taemcains

[taemcains]

Wdyt about Lane's revelation (sorta) scene?

Personally, I have no idea about what was actually going on and it feels like Lane's social isolation wasnt as impactful as i thought it should be? What's the purpose of that scene? It feels like instead of adding context to Lane's existence, sasha just wanted to romanticize loneliness or maybe the lack of build-up made the scene rather pointless? I can say the same for Yan but at least I could fill in the tidbits using his shared past with Pavel & Dmitry and also Yan's barely mentioned deadbeat dad. I can see Lane being "the chosen one" or "baal's vessel" made it hard for her to connect with people. Still, that scene was very anticlimactic for me.

Also, the claustrum and conciousness stuff, maaaaann (neutral), I have had enough. Sasha just regurgitating the same thing three times already (once in s2 and twice in s3). I get it, Lane is ✨SPECIAL✨, but what make her that special, really?? Her kindness? Because it was mentioned that either baal or cain wanted her to hate humanity but she's kinda the same if she's on gv/dw or compassion/no compassion or friendship/no friendship. What was the point??? It did add a bit of flavor text and path specific scenes but in general?? Not much, imo.

If HSR really was inspired by SEL anime, sasha isnt doing the anime justice. Lain has more personality and agency than Lane. Not to age shame, but Lain was just a teenager in the show 😭😭😭😭

i wasn't particularly impacted by the grand reveal bc the cainlanebaal bermuda triangle has been obvious since last june, so there was nothing to clutch my pearls about cain aiding the reason for how she became this.

thinking about it i don't feel anything since i've been expecting it. i believe aleksandra is setting up a chosen one throne for lane which is as questionable as the rest of her decisions. wdym baal the first demon is resting all his hopes on the rage and anger of a girl from north carolina? i have my own hc for why lane particularly was chosen as baal's vessel, disregarding all the chosen one nonsense, but i'm planning to show it in a future fic. there's so much lost potential in exploring how/why, what factors exactly contributed to this alienation she felt since childhood, especially seeing how many autistic and queer people related to her inner monologues but god forbid she dives into a single flood she starts

lost track of the infection plotline a season ago i have no thoughts on that

[taemcains]

Have you read the Astaroth sex scene? I found screenshots on reddit and it's like "he was a crossbreed... but his demon side was stronger. He was so dominant 🥵"

This is your man, right?

🩰

this is so nasty it eviscerated me on spot slander!!!!

he is always on about sex yes but his route is sm more than that 😞 can't erase his clown persona

[taemcains]

someone is a xander stan i see 😏😏

idgaf

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his and hers nicknames 🥰

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happy PRIDE!

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hm yes i like this character. now shoot him 5 times in a parking lot.

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“He would not fucking say that” except its the badly written source material so he did, in fact, say that

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happy anniversary bae 🥂 one year in the trenches and currently digging another one

happy anniversary to hopevivi who hasn’t stfu ever since. love you so much may we always find shit to go psychotic over <3

[taemcains]

i can't believe you've been hiding that you like Joel I feel betrayed I thought I was alone here...

i have no excuse but i just went through his tag on here and wow... my tweaking was entirely justified. gorgeous, obsessed with the mc, meet cute, insane sex scenes, INSANE confession, sweetest ending, literally perfect she (ME) wants that cookie so mf bad

i always want to replay to2 for the other lis (the host specifically she's like sister michael from derry girls if she was a young hot lesbian) (also imani 🫦) but joel 😵‍💫

the way faye wrote their insta love/attraction so sweet And sexy... you're going to see me in a grave when i play tm for alba

[taemcains]

joel bisexual reveal:

Hi Faye!! I wanted to know if you can say us what of your characters are 🏳️‍🌈 for the pride month!!

Thank you🫶🏻🩷

Like, overall?

