up towards his lap. Leo has pushed his snout into Donnie's neck and shoulder, and has given the biggest, most wettest, disgusting sniff turtley possible. Donnie is doing an admirable job of not drop-kicking his injured and slightly feral brother into the sun, stimming his hands and making a face of absolute disgust. The word sniff is written in the background, with a wet and slimly font. Both of the boys are injured, and Leo's shell, cracked and weeeping fluids, is on full display.

While nothing can stop them from hugging, I will point out this took place like a minute before the last image, tops, and also nothing will stop a sibling's need to just. wreck their sibling's day.

Image 10: sketch- A battered, but less injured, Leo then we've seen previously sits with his back against a wall. The floor is riveted,- he's in some sort of space ship -type environment. His eyes and face have not been burned yet, and he's curled up slightly, facing the audience, looking at his hands. In his hands, he has a very light sketch of April's hand, as she sits next to him, talking over his shoulder The rest of his family surround him- Donnie and Raph behind him, with splinter and Mikey on his right. Splinter is holding a bowl of broth and a spoon. Leo believes them all to be hallucinations and unreal, and thus none of them are detailed.

Reblog with more coming.

[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

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 15: The Girl in the Attic

“Where exactly are we going?” Lucie asks, the bayou flying by in the rearview mirror. “Or am I not allowed in on the secret?”

As the car turns noiselessly onto the highway, the bright morning sun beams directly through the windshield. Lucie flips down the sun visor, glancing at Elijah’s illuminated profile. 

“To see Davina,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “I’m sure you can understand why I preferred to keep such information away from Niklaus. He can be…unpredictable.”

Lucie might have laughed if her stomach wasn’t currently twisting itself into knots. The exchange between the two brothers had been uncomfortable, to say the least. And when Elijah had asked her to accompany him into the city, she’d leaped at the chance to escape the tension. 

Now, faced with this fresh development, she might have been better off staying behind. 

She fights with the sun visor, trying to get the angle just right as she asks, slowly, “Why are we going to see her?”

He shoots her a sidelong look. “To secure my release from the attic, she and I struck a deal.”

This time, she laughs despite herself. “Why am I not surprised? What did you offer her?”

“Despite being in possession of enormous power, she’s still a young witch in desperate need of a guiding hand.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reaches into his suit jacket. Producing a handful of yellowed, fading pages, he offers them to her. “Pages from my mother’s grimoire.” 

Lucie accepts them, plucking a page from the pile and inspecting the ink with a reverent fascination. “This must be at least five hundred years old.”

His lips quirk into a half smile, gaze locked ahead. “Try one thousand.”

She shakes her head in awe, adjusting her already delicate grip as she flips to the other side. Her brow furrows.

“A sanguinum knot?” Her head raises to look at him. Confusion transforms into understanding. “You want her to break Sophie’s connection to Hayley?”

He nods. 

“I hate to burst your bubble, Elijah,” she says, “but this is a complicated spell. Davina might have the power for it, but she doesn’t have the experience. She can’t pull this off, not without help.”

She finds his eyes already on her. Expecting a flicker of disappointment at the very least, his expression is blank, bubble thoroughly un-burst.

He gives her a meaningful look, waiting for her to piece it together. 

“You can’t possibly mean—” she sighs, exasperated. “I know you’re still waking up, but I’m working on a pretty limited magical budget, remember?” 

To her consternation, his expression is serious, with no signs of yielding. 

“I’m fully aware of your limitations, Lucretia. However, do not be so quick to discredit your abilities. You may not be able to cast to your full potential, but you had the benefit of nearly two decades of experience under the tutelage of some of the most powerful Elders New Orleans has produced in the last hundred years. All I’m asking is that you guide her, and help her through the more difficult components. She has more than enough power for the rest.”

She flounders, rendered speechless by the sincerity she hears in his voice, sees in his eyes.

He seizes the opportunity to drive his point home.

“I understand the gravity of what I am asking of you, and I am not making this request lightly. However, I cannot think of anyone better suited to the task,” a pause. Then, softer, “or that I would trust more to do it.”

Silence stretches out between them, only broken by the soft hum of the engine. It’s only for a few moments, but in that time Lucie speed runs the spectrum of human emotion.

She wants to tell him she can’t, and that he should ask Sophie instead. But under the weight of his stare and the absolute faith he seems to have in her, she doesn’t stand a chance. 

