#oc: Godwin

[urbanknightart]

Some stylised sketches of the Dark Ages coterie and their other halves ✨

Emir and Tertius (in his piggy form), and of course Leo and Godwin.

[spell-fox]

Darkening spires

A bit late to upload but for the 1st anniversary of my Dark Ages Vampire chronicle I commissioned @adderstones to draw some of our vampires and ghouls <3 everyone came out so nice

Tertius, Emir, Godwin, Leo and Hengist in the fen <3

We ended up all having covid on the actual anniversary so couldn't play but it's nice to get to the year point.

[cynical-tuba]

Leo is participating in Godwin's hobbies. (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

(Leo's pronouns are He/She and Godwin's are He/Him)

Godwin, the current Ghoul to the missing Ventrue Baron, Horsa,has taken an interest in the koldunic sorcerer, Kresimir, and strives to be the dragon he's always dreamt of becoming. Leo does his best to support him in every way possible of course, right down to negotiating Godwin's favor with a demon.

[blueberry-bar]

Nightmare Time By Me Pt. 1

[defiant-art]

godwin baxter and meee :3

[fridaycarnage]

[saint-bestial]

happy pride from the dark signers

[nosuda-cringe]

Niv got his eye on our favorite mom lover

@artinandwritin

[artyandink]

the girl that kindness forgot | 4

I CAN’T CONTROL WHAT’S PASSED ME BY

Quote of the chapter: “UNO reverse.”

…

I opened the door to my dining room, spotting my relatives at the table. A wide grin split my face, sitting down next to Turstin, who ruffled my hair. 

“How was your sleep, dear?” My mother, Marianne, asked me from across the table. Every detail of hers was the same, from the little glint of happiness in her silver eyes, the quirky curve of her nose to the small dimple she had on her left cheek when she smiled. It was all the same. Her mother was always regarded as beautiful, with her long, silky black hair and large silver eyes, but she was also kind. Kinder than almost any human being I knew.

“I slept really well, Mum.” I replied while our butler, Alfred, served me my breakfast. “You have no idea.” 

“Then you’ll be able to train well with Turstin, eh?” My father, Alistair, added with a chuckle. His blue eyes glinted and his brown hair was brushed neatly, tinged with streaks of blonde. He was the CEO of SP3CTR, a well-respected man who was regarded as influential by many. He was serious in business, but at home he was the man that made me smile. Apart from Turstin. 

“Alistair!” Mum gasped. “She just woke up.” 

“I know, Marianne, I’m just joking. You know I believe in equal work and play.” He soothed. 

“Could I interest you in your usual, Miss Hernandez?” Alfred asked, holding a mug of my favourite coffee.

“Of course, Alfred, that would be lovely.” I thanked him before he left, turning back to my mum and dad, who were excited. 

“I’ve been hearing about this Anthony Lockwood boy from Turstin. Tell me, is he a keeper?” Mum pumped her eyebrows twice, smirking. I punched Turstin’s shoulder, gasping. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I did.” He teased. “Come on, I had to.” 

“You didn’t have to, and mum, dad, he’s no one. Just a co-student. Nothing really important.” 

“Is he hot?” Dad asked, pretending like he was stroking a non-existent beard. 

“He’s stubborn-“ 

“Hot?” 

“- kind -“ 

“Hot?” 

“- smart -“

”Hot?” We blinked at each other, until the whole table started laughing. 

“Yeah, he’s hot. Really hot. We just work together, it’s nothing spec-“ 

“ARTEMIS!” My mother gasped, dropping her glass and standing up. My father did too, fumbling for his rapier, and that’s when I realised.

A spirit was reflected in my cup, and it was holding Satan’s dagger to my throat.

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I flew up to a sitting position, clutching my forehead. It was slightly damp, sweat beading at the top in delicate little teardrops. 

“Bloody hell…” I fumbled for my phone, checking it. 

5:56. 

I didn’t know what I just saw. It resembled the day Turstin and I lost our family to a ghost lock. I didn’t remember what exactly happened. I remembered the void-like eyes of whatever came that day, feeling weak and the next thing I knew, I was in DEPRAC on life support, told that I somehow survived the touch of a ghost and launched headfirst into managing SP3CTR a few weeks after. 

Even better? 

I almost died again in that few weeks timespan and the cause was blamed on me by none other than Anthony… John… Lockwood. 

I yanked on some black tracksuit bottoms, pulling on a tank top over it and tying my hair up, picking up my earphones and jogging lightly down the stairs to try and not wake George and Lucy up. 

But who do I meet on the landing? 

Anthony bloody Lockwood, fresh from a shower, shirtless and rubbing his hair with a towel. I’m telling y’all, there was one thing that was almost as hot as seeing me in my crop tops. 

Anthony Lockwood shirtless. 

Puberty really was on his side; he had toned muscles from training to be an agent, and he didn’t have any acne. The lines of his Adonis-style muscles were evidently visible, so I inwardly resisted- 

Snap out of it, Hernandez. 

Seems like he was having the same thoughts as I was, raking his eyes down my figure with a very well-disguised smirk. He rubbed his hair, masking it successfully and looking me up and down with a look that borderlines disgust. “What are you doing up so early?” 

“Going on my daily run. What are you doing up?” 

“Getting ready for a shower, who’s asking?” 

“Who’s asking on your end?” I retorted wittily. 

“I asked first.” He sneered, stepping forward in a manner meant to be threatening, but I didn’t budge. 

“Since when have I ever given a damn?” I jeered, stepping forward as well. Right by now, we were almost nose to nose, brown trying to throw blue off with equally piercing stares. “You should know better than anyone, Lockwood, that I have never given a damn about who’s first in line. Why stop now?” 

“You’re insufferable.” He spat, jaw set in that familiar way whenever he was furious about something. I loved it, making him angry. It always has that insatiable satisfaction.

“UNO reverse.” I pulled an UNO reverse card from my tracksuit bottoms pocket, holding it up triumphantly. What? I always had one handy in each of my articles of clothing which contain pockets. And if they didn’t have any pockets? 