TO2:

Evan = straight Lisa = straight afaik The Host = lesbian Joel = bisexual Imani = Bisexual (but extremely picky about men) Bradley = chaotic bisexual Ben/Bianca = pansexual Ken = bisexual? But honestly, on a journey Michelle = demisexual Daphne = pansexual Jared = bisexual Lorenzo = gay The Missing: Alba = Bisexual Safaa = Not ready to say it outloud Lauritzen = Straight Yasin = Straight I have more canon but I don't know what will appear in game yet so I can't share it.

[taemcains]

serious detective work required here guys

[taemcains]

need to live and breathe in your theme im afraid

new theme for new mental illness we're sooo back

[taemcains]

I’ve grown quite fond of you tho there are no sexual urges or desires you come to me as a long lost friend whom I once picked apples with in papa’s orchard

loved this so much i forgot to reply for a week WHO ARE YOU LMFAOOOOO

[taemcains]

↬cain wip

book: heaven's secret: requiem

character: cain

rating: g

tagging: @rc-catalog

‘How is there a sky above us if we're in Heaven? If the sky for mortals is Heaven, and the sky for Heaven is… well, this sky, which is the real sky?’

‘I have a question too. Do you think there's a spell for silence in Mother’s armoire?’

Abel whacked him over the arm he could reach, and turned onto his stomach, quiet king again as both brothers watched opposing skies; Cain the dark of closed eyelids, and Abel the clouds like swans dreaming over a lake of sunset-pink. He dipped a hand into them, and sighed when they refused his touch and swam past gracefully.

[taemcains]

The Azure Letter (an HSR fanfic).

Title: The Azure Letter. Fandom: Heaven's Secret: Requiem. Pairing: Anna/Lane. Rating: T. Word Count: 1245 words. MC: Naomi, voice of god + unlocked compassion Summary: and when Naomi thinks of it, her fingers turn to fists. Taglist: @rc-catalog, @taemcains as she misses my lesbians

🎵: is it a crime - sade

Naomi stared at the piece of paper in her hands. Something she had never sent, something she never meant for Anna to see — although, when she wrote it, part of her was hoping that somehow, some way, Anna would see it. So she could understand the sheer anguish Naomi felt.

The moment she saw Anna with Donovan, she felt her heart sink into the ground, as she once had sunk. Her dark eyes felt like they were going to burn, she felt like the ice under her would break once again, and leave her drowning for good this time around.

So she had written her a letter. A letter detailing how she felt. A letter meant to be pragmatic and simple to understand — not something overly soapy. She was never one for the dramatics anyway, and neither was Anna.

"Dear Anna," Naomi had begun, after spending about twenty minutes thinking and rethinking how she would and should start said letter. Even translating the Book came to her more easily than this.

"I hope Donovan's treating you right." Despite the choice she had made, Naomi still wanted to know that Anna was okay. If she was safe, then there was a chance to get her back — one wrong turn isn't worth her sweet scientist's life being put at stake.

"We miss you." She wrote, when she fully and wholeheartedly meant I miss you. She felt selfish — but she didn't care what the rest of the squad thought in this moment, she wished she could have Anna back. To kiss her, hug her, hold her through the long Rotkov nights, feel her skin, fight away her fears, reassure her. It wasn't a want, it was an urge. A craving within her, an itch she couldn't scratch away as much as she tried.

It was... Maddening. It was a whisper she was willing to risk everything for. She knew she should be smarter than this, but her desire had led her to places she wouldn't even have gone with a gun.

She loved Anna. She knew she did, Anna knew she did, but recent events had left her a confused mess. Did Anna love her ? Did Anna even begin to consider Naomi's feelings as she chose to stay by Donovan ? Did she even think about her ? About the moments they had spent together — kissing at Portia's, how they thought they'd almost lost each other back at the platform, lovingly gazing into each other's eyes in the train to Oxford.

Had none of it mattered to Anna ? Did she think it all tradeable ? Was it all a game ? Was it serious ?

Naomi's head felt like it was going to split open, the overthinking driving her to insanity, blurring the lines between what was real, what she imagined, and what she thought Anna thought.