She sighs, doing her best not to crumble the priceless parchment in her hand as she says, “Alright, but if she blasts me into a pile of dust, that’s on you.” 

“Should that happen, I will be sure to sweep up your ashes with the utmost reverence.”

She blinks at him, dumbfounded. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Elijah Mikaelson, did you just make a joke?”

“Of course not,” he says, but when Lucie laughs, his lips twitch up at the corners, and chuckles. It accentuates his laugh lines, makes crinkles around his eyes. He’s always been handsome, ridiculously so. But this is different. Lucie makes it her mission to make him laugh again.

____

It could be worse, Lucie thinks, hovering in the doorway. But as she stares at the diminutive form of a particularly incensed teenage witch, she struggles to come up with exactly how.

“What is she doing here?” Davina demands and the atmosphere shifts. 

Peering around Elijah, she recognizes the little attic room from that first failed locator spell. It’s both a relief and a sore point that she had been so close to finding him all along.

Even half-obscured, it’s been apparent from the jump that Davina is not happy to see her. And that was before candle flames jumped half a foot. 

“Davina, meet Lucie,” Elijah says, unaffected. He steps out of the way, exposing Lucie to the full brunt of her stare. And then, as simple as if they’d been invited for tea, adds, “I asked her here.”

“I already know her. She’s a witch.” 

“She is a friend,” he corrects. 

“Not if she’s one of them, she’s not.”

“Technically, I’m not part of any coven,” Lucie chimes up but shuts her mouth when Davina levels her with a murderous glare. 

“This wasn’t part of the deal. Get her out of here, now,” she steps forward as the windows rattle. “Don’t make me regret freeing you.”

“There’s no need for threats,” Elijah says, glancing up at the glass, but calm as ever. “As I said, you are in possession of great power. But I fear without the proper guidance, you’ll never reach your potential or gain full control.”

“I don’t care.” Her dark hair spills over her shoulders as she shakes her head vehemently. “Thanks for sharing your mother’s spells with me, but she’s not coming in here.” The gifted pages rustle as she waves them about, emphasizing her point. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Miss Claire, please—”

“It’s alright, Elijah,” Lucie interjects with a hand on his forearm. “Hayley’s safe at home. There’s still time. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Very well.” He glances down at her and then. turns to face Davina. “I cannot say that I’m not disappointed, but I will respect your decision. Good luck, Miss Claire.”

As Elijah slips past her, his form retreating down the stairs, Lucie spares Davina a last look. Their eyes meet, blue on brown. Something akin to recognition flickers in the girl’s eyes. 

Lucie is the first to break the stare, following after Elijah. 

____

When Elijah proposes meeting with the source directly, Lucie is less than enthused. The thought of inhabiting a room with Sophie after their tense exchange a few days ago leaves a sour taste in her mouth. But, begrudgingly, she admits that next to Davina, she’s their best shot at finding a way to unlink Hayley. 

They meet up with Klaus in the back alley behind Rousseau’s. Though it isn’t open yet, that doesn’t stop him from breaking through the locks like hard candy, or from Elijah and Lucie following him inside. 

There’s no Sophie Deveraux to be seen, despite half-chopped vegetables on the wooden countertops and her purse on the hook nearby. What they do find is Sabine, sprawled out on the tiles. 

“What happened?” Elijah asks, helping the disoriented woman to her feet. 

Sabine rubs her head, looking around with a groan. Lucie struggles to control her expression when she says, “It was Agnes. Her men took Sophie.”

“Of course it was.” Lucie loses the battle, unable to hide her disdain. “It’s always Agnes, isn’t it?”

The other woman’s head turns to face her, blinking hard as if seeing her for the first time. Her dark, almond eyes drink her in and Lucie resists the urge to shiver. 

Then, Klaus chimes in, acerbic as he says, “Day one with you in charge, brother, and already the witch linked to Hayley has been abducted by zealots.”

If Elijah is irritated by Lucie’s outburst or Klaus’ criticism, he says nothing. Instead, he turns his focus to Sabine. “Where is she?”

She shakes her head, curls gliding from her shoulders to her back. “If I tell you where Agnes is, you’ll just kill her.”

It’s a fair point. Lucie doubts Agnes would survive long in Klaus’ clutches. 

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, confirming.

“Look, I know she’s a little... coo-coo, but she’s our last living Elder. That might not mean a lot to you, but it means plenty to us. The Elders are the only ones who can do important spells.”