I never had to worry about that situation. 

“It’s like you’re made to ruin my life. I can’t believe I even asked you to be here. What was I thinking?” He muttered as he tried to walk away, but stopped in his tracks when he heard me, turning around again.

“Because you need me to help you. And you may think that I’m ruining your life, Lockwood, but no.” I gave him a venomous stare, one so poisonous he showed fear for a second. “You ruined mine long ago. And you are so lucky that I haven’t come back for revenge, because I would tear your life apart bit by bit until you’re left in the mud, scrabbling around for even the tiniest case to keep you standing.” A grin split on my face, all my vengeance coming out in this one moment. “And you would beg me for mercy, but I wouldn’t give it to you. After all…” I lowered my voice a little, “I know you did this. I know this is your fault, and you should take the fall for it. Shame that people like you don’t own up to their own mistakes. Life would be so much easier if you did.” I put my earphones in, blasting music and jogging out the front door. As ‘River’ by Bishop Briggs pounded against my ears, I contemplated that day. The day everyone left me and everything fell apart. 

“YOU PUT OUR LIVES IN DANGER, AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO BLAME IT ON ME!” 

“I WOULDN’T FALSELY ACCUSE YOU! WHAT KIND OF PERSON DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!” 

Clearly, I’d misjudged his character. I reflected back and hatred rose up inside me. How could I be so naive? So hopelessly ignorant, so ignorant that I missed the parts where he revealed his true colours. The moments where he showed his cards but I turned a blind eye. All because he meant so much to me. Anthony Lockwood only cared about himself, making him famous, splashing his name on the front page of the newspaper. It never was about his friends, was it? He hadto have the spotlight.

I still remembered how he was so kind, so helpful. Until he became the best alongside me and that became his whole personality. 

I didn’t even know where I was going, where my feet were taking me, until I stopped at the place my father was buried. He died shortly after being ghost locked, but my mother was still alive. I stared at his tombstone, a tear falling from my eye as I sank to my knees. 

HERE LIES ALISTAIR HERNANDEZ

FATHER, SON, BROTHER AND SAVIOUR 

“LIFE IS AN OBSTACLE, BUT HOW YOU OVERCOME IT IS UP TO YOU.”

He said that to me on the day I started cracking from the pressure of doing all my grades. From that day, I was never afraid to tackle a problem. It was advice I took to heart. 

“I’m so sorry, Dad.” I wept, tears falling thick and fast. A hand laid on my shoulder, warming it. 

“You don’t have to be. None of this is your fault.” I turned to see my father’s spirit beside me, and I swear my heart skipped a beat. 

“Dad?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.” He hugged me, the warmth from his pure spirit radiating off him. 

“But h-how?” 

“You survived the Ghost Touch. It imbued you with powers that allow you to summon us from the spirit realm. The extent of your powers I’m still unaware of, but that doesn’t matter. You’re doing beautifully, and that’s all that matters.” His twinkly grin made me feel calmer, as if everything was going to be ok after all.

"What about Lockwood?"

"Admittedly, I'm quite angry at that boy, but give him time and he will come round to the truth. We all do eventually. I have to go, darling, and remember, we're always protecting you." He disappeared off, leaving me to kneel on the mud. 

I wanted my old life back, but I knew I could never have it.

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"You were out for a while." Lockwood coughed when I came back. 

"Runs don't last for 30 seconds." I retorted, going upstairs.

”I’m aware of that!” I heard him yell in response, making me snort in disapproval. I changed into my next business outfit, pinning back my hair and swiping some blush across my cheek and applying some gloss to make a natural makeup look. I jogged downstairs to find Lockwood blinking at me in disapproval. 

“You take your sweet time.” 

“I only took 5 minutes.” 

“Exactly, too long.” 

“And you took 1 hour to get to my office.” I snapped, sitting down and taking breakfast. 

“She has you served, Lockwood.” George shrugged. 

“You stay out of it!” Lockwood growled, eyes aflame. 

“Ooh, he’s getting angry.” Lucy smirked, clearly enjoying it. However, our anger was punctured by a knock on the door. 

“I’ll get it.” Lockwood grumbled before opening the door. “Oh, it’s you. Come on in, then.” My head whipped around to see Turstin, taking his jacket off and hanging it carefully; it was manners we’d retained from living in a mansion. 

“Turstin!” I gasped, hugging him around his middle. Lucy and George stood up, accompanying me to the hall. 

“Turstin, you’ve grown up.” George grinned. 

“You’re… taller.” Lockwood sniffed. 

“Nice to meet you too.” Turstin nodded, letting go of me and inclining his head towards Lucy. “Who’s this lovely lady?” 

“Lucy.” She blushed, “Lucy Carlyle.” I raised an eyebrow as I saw Turstin wink at her, making her look like a tomato. Oh my, I know what’s happening here. You seventeen year old son of a gun- 

“Nice to meet you, Lucy Carlyle.” Turstin flirted, adding a little extra on her name. George pretended to vomit in the corner while Lockwood just generally looked disdainful. 

Nothing new, I see. 

“What are you doing here, Turstin?” Lockwood asked, looking the taller boy up and down. 

“Very hospitable, I see.” Turstin chuckled. “I was called here due to a disturbance that happened last night. Went by the name of Annabel Ward.”

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“Artemis!” I woke up suddenly, almost about to slap the person who did it, but found it was Lucy, who looked scared. I shook my head, sitting up. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Annabel Ward’s ghost is here, she almost touched me.” I snapped out of my laggy state, grabbing my rapier from the side of my bed and standing up, disregarding the fact that I went to bed in a sports bra and sleep shorts because the house was way too stuffy. 

“I thought we contained her source!” 

“I don’t think we did.” I shot out of bed, grabbing my spare flare holster from my bedside drawer and slinging it over my shoulders, tightening it.

“Alright, wake up Lockwood and George, I’ll locate Annabel.” We went our separate ways, me to Lucy’s bedroom and Lucy to Lockwood. I opened the door, finding the pale figure of Annabel. 