"I hope your research is going well. Translation's going as usual, you know." Of course she knew. Writing these boring banalities was a chore. Why was she even saying that ? Obviously Anna knew how the research was going - considering she had arguably been the most invested in it out of the entire squad.

What was she doing ?

Writing all these boring things on paper wouldn't bring Anna back, and it wouldn't make Naomi feel any better. And as she read the next part, her gut wrenched, the handwriting already getting a little messier as she gave up all formalities to reveal herself.

"I hate you." Naomi read the words, inscribed on the paper, feeling the texture change due to the tears that forever marked the paper.

"I hate you, Anna. I hate you so much. Do you like doing this ? Do you revel in others' suffering ?" She wasn't sure if she actually had meant this, or if accusing Anna was just a way to make herself feel better about the choice Anna had made. Trying to rationalize the girl she loved into being a sadistic villain who enjoyed hurting her felt better than facing the truth, that Anna chose the side that she believed in. Not out of spite for Naomi, not because she had been toying with her all this time — but because she believed in what she was doing.

Knowing Anna didn't do this to hurt her somehow felt even worse than if Anna had just been manipulating her and stringing her along this entire time.

"And I don't even hate you. That's the worst part. I want to. I want to hate you. I wish I could." Naomi remembered how it felt, crying over the letter, tears running down her face in despair. She'd have screamed out Anna's name if she could, she'd have thrown herself out the window if it meant she could land in the scientist's arms she felt so familiar in.

"I love you." She said, dark eyes moving left to right as she read the following lines. A repetition of those same 8 letters. I love you. I love you. I love you. She could have written entire letters of those three simple words if Anna wanted her to, she'd have done anything if it meant she could have her back. She'd have given up on the squad — on her mission to save the world, on the book, on humanity itself, if it all led to her getting Anna back, without ever separating again.

"Come back." By that point, she felt a ball in her throat, unable to let out a single coherent word, letting the pen do the speaking that she couldn't.

"Please, Anna. Come back to me." Her neat handwriting had turned sloppy, unfocused, messy. She wasn't focused on making it decipherable — she wanted to let it all out. How she felt, how dearly she missed her. How upset she was with her.

She had no right to leave Naomi like this. To abandon her — and yet, Donovan was her aunt. And a feeling of guilt resurged through her. Guilt. Something she had learned from Anna, after having forgotten it for those three empty years. The way Anna apologized for forgetting something, messing something up, bumping into someone. Naomi learned that from her. To feel guilty. To say sorry.

And now, she was alone again. As she had always been.

That's when Naomi had to put the letter down, the paper awakening feelings the cryptographer thought buried deep within herself. Feelings that she thought she had dealt with, compressed and processed already — what she did with whatever else she was feeling.

Leaning out the window, Naomi felt her body tremble. She didn't want to lose Anna again. Now that she had her, she never wanted to let her go. She felt guilty for being so possessive, but she wasn't sure just how she would survive if she had to lose Anna again. The thought haunted her. Would Anna betray her again ? Would she choose something — someone else ?

She took a deep breath in, before letting it out. There was no need to break down over hypothetical scenarios and thoughts of old events. Now it was in the past. Now she had Anna. And she was going to protect her, no matter what it took. No matter if it meant putting her own life on the line. Naomi was willing to forsake her own health, if it meant the scientist of her heart would be safe and sound.

The world could wait. It already had waited enough, it could stand to wait at least a few more moments.

[taemcains]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ perdition.

pairing: cain x lane. — tw: nil. — rating: t. — chapter: 2/? — prev chapter. — playlist. — high school graduate lane and priest in training cain happens to cross each others path. — tag: @rc-catalog. — words: 2.6k. — fandom: hsr.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎chapter two. — gas station.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘what are you, cain?’ simple, direct, effective. but his eyes, his unwavering attention, and the manslaughter, stung her tongue to stillness. instead, she rolled his name over her mouth, letting it seep between her teeth so it wouldn’t tremble when summoned to speak. but the familiar aftertaste it left behind startled her, as if his name was always meant for her to breathe. 