“Like completing the Harvest ritual?” Elijah asks.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “You know about that?

He exchanges a fleeting glance with Lucie. One that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sabine, her eyes flickering between them. “Oh, you’d be astounded by the things I know.”

Meanwhile, Klaus advances towards her, sleek as a jungle cat.

“Allow me to entertain you with today’s list of priorities. One, unlink your friend Sophie so she no longer controls the fate of the woman carrying my child,” he says, counting off in his fingers. “Two, convince my brother to accept my heartfelt apologies for some recently dodgy behavior. Three... there is no three.”

This time Elijah steps forward, angling himself ahead of Klaus ever so slightly. 

“I believe what my brother is attempting to communicate here is that neither the life of this Elder, nor the Harvest ritual, nor your coven’s connection to magic are of any relevance to him whatsoever.” His eyes flash as he gestures toward her. “Now talk.”

____

Their interrogation of Sabine leads them to Lafayette Cemetery. The grand mausoleum, with its cracked, water-stained foundation, is where they find Sophie, shackled and exhausted.

Elijah’s superhuman strength makes quick work of the rusted chains, and with a single, deliberate tug, they crumble apart. Sophie rubs at her wrists, soothing the chafed skin. With a groan, she tilts her head up to meet three sets of quizzical stares.

“Agnes stuck me with a needle. Cursed objects were created a long time ago. We use them so we don’t get busted by Marcel for doing magic. The one she used is called the Needle of Sorrows. It was cursed in 1860 when—”

“Jump ahead a few decades and tell us what it does, love,” Klaus interrupts impatiently.

“It has only one purpose: to kill a child in utero by raising her blood temperature.”

Lucie’s heart skips a beat. She looks at Klaus and Elijah. Both brothers are already exchanging silent expressions of fury. Somewhere, out in the middle of god knows where Hayley is sick and alone with some unknown entity. And the last time they’d spoken, they’d both been so angry with each other. 

“It’s for a miscarriage,” Elijah states, his voice tight. Sophie nods. “So, how much time do we have to fix this?”

“It will do what it’s meant to by tonight’s high tide. And believe me, it will work. I saw her use a similar object on a kid who went mad and killed a bunch of priests.”

The world tilts on its axis again as the information lands. In her head, she can hear Cami’s halting, tearful voice recounting her brother Sean’s last days. 

She fights down the urge to puke, trying to compartmentalize. If Hayley’s under the impact of a cursed object, they need to move fast.

Klaus comes to the same conclusion. “I’d like to have a chat with this Agnes. Where can I find her?”

“You won’t. There are a thousand places she could hole up to wait it out,” Sophie replies.

“That’s precisely why we need to unlink you from Hayley. No more danger toward her or the child,” Elijah says, pacing the length of the room.

Sophie’s eyes widen, panic emanating off her like static. “No, what? If I am not linked to Hayley, I lose my leverage on you. We had a deal!”

He stops, expression thunderous as he humbles her with accusing, stony eyes. “We are not on the same side, Sophie Deveraux. Our deal no longer stands.”

Sophie scoffs in outrage, clutching at straws and gearing up to marshal a counterargument when Elijah’s phone rings. 

He swipes up, turning his back to them. “Rebekah, can this wait? We’re in the middle of something—What do you mean gone?”

Lucie strains her ears, hoping to catch a thread of the conversation. Unable to pick up anything but Rebekah’s muffled voice on the other end, she’s forced to read Elijah’s body language instead. His stiff posture and blazing eyes are telling — whatever Rebekah just told him, it’s bad.

“I’ll be right there.”

Elijah ends the call and turns to the group, urgency in his eyes. “It’s Hayley. Rebekah said she was feeling ill this morning. Now she’s missing. I must return to the manor to help Rebekah search.”

“Missing?” Klaus repeats, low and venomous.

“That’s what I said, Niklaus. If we hope to save her and her baby, we must move quickly. We need to find Agnes.”

“You get to Rebekah, I’m going back to the church,” Klaus says, gears turning. “I have an idea of how to track down our renegade witch.”

Lucie steps forward, steeling herself. “I’m coming with you.”

Elijah angles towards her, looking perplexed. “You can’t possibly mean to try Davina again? She made her position abundantly clear.”

“Maybe she did,” she concedes, finding his gaze as the others watch on. “But Davina’s still our best shot. I might be the only one she’ll listen to. I have to try.”