“Hey, Annabel. I’m Artemis, and I know you won’t be able to talk to me but-“ 

“I can talk to you.” She gasped, floating forward and morphing into that young woman. “I know your father. I met him. He told me how determined you are to help people.” 

“That’s right. I know you’ve been murdered, Annabel. I just need a name.” I stepped forward, my rapier in a standby position. 

“I’ve been warned not to say. He’s so terrifying, and his voice chilled me to my core. He forced us to do what he wants. I need your help, Artemis. I can’t do this alone.” Annabel sounded desperate, transparent tears forming in her eyes. 

“Of course, I’ll help you.” I smiled, nodding. But a flare was thrown across the room, hitting Annabel, and as I whipped around I found that Lockwood threw it. 

“What are you doing, Hernandez?! You’re face to face with a Type 2!” He tackled me as Annabel shrieked and dove for us, angered. “Lucy, if you have an idea what her source is, you need to tell us now!” 

“I’m starting to have an idea of what it is.” Lucy stammered, just as I dove out of the way. 

“We’re not under pressure or anything, take your sweet time.” George snivelled. Then something clicked in my head. I’d taken a look at Annabel before and after the silver net was put on it. One thing was there before and gone after. 

“The ring, Lucy, where is it?” I asked, chucking a flare nimbly. 

“I-It was in my hand when I was asleep, maybe it’s in the bed?” She fretted. “I don’t know!” 

“Alright boys, you hold her off, I’ll go with Lucy.” I pulled Lucy with me, searching her bed. 

“I’m so sorry, Artemis.” 

“No problem-“ I saw the ring, “Found it!” I reached in my pocket, finding a small necklace made of silver glass, an emergency container for small sources, and clamped it inside. 

“OH, BLOODY- thank god.”

I panted, turning to Lucy. She looked terrified, so I hugged her. “I talked to her, Luce. She needs our help and we’re the only ones who understood.” 

“We can’t do it alone.” 

“Exactly.” 

‘Sup?’ 

“Yeah, Turstin, can you drop by tomorrow?” 

‘What’s the problem?’ 

“I told you about Annabel Ward’s ghost, yes? Well, she came back just now. And we had a conversation. Don’t mention it to the boys when you get here, it’s just… we need to help her. She’s a victim of brutal murder.” 

‘Yeah, I get you. I’ll come after your run is over, yeah?’ 

“Cool.” I cut the call, turning to Lucy. “We’re not doing this alone.” 

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“This is it? Her source?” Turstin asked, examining the ring inside the silver box. 

“Yeah. We don’t know where it came from, but it has a significant meaning in her life, maybe a lover.” George shrugged.

”That seems about right, 5 stars to you, George.” 

“Why are we even letting him examine this?” Lockwood asked, annoyed. 

“Turstin is one of the best at SP3CTR, he’s had special training to examine this stuff.” 

“Why don’t we just get DEPRAC then?” He sulked. 

“DEPRAC is nothing next to SP3CTR. Only reasons why SP3CTR isn’t the leading company for agent control are 1: my father didn’t want SP3CTR to become a law enforcing company and 2: DEPRAC takes loans from SP3CTR instead of swapping the companies because of the fact that people don’t want things to change.” I smiled in a way that I knew would annoy Lockwood, looking back at Turstin. “Continue.” 

“We need someone to connect with this. Figure out what really happened.” Turstin looked at Lucy pointedly, sparking anxiety in Lockwood, who jumped in immediately. 

“No. It’s too dangerous.” He refused. 

“Do you have another option?” I retorted. 

“Yeah. You could do it.” 

“I mean, I could do it, I think I can.” Lucy shrugged. 

“No, let’s hear what Lockwood has to say.” I dismissed, glaring at him and standing up at the same time as he did. 

“If you’re so determined to do it, let’s see what you can do.” He walked closer to me, teeth gritted.

“You’ll be surprised.” I smirked, taking another step closer so we were nose to nose again.

“Highly unlikely.” 

“How about this?” Turstin piped up, eager to disperse the tension. “Lucy will try first and if she can’t connect to Annabel then we’ll move onto Artemis. We all good with that plan?” 

“Yeah, good. Very good.” George quickly agreed, Lucy nodding frantically. 

“Don’t talk to me like that again. You’re part of my company.” Lockwood murmured. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I… don’t… work… for… you.” I shoved his chest, winking. Turstin flapped his shirt, breathing out harshly, while George and Lucy giggled loudly. 

“Alright, Lucy, are you ready?” Turstin handed her the ring, which she held in her fingers. Lucy closed her eyes, and a moment later, hissed and dropped the ring. 

“I-I had a connection for a moment but something pushed me out.” She stammered, so I put my hand out. 

“Let me try.” My fingers closed around the ring, and I instantly saw through Annabel’s eyes. I couldn’t recognise the man in front of me due to his face being blurred, but the rest of the room was clear. A sweet operatic song was playing in the background, my Annabel’s hand extending.

“There’s a song playing in the room.” I informed, eyebrows furrowing a little. 

“Dance with me.” 

“I’m not in the mood.” 

“She loves it.” I felt a smile break out on my face, But I focused more on the scene. 

“But it’s our song, come on.”

”It’s their song.” 

“Who’s they? Annabel and…” I held a finger up, silencing Lockwood. 

“She’s so happy.” I felt her joy, love and affection; it filled my veins and made my nerves tingle. I’d never felt emotion like it. “She loves him.” 

“Go on. I’ll watch.”

”If you insist.” My line of vision started moving, feeling so free. As if I was unchained. 

“She’s dancing to the song. He’s watching her.”

Suddenly, the mood changed. It was very swift, as if it was a blank slate in the middle of time. “Are you honest?” 

“My Lord…” 

“Have you told him where to go?” 

“No…”

“He wants her, but it’s just…” I could feel panic and pressure building up, looking into a vintage mirror on the wall and finding myself, dressed in a flowing black dress, the white streaks in my hair glowing. I even looked so innocent. It reminded me of the time I went on my first study date with Lockwood. God, I was so naive. 