she pursed her lips, deep in thought, once again sinking into the gallows of her estranged mind. the situation she found herself in could not be quite called a catastrophe, yet it had the markings of one. like a storm, his presence swept away the sturdy supports of an otherwise structured life. and now, she found herself flailing.

lane sighed. the only emotional response she allowed herself to intimate. she could feel the lingering gaze of the angel on this single gesture, as if he followed the haze of her sigh from her mouth to the sky. a cold draft pricked her skin, or so she urged herself to believe, as she could compound no other explanation for the sudden shower of goosebumps.

but it was enough to awaken her from her stupor, and with it came a semblance of control. from it she derived ample recklessness to bolt right up and stand where she now stood, in front of the lifeless fiend with her toe wedged into his chest, marvelling at his stopped heart. 

‘should we dispose him off?’ lane asked with obvious displeasure, but offered it out of courtesy regardless.

‘is that what you wish?’ the angel offered in return, lazily, and allowed his own disinterest on the matter permeate the air. 

‘no,’ she walked toward him, ignoring the wind playfully ruffling the feathers of his wings, a sentence she could hardly articulate without another bout of confusion and horror sweeping in, and pressed her answer to his hands. ‘what i wish for is a can of soda’.

her touch fell on his fingers with the caress of a night cradling the moon, and cain momentarily clenched the beads in his hand tighter, refusing, for a moment, to let her flutter away. in her wake, however, she left behind a curious little thing, invoking a sudden rumble of laughter from his chest. 

‘stealing from a dead man? you’re into strange endeavours, lane’ cain spoke, amusement refusing to escape his lilting tone. her strange request, no, her wish, stood in contrast to her current stance; pursed lips, reddened cheeks — likely from anger at his taunt — and proud posture. as if her offer for accompaniment didn’t oscillate between them like an organum.

lane’s disposition towards the angel, within a moment’s spark, tended to flare and scorch in mystifying ordeals. she watched as he carded through the wallet, a barely held together patch of leather, and hoped that he would take upon her offer, no matter how suddenly or crudely it was presented.

then again, such abrupt conditions may not be so abrupt to a benevolent angel of death.

she was still reeling from his jibe. material possessions are of no use to the dead, she had said, almost as much to the void as it was to the grinning angel, then bit her tongue, despising the anger that had loosened it. 

expecting one of his clever remarks to make its way to her, lane had not expected the angel himself to come close, too close, and he did it so swiftly and stealthily that he was by her side before her eyes could blink and recover. her body flinched in response only seconds later, finally repsonding to the stimuli caused by the uncanny situation, and exemplified no less by her own frantic mind. 

and in such a state, she hadn’t realised the strap of her bag had slid down her shoulders, choosing the most treacherous moment to amplify the chaos. but to the angel, it was yet another opportunity to grab, a fortune playing right into his hands, as intended. 

before it could slip past, cain grabbed her arm gently, fingers clasping around her wrist in such a manner that his thumb nestled above her pulsating vein. lane allowed the touch to commence, despite being too startled, and god forbid, flustered by the proximity. yet she found in its merit a way to solidy a simple truth — his existence, in her eyes. and for that to happen, she allowed him an indulgence she reserved for no other — to be near, to be so damnably close. 

he took the bag away, but the beads in his roasry, so wound to his fingers that it now bore his skin, snagged on her sleeve, loosening a thread which now stood connected between them. cain watched as she moved to intercept, interested in seeing how she would solve this particular plight, and how it would allude to their relationship, albeit newly formed. that is, of course, if it lasts the term. 

would she immediately cut the string? a swift, clean strike, leaving nothing but a meandering thread in the sky. maybe from a distance, it would echo the likeness of a falling feather. or perhaps, it would be a sharp jerk of her hand, even at the risk of worsening the lining of her sleeve, all in the name of a reprieve only found in his absence.

but when she stood there next to him, nudging the tangled thread from one of his beads free, her fingers fluttering like moth wings across the undulating path of his palm, he failed at what should have been the assessment of a simple human contact. for purposes so clear in his head, she had trampled upon it dreadfully, leaving behind mangled thoughts that needed immediate repair, before anything else caught onto this momentary lapse. 