Elijah nodded. “Very well. Miss Deveraux, you have one chance to prove yourself to be an ally worth having. Come with me. There’s a locator spell to be performed.”

Sophie hesitates, clearly warring between the gravity of the situation and the precariousness of her own position. Finally, she nods slowly, ready to follow Elijah’s lead. As Lucie shadows Klaus out into the daylight beyond the mausoleum, she can only hope that Hayley can hold on long enough to convince Davina.

____

“Phesmatos omnio legares coldate sangorium,” Davina says in stilted, butchered Latin. Her voice floats to Lucie down the wooden staircase as she brushes past Klaus and his confrontation with the human faction as she races towards the attic room. 

She glimpses her as she clears the landing, staring down at the knot. Taking a moment to watch her attempt the spell on her own, she can feel the girl’s frustration when it remains motionless, despite her best attempts.

Davina exhales in frustration and Lucie has an inkling that she’s been at this since they left. A suspicion that’s all but confirmed when she runs a hand through her hair and lashes out, striking the legs of an easel. It wobbles back and forth, finding equilibrium as Lucie steps through the doorway.

“You’re saying it wrong.”

Davina jumps, startled expression morphing into profound irritation when she spots her.

“I thought I told you to stay away,” she grits out, teeth barred and fists clenched.

“You did. Pretty clearly,” Lucie replies with more calm than she feels. “But I need your help.”

She rises to her feet, the room thick with swelling power. “Why the hell would I help you?”

Even as she speaks, her hands raise, her lips shaping the words of an incantation.

“Wait!” Lucie cries, hands up. “Before you throw me out the window, just hear me out. Please.”

Davina considers, eyes narrowed and fixed on her. Then, “You have one minute.”

Lucie doesn’t waste a second. “I know Elijah already said this, but I think we can help each other. The spell you’re undertaking is tricky, the pronunciation has to be perfect, and it takes a level of focus that’s hard to master. Which means you have to understand what it actually does.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “I know what it does. It’s a practice spell to help control my magic.”

Just like a fifteen-year-old to take everything anyone says at face value. 

“Yes,” Lucie says slowly, leaning against the doorframe and gathering her patience. “It’s also a sanguinum knot, a common component in unlinking spells.”

Davina’s brows furrow, a little crease forming between them. “Why would Elijah give me an unlinking spell?”

“Because the Quarter witches used it to connect someone very important to him with Sophie Deveraux, and now she’s in danger because of it.”

“So he lied to me?” Her tone is deceptively even, but underneath there’s a note of danger. Lucie examines the hard set of her jaw and wonders if she imagines the shift in the air. 

She considers carefully before saying, “Elijah is protecting his family,” a pause, “Like how Marcel protected you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says bitterly, but soon falls silent, seemingly stuck somewhere between understanding and anger. Lucie takes the opportunity to slip into the room fully. “Aren’t you supposed to be on their side? Won’t Elijah be angry at you for telling me this?"

“Maybe.” She admits, occupying a chair a safe distance away. 

“Then why risk it?”

The answer is simple: to save Hayley. But there’s more to it, an altogether complicated underpinning. It’s a struggle, but she tries to put a voice to it. 

“Because I know what it’s like to be on the wrong side of the elders, to be cast out. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, but I know witches and vampires well enough to make some educated guesses.” Her eyes drift to a violin resting on a nearby desk. She plucks it up to inspect it closer. “And I don’t think you’ve gotten to make many of your own choices, at least not with all the facts. So I’m giving you one.”

“And if I tell you no?”

Lucie sighs, halting her perusal to catch her stare. “Then I’ll leave it at that and be on my way.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she repeats. “But in the spirit of giving you all the information, there’s a pregnant girl that really needs your help and she just happens to be my best friend.”

“So that’s why you’re doing this,” Davina says flatly, something Lucie can’t place dancing in her eyes. 

Lucie nods. “I’d do anything for the people I care about, especially if that means protecting them from witches like Agnes. I think we might have that in common.” 

Davina doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stares unfocused at some point beyond Lucie’s shoulder. She turns to follow it and lands on a charcoal drawing of a girl around Davina’s age with curly hair and large dark eyes. 

“I was there, you know—when they banished you,” she says after a time. “I wasn’t sure when you first walked in, but I remember you.”

Lucie’s eyes snap to her. “You would have been just a kid.”

She nods. “I didn’t understand what was happening then, but for years the Elders used to use you as a cautionary tale about what happens to witches that don’t follow the rules, that don’t learn to control their magic. And I believed them. Until I learned the hard way.”