“I said I’d give…” I felt a large impact on the side of my head, and for a split second, I saw that my hair was red. A gasp escaped from my mouth as I fell to the ground both in the memory and in real life, chairs scraping from around me.

”What is it?” I heard Lockwood beside me, another familiar stature my brother. 

“I did nothing…” 

“You’re lying to me.” 

“He’s- he’s angry.” I gasped, breathing heavily and desperately. I was drowning in a sea of grief, tears and pain. Annabel was treated cruelly in this one moment, and I felt everything she did. It was horrible. I felt alone. Isolated. No one there to hear my screams for help. 

“I swear. Let me go!” 

“Jealous.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“I swear, let me go.” 

“She’s afraid.” And so was I. 

“You know this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” My hands clasped his, but we’re brutally thrown off. 

“Don’t call me your love! You toyed with what isn’t yours. You are mine, Annabel, and it isn’t your place to commit such atrocities!” 

“I’m yours, I admit, but please believe me, My Lord! You know me, I have been faithful to you only.” 

“Lies! You’re lying to me, Annabel!”

“I’m not.”

”It’s all right.” 

“I swear.” The line between memory and reality blurred together until I could see Lockwood in the man’s place, standing in front of me and genuinely looking concerned. I felt a small bit of hope. That somewhere he’d have it in him to forgive me. Right? I love him and he loves me. This will all be over soon. 

“He loves me.” I looked straight into his chocolate eyes, smiling hopefully. My love. “You love me, don’t you?” I held his arm lovingly, my hand tentatively reaching up to cup his cheek. “You gave me the ring. You’d never… he’d never hurt me.” 

"This needs to stop." Lockwood finally decided, but Turstin stopped him. 

"She's my sister, but we're almost there." 

Lockwood stared, mesmerised, as my hand gently caressed his cheek, a warm, comforting smile gracing my lips. “You’d never hurt me, right? You’re my love. Do you love me too?” My thumb lightly stroked his bottom lip, and he let out a sharp sigh, hand flying up to remove mine without using any force. Something closed around my throat, fully pulling me back into the memory to find that the man was strangling me, hands clamped around my throat in a fit of rage, jealousy and spite. I fought to stay alive, coughing and wheezing out pleas to let me go. 

“I-I can’t breathe…” I choked, the life draining out of me as my desperate actions to pry his fingers from my throat became weaker, losing my breath and my vision blurring and fully blacking out. 

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“So, you’re interested in chess too?” Lockwood asked, his head resting on his hand. 

“How could you tell?” I asked, intrigued, playing with the hem of my white dress. 

“I saw you in your dorm with Turstin. You were playing chess.” He smiled, flicking through his book absent-mindedly.

”Yeah, I do. It’s so…” 

“Interesting?” We both grinned, laughing. 

“Exactly.” 

“Isn’t interesting to Kipps. He called us nerds.” 

“Since when have I given a damn about what Kipps thinks?” We exchanged an affectionate look, and Lockwood’s fingers brushed mine. 

“There’s no one really like you, Artemis.” I was about to drop a compliment, but my eyes widened when I saw the same skull-like ghost, rapidly approaching with Satan’s dagger.

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“Artemis!” I opened my eyes, sitting up with a jerk and feeling my throat, but I found no bruises or cuts. Turstin was in front of me, Lucy and George on either side of… my bed.  

I was in my room. 

Lockwood was at the door, looking emotional, as far as I could tell- 

HEADACHE. BIG PIERCING HEADACHE.

“What happened?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead before pinching the bridge of my eyebrows. 

“You were so immersed in Annabel’s memory that you simulated her death. Aka you blacked out.” George explained matter-of-factly. 

“We were really worried.” Lucy added. “It seemed really intense.” 

“Nah, it was just a new experience. I’d never tried putting myself in the victim’s memory before.” I reassured, “Wait. Annabel.” 

“Yeah?” Lockwood asked, finally interested. 

“She was strangled to death.” 

“The ring stays in the basement until we take it to the furnaces.” Lockwood ordered, pointedly looking at me for some reason. Everyone had a problem with it, of course.

“What? Why would we stop when we’ve come this far?” George protested. This was a sudden shutdown. There’s something going on.

“No more pet projects. There’s bills to pay.” Bingo. 

“Uh, what bills?” Lockwood took out a letter and handed it to George, who was outraged. 

“£60,000?!” 

“What?” Lucy gasped, taking the letter. I snatched it myself, reading it.

“In two weeks? DEPRAC must be blooming mad.” I added. “You’ll never get together that kind of money.” I looked up with a disapproving stare, eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

“Because it’s my name on the door.” He replied. 

“Of course. You’re at it again. Acting as if the world’s problems rest on your shoulders alone.” 

“Because right now, this problem is my responsibility.” 

“We’re here to help, at least.” 

“How about a loan? This place must be worth a fortune.” Lucy pitched quickly.

“This place is all that’s left of my parents.” Lockwood explained solemnly to her. 

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.” While everyone was devising plans, I crept upstairs and dialled a number, holding it to my ear. 

“This is Artemis Hernandez. I need to speak to Inspector Barnes.” 

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“Yeah, cheers, mate.” I cut the call, just in time for Turstin to arrive at the aisle I was in at the library. 

“They’re on a roll downstairs. If you don’t wanna be left out, you should come down now.” He nudged, shrugging. 

“Do you have a thing for Lucy?” I asked abruptly, putting my phone in my pocket. 

“M-Maybe. She’s cute-“ 

“She’s got a thing for you, so get the PDA over and done with.” I started travelling downstairs with him, silently, which was a change. 

“Who were you on the phone with?” 

“Laila. More business stuff.” 

“Do you ever take a break?” We paused at the landing of the stairs, the first floor one flight below. “I get it, you’re the CEO of a huge company, but even CEOs need a break, right?” 

I sighed, looking up at my brother. “I don’t feel like I can take a break. It’s like I have to be checking in, making sure everything is ok or something definitely will go wrong. I don’t know how to ditch the habit, I really don’t.” 

“I get it, mum and dad did a real number on you. But you’re perfectly capable of leaving something for a bit just to have a rest.” 

“I’ll try.” I soothed, “But we have an investigation to get back to.” I went down to the first floor, where everyone was working, “How are you philistines, sans George, doing?”

”Perfectly fine without you.” Lockwood commented, but got a smack from Lucy. “What? We were doing great until she cursed everyone with her presence.” 

“Well, here’s some info. I did some digging and Annabel played Ophelia in Hamlet. Explains why you were taking a fully-clothed bath, Lucy.” I explained nonchalantly, sitting down. 

“Oh, and the daisies! Ophelia drowned herself with daisies because of how Hamlet treated her! Ophelia and Hamlet. Annabel and her abusive lover.” 

“But Annabel didn’t kill herself.” Lockwood contradicted. 

I clicked my tongue in disapproval, shaking my head. “Oh, Lockwood. Poor, unobservant Lockwood. The part she played and her life started mirroring one another.” 

“Which means that whoever played Hamlet did it.” Lockwood took a quick second of research, “Here. Hugo Blake.” 

“That’s our guy.” I smirked, winking. 

“My sister is the BEST!” Turstin whooped. 

“Nice one, Lockwood. Not bad for a philistine.” George praised, cautiously feeding Lockwood’s ego.

"Thank you, George, for actually praising the right person." Lockwood smirked. 

“Well done, Tony.” Quill Kipps was approaching us, clapping. “Actually doing research before a job this time.” 

“Oh, shut up, Kipps, you know no one likes you here.” I spat, standing up at the same time as Lockwood. 

“Artemis Hernandez. The great CEO of SP3CTR. Never imagined that you’d hang around Anthony Lockwood after what happened two years ago.” He turned to Lockwood, “Is it Anthony? Or is it Andrew now?” 

“Keep it down, Kipps.” Lucy snapped. “This is a gallery, not a braying gallery for bellends.” 

“This must be the new assistant.” He smirked. 

“Colleague. And you’re Quill Kipps. I’ve read about you. Haven’t you got the highest mortality rate of any team leader?” That’s my girl. 

“I’m the top supervisor at the country’s top agency.” Kipps boasted, but Turstin came up behind him. 

“I’m pretty sure that I’m the top supervisor. Made legal even at seventeen, a real bite in the butt, eh?” Turstin winked, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. 

“And to boot, I get the best jobs because of how good I am."

"False advertising. You're no better at ghost hunting than a dung beetle." I sneered, which made Kipp's draw his rapier, and like dominoes, so did we. 

"Wrong move." Lockwood tutted. "We can take on any of your beefcakes. Hernandez, wanna show them how it's done?" 

"Gladly." I started to address Kipps, "You'll need a ladder."

"What?" 

I quickly and elegantly flicked my rapier around and up, lodging his in the ceiling. "I warned you." We turned around, meaning to leave. 

"You'll leave him eventually." I turned around, vaguely interested. "Everyone does in the end." 

Lucy grabbed my arm, scoffing at Kipps. "You really can't bloody walk away and accept defeat, can you? Come on, Artemis." We walked away, but it got me thinking. 

Everyone does leave Lockwood in the end.

Even...

Me.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨*•.¸¸.•*•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸

"Hey, Lockwood?" George asked as he was cleaning the table. "What did you say to Arty when she was investigating Annabel?" 

"I didn't say anything." 

"No, you whispered something. I know you did."

"That was gibberish, I was just overwhelmed by the situation." Lockwood brushed off the comment, trying to busy himself in something else. "You know, the great Artemis Hernandez was clutching onto me desperately... it's quite an intense situation-" 

"I know you, Lockwood, so I can tell when you have a secret. So tell me the truth, what did you whisper when she said 'you're my love'?" 

"I said 'always'."

TAGLIST:

@superpositvecloudshipper

[shinzusdoodles]

Back on my Elden ring shit ft my son of Godrick

[dayundying]

A very quick freehand yayyyy drawing

[spell-fox]

been super busy with house move stuff but I finished the draft tattoo chest piece for Vampire!Godwin for when he is finally embraced

me, every time: damn this tattooed character is a pain to draw (makes another)

[cynical-tuba]

It was under the grace of the sullen oak tree, Pantaleo Di Medici met the embrace of death, and stepped from the threshold of the living, into the shoes of a child of Caine. January 1st 1349.

---

Leo was embraced by Domitor Edmund, and Close friend, Tertius, under the oak tree. Edmund, fearing his blood would not be enough to embrace Leo he called on Tertius' assistance.

Leo's friends, his family, his lovers watched on as Leo died and was once again reborn...

Not as a proud Ventrue nor valiant Gangrel, but a faulty Catliff.

[gudvina]

The sea fig, ch. III, Godwin.

(third chapter, slightly shorter for now ;))

Fog crept in the towers as the city awakened. Godwin watched it slowly come to life below him, as he had done for many years since becoming AEthelred’s chief counsellor. Being there as the people roused and went about their day, almost like puppets in a play, reminded him of how different things can seem if viewed from a different perspective. Down there he’d be like them, indistinguishable in the crowds.

The centre of the town was the main object of his sight, though on the horizon he could easily distinguish the walls that protected Londinium. From up there he could see the exact place where Priest Cynleaf’s body was found, a brownish-coloured area of cobblestone where the blood couldn’t be properly washed as the only tell-tale sign of what had happened.

The first to find him had been a guard, followed by the victim’s wife. Her cries of despair had attracted the attention of the Alehouse clients, who had encircled the body. When Godwin showed up and was told of the victim’s identity, he rushed to the homestead, knowing that not a moment could be wasted.

He still remembered Queen Emma’s arrival at the scene, how her shoulders went rigid at the sight. He had been behind her, but could imagine her eyes widening as she looked at the butchered body. The Priest would have been unrecognisable had it not been for the necklace around his neck.