“Davina,” she starts, struggling to find the right words. But there are none, not for what this girl has been through. “What happened wasn’t your fault. That blame lies squarely with the Elders.” 

"I know." Davina’s eyes go glassy, nostrils flaring and breath escaping in little jagged puffs. The next words she speaks land in staccato hammer hits, brimming with conviction. “I hate them for what they did. For taking everything from me. And I know that whatever they want with your friend, I don’t want them to have it.” 

Lucie straightens up in her seat. “What are you saying?” 

“I’ll do it. I’ll help your friend.” 

“Really?”

When Davina nods, she flies out of the chair, grasping her upper arms. “Davina, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she replies with a wobbly smile. “You still have to help me through this spell. And if you even think about trying anything, just know I can melt your face off in seconds.” 

“Understood,” she says, taking her hands.

They get to work after that. The two witches settled cross-legged on the floor opposite each other, their hands clasped. 

“Alright, let’s try this again,” Lucie says. They’ve been at this for an hour and the strain is getting to both of them. Carefully annunciating once more, “Phesmatos sanguinum knotum, legate resolutum.”

Davina mimics the words slowly, mouth tracing over the unfamiliar Latin. 

When the knot between them remains motionless, she grunts in frustration. “It’s not working.”

"You just need to focus. Picture the knot coming undone in your head."

“You keep saying that like I haven’t been doing it for the last hour."

“You’ll get it,” she says as her phone rings. “Try the second part.”

She picks up on the second ring. 

“We have Hayley,” Rebekah says before she can get a word out.

Lucie exhales in relief. “How is she?”

“In one piece. We're trying to cool her down, but she’s burning up. Please tell me you’re close to figuring it out.”

“We’re working on it,” she says, glancing over to Davina, who’s muttering the words of the spell to herself, eyes shut in concentration. 

“Can you and the mini-witch get things moving?” She must be near Hayley because she adds in a hushed tone, “I don’t know how much longer she can hang on.”

“We’re doing all we can. I’ll call you if anything changes.” 

She hangs up before Rebekah can get in another word. Settling back in across from Davina and taking her hand once more, she squeezes it.

“Let’s try again.”

It takes thirty more minutes before the knot moves, Davina’s focus and pronunciation improving even as their energy wanes. 

Channeling what little magic she has is taking its toll, but they’re close. Lucie knows it.

“One more time, Davina. Picture the knot unwinding in your head as you say the words, then draw on your power to make it happen.”

Davina throws her a sharp look but closes her eyes once more. Her grip tightens in Lucie’s hand as she utters the first part of the incantation. 

The air crackles around them, electrifying every nerve ending as Lucie experiences the full extent of Davina’s power. By the beginning of the second part, the knot rises, lifting into the space between them. 

She squeezes back, directing her own magic into Davina. As the last word falls from her lips, a gust throws the shutters dude, ripping through the room. Lucie’s eyes drift open as drawings flutter to the ground, blurred by the smoke of extinguished candles. 

Their eyes meet before drifting simultaneously downward to where the rope lays, uncoiled.

Davina’s lips part in surprise. “Did we…?”

“I think so,” Lucie breathes, a smile pulling up at the corners of her mouth.

Neither dates to breathe when her phone rings again, everything moving in slow motion as she swipes up to take the call. 

“Well?” she asks, nervous and hopeful. 

“I don’t know what you did, you mad, brilliant witch, but it worked.”

“Thank God.” Lucie exhales, relief flooding through her as she sinks back into her elbows. “So Hayley…?”

“Is sleeping off the last of her fever,” Rebekah reassures.

She inhales slowly. It feels like the first real breath she’s taken all night and is about to let Rebekah off the other line when she feels her about to speak. 

“What is it?”

“Elijah’s on his way,” she says carefully. “Be warned, he’s on the warpath.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

She slips the phone into her pocket, meeting Davina’s expectant stare.

Even Rebekah’s warning can’t take the shine off watching Davina’s face light up when she tells her, “We did it.”

The girl half squeals with joy, nearly tackling Lucie as she throws her arms around her. 

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” she explains when they pull apart. “Do you think you could teach me some other spells, too?”

Lucie considers for a moment. “I don’t see why not, as long as you keep Marcel off my back.”

Davina is practically radiating excitement despite the circles under her eyes.