On the surface, the city didn’t appear particularly affected by the gruesome event, but the tension between Christians and Pagans, Danes and English alike, was tangible. It was starting slowly, with a suspicious look and voices in the streets of how the Christians were betraying the Pagans, or that the Pagans killed each other without remorse. Both branches were asking the same question- Why trust them? - and he watched the play, curious about what the next act would bring.

Sounds of footsteps he didn’t recognise pulled him away from the scenery, and turning around he saw Lady Adela. Unlike the night before, when he had seen her in the company of Princess Gytha, the woman in front of him was the perfect picture of the proper lady. Not a hair out of place, not a braid falling off, her posture as impeccable as it had been when she first crossed the halls of the Queen’s throne.

She curtsied with a nod, walking silently to stand beside him.

“M’Lady, good morning”, he acknowledged her greeting.

“Not so good of a morning for your people, Lord. My Aunt and Agnarr await you”.

He didn’t respond. It wouldn’t have been wise, and he still wasn’t used to her scrutiny. He remembered when he had first been introduced to King Aethelred, after his father’s death. How hard he had found having to withstand the Queen’s piercing stare. At the time he was but a boy, but growing up had not helped his unease with people’s eyes. How dirty they made him feel. He kept looking at the city.

The woman sighed, her breath condensing into a little cloud because of the cold temperatures.

“Why are all eyes on you?”.

Her voice was edged with curiosity, and he smiled. Though he couldn’t see her, he was resolved to avoid her stare as much as he could, he imagined her hanging from whatever he would say next.

“What are you asking, exactly?”

“You are my aunt’s right hand. Why would she suspect you, of all people?”

“Why not? Am I not but a man still? Anything could sway any man to betray their vows, as long as it’s shinier than his King’s crown.”

“I don’t think anyone to be so easily swayed from riches, my Lord. Loyalty is what has kept and keeps Normandy alive. And in this case, the betrayal wasn’t only against a King. It was against a welcomed people.”

“A people welcomed by whom, exactly?”

He heard her chuckle, almost amused by his answer.

“Oh, that’s why. You are one of them”.

Godwin knew what she meant; the Saxon Lords would have done anything to keep the Danes away from their lands. And she wasn’t wrong, though Wessex was the least of his concerns. As the sky cleared up, leaving a small ray of sun and some blue pry through the clouds, he decided he couldn’t let the Queen and Agnarr wait any longer.

A morbid curiosity spread through him, turning to see what expression the woman’s features were morphing into. She seemed to be enjoying Londinium’s clearing sky, almost as if he wasn’t there. Being able to go unseen had saved his life more than once in the past, he was used to being invisible, yet at that moment he felt a pang of disappointment hitting him.

He excused himself bowing to the lady as he headed the way to the castle, when he heard her voice.

“I’m watching you, Lord Godwin”.

She had turned to him, her threatening words spelt with a neutral tone. And he knew they should have worried him, that he shouldn’t have taken them lightly. Because Queen Emma’s eyes on him were already enough to make up for the whole city. The whole Kingdom. Yet for once he didn’t let his past shrink him away from someone’s stare, leaving him feeling like a rat. Let her watch, he thought. And with a sick satisfaction, for what he did not know, he left the towers.

While he walked towards the homestead, through the archways and the guards keeping their watch, he could still sense Lady Adela’s gaze on his skin. He was mainly engaged in predicting what the Queen would ask of him, and how he should respond. But another part of him, a small one but present nonetheless, felt like for once in his life he wasn’t the only spectator of the play that animated everything around him.

Like he was joined by someone to watch the story develop before them, and all they had to do was keep silent and watch.

[muse-oleum]

The Sea Snake - Alfhild Sveynsdottir

This has been festering in my mind for months and I have have to get it out in preparation for AU-gust 2023. It's just a little ficlet to introduce Alfhild Sveyndottir, an OC in the Vikings: Valhalla universe. I hope you can begin to make her out with the few words I've given you here. I would like to credit (blame? blame lovingly?) @mercurygray for giving me the Godwin x OC creative demon after rereading all her Edith Eadig works (which you should totally check out). Please let me know what you think!

He heard the door grind open once more. He sighed, turned on his side, ready to tell the Viking prince to go shove his promise somewhere he could not possibly reach for it, and froze. 

He had not expected her.

"Well, well."

Godwin closed his eyes. Out of all of King Canute's horde, of course it had to be her. 

"A sight I never expected to see," she walked into the cell, traces of blood still on her face. "Godwin, whisperer of kings and little bird of the alehouses, brought so low." 

"Alfhild."

He was rather proud of how he'd managed to keep his tone neutral, his face blank. 

Once upon a time (and perhaps even now), Alfhild Sveynsdòttir had been the most intimidating woman he had ever met. Tall, deadly graceful, she was a true shieldmaiden. Her long red hair was bound in a tight braid at the back of head, no doubt mingled with the blood of some unfortunate interloper. 

It seemed the feast had gone well. 

She sat almost exactly where Prince Harald had sat, looking over him with the same blank expression he was sure he was directing right back at her. She had, after all, always been much better at this game than her friend. 

Where Harald could not sit still, she stood immovable, the sword at her hip enough to dissuade most foolhardy idiots. Where he raged, she smiled, deadlier than a snake. 

They said her mother had hailed from the furthest Northern reaches of the Viking world, where the sun never set for months at a time and where the night lasted throughout winter. He'd heard the legends, even after she'd left England to go find out more about the mother she'd never known. 

They said she had been a siren and that Alfhild herself was born in the North Sea before her father claimed her.

It would certainly explain her mastery of the sea. He'd heard the Viking guards at his door speak of her aiding another boat captain, Leif Eriksson, through a raging storm. 

A sea snake, then. 

"Tell me," she asked, her features trembling in the firelight, "do all prisoners get their own personal fires?"

He couldn't help the twitch of his lips. It was not the question he had been expecting. Once again, she had disarmed him. 

"I do not believe so."

One delicate, blood marked, eyebrow shot up. 

"I would think you well acquainted with the cells and their inmates."

It’s true, he had put many there and ensured they would never get out. Or, at least, not with their head. 

Godwin did not relish violence, but he was no stranger to it, had been its intimate friend for years. Where England was concerned, there was nothing he wouldn’t do, especially if it aided his plans. He had sworn to himself long ago that he would do what was necessary to crawl out of the mire his father had left for him. 

Alfhild had always been astute enough to notice his thirst for power, where all the other only saw the orphaned son of a traitorous noble.

Noble blood recognized noble blood, and she had always treated him as her equal. 

But right now, he was at her feet and she was standing back up. 

“Keep those ears of yours to the ground, Godwin. My brother will see you soon.” She smiled in the blade-sharp way that was so uniquely hers. “Perhaps he will find a use for you.”

Of course, he would.

[egocentered]

Beyond the high walls

Fandom : Vikings Valhalla (season 2)

Relationships : Godwin (of course)/OC (of course as well)

Warnings : explicit sexual content (medieval sex, whatever it may mean)

Summary : Godwin, Earl of Wessex, provokes a meeting with the woman who occupies all his thoughts to announce his upcoming nuptials with King Canute's niece, Gytha.

-------------

If you get curious about the OC's backstory, it might be coming in a new chapter, because here is definitely not their first encounter.

Thank you for reading and please enjoy :)

-------------

“Are you looking for something, my Lord?”

Earl Godwin froze for a moment, nodding before slowly turning back to Leofe with that usual flirtatious smirk on his lips.

“Not something,” he said in a cheerful voice, “someone.”

“Oh… in front of my door?” she asked falsely, “it must be someone important.”

“Absolutely!” he retorted, amused.

She walked over to him, seeing more clearly in the semi-darkness of the evening the mischievous eyes that were scrutinizing her with undisguised desire. Every time Leofe caught him staring at her in such a way, that shiver that crept up her neck never failed to make her flinch a little. The bond they had woven over the weeks they had met felt special to her, sincere and reassuring, restrained and yet forbidden by the indisputable attraction hovering over them.

She knew he would not have taken such a bold approach if her house were not so isolated in a little London alley. His position was hardly compatible with the frequentation of a simple commoner such as her, even less so when he was preparing to marry the niece of King Canute. However, Earl Godwin seemed to have perfectly mastered the art of discretion.

Silence fell between them as they stood face to face, Godwin casting shifty glances toward the front door, casually clearing his throat. The woman was tempted, as often, to tickle him on his restraint. He wanted to come in and it was excessively inappropriate to say such things aloud. Not that his position kept him from it. She knew better than that that it was above all a mark of respect on his part; just like the fact that he persisted in mischievously calling her my Lady since he had learned, at their very first encounter that she was of a higher origin than her present situation would lead one to believe.

“I brought back some ale from the tavern,” Leofe threw in an innocent tone, looking down at her arms loaded with a pitcher, “would you like to share it with me, my Lord?”

Godwin let out a fleeting smile as he waddled a little. Feigning hesitation, he finally blurted out:

“Well, why not.”

She walked past him to open the door, not without contentiously giving up a small smirk.

Her lodgings were small and dark, sparsely arranged. A table and a single chair stranded against the wall near the lighted stove, which served as light and warmer as well as cooker, and in the corner on the other side of the stove, a bed. At the other near end of the dwelling, a flimsy palisade separated what appeared to be a toilet area. Scattered everywhere, a few books placed on top of each other on the floor betrayed her education and former wealth.

She put her pitcher on the table and began to fill the only cup she had before handing it to Godwin who was watching in silence; she would drink directly from the pitcher and that did not seem to surprise him in the least. She liked to ignore manners — so had he already noticed — as a slightly provocative way to demonstrate that she would not be tamed by anyone or anything, but with him she tended to somehow soften her rebellious heart —which he had also noticed and elegantly joked about as often as he could.

“Unfortunately, I’m out of candles,” she apologized, looking around the dark room.

The open stove gave off an incandescent glow that reached no higher than their knees.

“It must be difficult to read in these conditions,” he retorted in a soft tone, ostensibly scanning the floor strewn with books “I will have some brought to you.”

Leofe blinked in slight surprise, there had never been any talk of gifts between them �� was not that just for lovers? However, for the tender demonstration that this man knew what mattered to her, she could make an exception.

"Thank you my Lord" she retorted almost solemnly, genuinely touched.

Godwin smiled gently and bowed his head just as ceremonially, “My Lady.”

She reached for the chair for Godwin to sit in, while heading for her bed, but he ignored it and followed her instead before bowing slightly in front of her amused look, inviting her to sit on the used straw mattress. He then sat down beside her; too close for convenience, some would say.

They exchanged a few fleeting and complicit glances, without a word, each sipping their beverage.

After a light inspiration, she broke the silence:

“Congratulations on your wedding, my Lord, I heard the news!”

While he was still searching for the words to announce his upcoming nuptials, she had anticipated him with genuine enthusiasm, which made his heart ache a little.

“Thank you my Lady.” he replied swiftly, suppressing the bitterness that was rising in his throat.

“You must be so happy—“

“Yes,” he cut her off more curtly than he would have liked, “I am.”

Godwin looked down at his cup silently with a frozen smile as she stared at him in confusion.

“I'm sorry—“

“No, don't be,” he cut off again with a sigh. “This is…wonderful news, indeed.” He looked up and forced a wider smile. “I'm... glad it pleases you.”

She watched him in silence for a few moments, his smile faltering slightly at the corners of his mouth.

“I am not pleased, my Lord—” she resumed with strong innuendo in her voice.

He felt his heart race a little, as she continued:

“I know what kind of marriage it is and that you’ll greatly benefit from it in every way you have desired for so long.”

Godwin displayed an expression of true relief.

“Yes… you know it well, my Lady.”

She could read him; from the first moment they spoke, it was the feeling that inhabited him. Therefore, she had understood, even if he only mentioned it halfway, the hurt and the desire for revenge that gnawed at him. She understood the determination and dedication to fulfil his destiny. Yet, she never judged him for it even though she dedicated herself into going in the exact opposite way — although he had taken great care in never mentioning Ælfwynn and the tragic consequences she suffered on behalf of him.