The sound of raised voices carries up the stairs, halting the conversation. Both sets of eyes drift to the door, Lucie rising to her feet.

“Stay here,” she tells Davina, closing the door behind her before the girl can protest. 

____

The scene that awaits Lucie at the bottom of the stairs is alarming, but not entirely unexpected. As dusk descends, the last vestiges of light spill onto the weathered planks and scuffed pews from the high windows, casting long shadows.

Stretched out in a tableau reminiscent of an Old Testament story, members of the human faction gather in clusters, upright and fearful as they all look to one point. She follows their gaze to the sacristy, where Klaus stands, bathed in stained-glass technicolor like a depiction of Lucifer—divine and terrifying all at once.

He moves, the image shattering as he stalks the floor in lazy circles; an apex predator focused on a single form picked off from the group.

Lucie recognizes Agnes immediately. Padding quietly around the candelabras, she positions herself within earshot of the confrontation, her sweating palms pressing against the cool lacquer of a high-backed pew.

“You’re a piece of work, Agnes,” Klaus says, grinning at her with a smile that’s all teeth as he leans in close. “But guess what? I’m quite a piece of work myself,” he says, seizing her wrist and wrenching her towards him. “You know, I contemplated leaving bits of you artfully arranged outside your family’s tomb? I thought it would leave a fitting message.” His hand wraps around her throat, lifting her just high enough for her feet to scramble desperately for purchase. “Don’t. Touch. My. Family.”

Lucie hovers, torn between an urge to intervene and a dark desire to watch it play out. She recalls sitting on the back porch of her childhood home, listening to Agnes laugh with the other matriarchs. She remembers the soothing feel of Agnes’s hands carding through her hair, her voice a gentle rumble as she lay in her lap listening to stories.

If she wanted to, she could step into the light, diverting some of the building tension towards herself. Klaus might not listen to her, but it could buy them enough time to end this without bloodshed, to find a way to spare Agnes.

But then she thinks of Violette, so small and frail beneath her blankets, begging for her children- for more water. She remembers her own shunning and the three dead Harvest girls. Her heart goes cold, each image a needle of ice through tender flesh.

It’s a bitter poison, and she wavers. Perhaps Agnes deserves whatever retribution Klaus has in store. And so she waits.

But not for long because the faded door swings open, hinges creaking as Elijah appears. In a few long strides, he stands in the sacristy opposite his brother.

“Leave her,” he commands. As Lucie watches on, his eyes drift to her, just for a second. But it’s enough. Following his line of sight, a wide-eyed Agnes spots Lucie and, slipping from Klaus’s slackened grip, scrambles towards her.

“Lucie, please,” Agnes begs, a half-sob breaking through as she clutches at Lucie’s shoulders, her wrists, her arms, nails biting into every bit of exposed flesh. “Don’t leave me. Not to him.”

Her eyes dart to Klaus, who watches in bemusement. Lucie begrudgingly meets her gaze, hands drifting up to wrap around the wrists locked on her forearms. The fear emanating from Agnes wraps around her like a cloud, dragging her in.

“Agnes, I...”

“You remember, don’t you?” Agnes whispers urgently, her eyes wide and pleading. “You remember how we took care of you, how we protected you?”

Lucie’s grip tightens, her mind swirling with conflicting memories and emotions. She remembers the warmth of Agnes’ hands, but also the coldness of her betrayal. “I remember how you turned your back on me.”

“And you turned yours,” Agnes retorts, her voice breaking. “But we were family once. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Lucie takes a step back, detaching herself from Agnes’s grasp. The step echoes with finality.

“You killed my family, Agnes.”

Agnes’s face falls, eyes cooling into hardened onyx. “I see,” she murmurs. “You’ve chosen your side then.”

Heart hammering and throat dry, Lucie holds her ground even as Agnes steps closer once more, taking her face between gentle palms. “Gather your strength, Lucie, and pray to whatever is listening for help. You’ll need all you can get for what’s to come.”

She widens the gap between them, backpedaling towards the door, but never taking her eyes off the woman who helped raise her. Elijah catches her gaze, eyes loaded with meaning and his face a mask of determination, a silent promise to act. 

“Do it,” Lucie says, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Elijah moves swiftly, his fist crashing through Agnes’s chest. The elder witch gasps, a look of shock and betrayal on her face as she collapses. 

It's the last of her Lucie ever sees. She turns on her heel, heading back up the stairs to Davina. She doesn’t look back.