Although she had always struggled against the conventions and duties imposed on her by her status of noble birth, and he on the contrary struggled to regain his fallen rank, they would not let fate decide what their lives would be, in this, they looked alike, respected and admired each other.

Nevertheless, the admiration did not surpass the attraction he felt towards this woman. When she looked at him, he could guess her sagacity, her intelligence and always that touch of malice that amused him so much. Sometimes he also seemed to perceive behind her beautiful mysterious eyes, centuries of lived lives and countless unspoken words about her sufferings.

At that moment, when he came to announce to the one he desired so much - and who, he hoped, desired him just as much in return - his union with another woman, she was simply delighted to see him get closer to achieving his dreams. She was like no other.

“So… it is indeed wonderful.” she finished almost in a whisper.

She took a long sip of ale, ostensibly meeting Godwin's sudden intent gaze behind her pint.

As soon as she lowered it, Godwin leaned over hastily and kissed her under her astonished eyes. The kiss broke off almost instantly, the time for a sigh on their lips, a troubled look exchanged, before Leofe returned it.

All restraints were released from that moment; they felt in their chests the last resistances fall like so many breaths they had been holding. Bucket and pitcher thudded to the ground as Godwin leaned even forward. Moving his body against her, he grabbed her face and pressed his lips closer to hers in a delicate kiss, then another and as their breaths grew deeper and louder, soon he parted her lips with his tongue before sliding it into her mouth. She let out a soft moan, uncontrolled; a rather explicit expression of her surrender to the act that they had both longed for.

He moaned back, embracing her harder than before. There was something so impetuous in his embrace, his fingers compulsively tightening around her shoulders, the pressure of his arms on her back holding her always so closer, and his nose buried in her cheek; he hardly tried to catch his breath. She had imagined before what it could be like to be in his arms, but she would not have dared picture him with such passion.

He invaded her shamelessly and she succumbed, rocking backwards under the weight of his chest. She clutched at his coat, trying to catch her breath while he reached for her neck, licking and nibbling on the thin delicate skin. His hands started frantically searching for an opening under her garment, movements made uneasy by the thickness of his sleeves. This clumsiness would not last; she recoiled on the mattress, briefly separating his lips from her skin, and sat up, bringing her legs in between his. He stood up in his turn, as she grabbed his coat and pulled it down his arms before letting it fall to the ground. Their lips joined again in a feverish kiss, their legs now intertwined and their hands finally reaching for the touch of their bodies.

Godwin swiftly reached for her breasts, making her wave under him with a sonorous sigh. He pressed his crotch on hers, feeling the increasing hardness of his sex. A raucous moan came out of his mouth before he looked up searching for her eyes; he needed to see on her face the reflection of the same pleasure he was experiencing. Her half-closed, wavering gaze suddenly locked on his and turned intense, she let her body express the words she could not say now, as she stroked his back until reaching on the edge of his pants, and then slipped her hands under the belt, gently cajoling the plump shape from the top of his buttocks.

He had such soft skin, undoubtedly a noble’s skin — she could never have said the same of her late farmer of a husband's. As doing so, she intensely rippled her hips against Godwin's already hard crotch. His eyelids fluttered as a shiver travelled through his back skin — she could feel all the little bumps rise and fall under the pulp of her fingers.

He jerked a short breath and looked at her with a vague disbelief in his eyes. Leofe nearly smiled at his uncontrolled reaction before he kissed her unceremoniously. Letting go of her breasts, he nimbly grabbed the tired skirt that covered her knees and pulled it up her legs until he could feel the undergarment below. Burying his face into her neck, feeling her hot breaths quicken on his hair, he tugged at the last thin piece of clothing protecting her virtue. The fabric tore so ridiculously easily under his fingers, inviting him to explore beyond, finally touch that warm defended fruit between her thighs; so soft, and already moist, calling for him to take it whole. Reaching into his own pants, he released his then painfully erect cock.

She moaned in anticipation, feeling his rushed hand movements over their respective intimacies, and then found all sound suddenly trapped in her throat when she felt him bluntly penetrating her. Their limbs stiffened the entire time he was inside; Godwin, so heavy and strong, made the first thrust last until both went out of breath. Finally releasing the pressure, both inhaled loudly and right away he resumed, entered again her humid cunt that contracted under the assault, making him jolt in pleasure from the sudden tightness.

“Oh God…” he let out in a feverish sight.

Their minds went gradually blank from the pounding and increasing pleasure, their movements became chaotic, hands hectically grabbing whatever fell under their reach; fabric, hair, flesh. The sounds of their bodies colliding soon became as vigorous as the lustful moans that even a biting on their lips could not moderate. Soon a last cry fell out their joined mouths as they simultaneously reached the peak of enjoyment in a passionate embrace.

It felt like the edge of a territory she had never explored before; that is the thought that crossed Leofe’s wandering mind as they lazily laid there, two exhausted and motionless intertwined bodies, Godwin’s head resting on the crook of her neck as she stared blankly at the dark ceiling. With her husband, it felt more like duty and a rare one to say the least. It surely took a great amount of vitality to intensely desire the other when one was already so drained by the physically enduring work of the crops. However, there, with this long and rather intensely desired man, it was an edge, as it seemed very unlikely to feel anything beyond the magnitude of the blissful waves that had irradiated her whole body.

Leofe had read theories, stumbled—not so hazardously—upon licentious writings of long gone roman poets as Lucretius and Ovidius when she was younger, but none had ever provided the closest clue to what she had felt there. If she had been able to find them daring at times in their evocations of the carnal act, she now found them well restrained.

Warm, cosy and cradled by the soft, even breathing of the Lord on her chest and the crackling of the fire in the hearth, her eyelids became a little heavier and her thoughts little by little turned scattered and incoherent. Soon she could no longer follow the thread, distinguish those that she consciously generated from those that arose by themselves in her head as a prelude to a dream.