the thread was gone, but the connection remained, conscious and volitional. 

lane stepped back, clutching something white in her fist, which, with a quick adjustment, disappeared in the folds of her skirt. ‘shall we?’ she prodded, needing his assent to their impromptu stroll, which she got in the nod of his head. and they set off, his feather secured in the inner pockets of her rustling skirt, and her bag thrown over his back, treacherously hanging above the base of his wings. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

the gas station wasn’t far away, and the trek towards it had yielded results, but the revelations it brought forth did not come to her in gentle waves. it roared against the shore of her conscience with the might of an all devouring beast, but her countenance expressed none of that, her features schooled to an almost perfect, doll-like indifference. 

during the walk, lane had noticed how dubiously the mist would part around him, as if nature itself was wary of cain’s intrusion upon its land, and sought to do what it could to subtly inform the world about it. then came the people, where the first few flock paid them no heed, fussing around and dealing with their own problems as they strode past, the others, abruptly stopping, had approached cain. her breath had stoppped then. is this it? she thought feverishly, a sickly tremor passing through her, is the imposter finally caught in the act?

she could not help but remember and scoff at how ridiculous she had ended up looking when, instead of panic or fear, the people who had approached cain did so with friendly gestures and open smiles, engaging him in conversations on topics that now constantly eluded her. lane was greatly bothered by it, because nestled in the back of her mind were these events that occured only minutes ago and yet, only the imprint of his eyes, glinting silver in the rare ray of sunlight, remained.

in the end, the information she had sought fell on her hands with leaden weight. cain’s angelic form was visible to her, and only to her. she doubted he knew of her realisation, and intending to keep it that way, spoke nothing of it. however, his particular proclivities, so alien in nature, was harder to turn a blind eye to. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎especially as they stood now, in front of a vending machine split in two just by a kick from his leg.

when they had reached the gas station, it was partially empty and cocooned by a thick layer of mist, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. cain had looked around, noting nothing interesting, other than the girl’s subject of interest — the vending machines nestled in the far corner, away from the service areas and surrounded by white flowering shrubs tolerant of both neglect and humidity. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain regarded the girl, glancing over. ‘lost in your thoughts again?’ a smirk tugged at his lips.

‘nothing much to think about when getting a few drinks’ she retorted calmly, then turned over to him, ‘or should i be worried?’ 

‘you should always be wary lane, of even the slightest of shifts’ his wings rose, almost imperceptibly, but she sensed the change and tensed up regardless. it did not escape cain’s notice, prompting a wider grin. ‘but today, cast it all aside, you’re in no danger here’ he stepped closer, feet thudding the ground, and it echoed in her head, along with his serpentine voice. ‘you’re safe’

alright, she thought to herself, i’ll go along with your farce, angel. 

there were three vending machines in front of them, all beckoning them forth, vying for their attention and the coins that jingled merrily in their purse. cain and lane pointed at two completely different machines to use, and they both stubbornly refused to accept the other’s choice, forcing them to go inspect the ones they had chosen separatey. 

then they sighed simultaneously, and dejected by their venture — which bore results in the form of two machines obstinately refusing to work, not even moderately so they could save face — cain and lane met each other halfway through, one looking intently at unremarkable pebbles and the other at the obscured sky, and stood in front of the last machine, situated smack dab in the middle. 

the angel pointed at each tag in front of the drinks and started listing out the flavours, decidedly refusing to speak on the matter that had them both looking like baffoons just prior to this. lane certainly had no complaints on that regard, and even encouraged the angel to carry on with his recitation, nodding along to each listing like she was at an auction site. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘...apple, cherry, pomegranate, so which one would it be?’ cain asked, tilting his head to the side, watching quitely as she took zero effort to land on an option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘cherry’

he nodded, and pressed twice on the pomegranate option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘oops’ he exclaimed. ‘slip of hand’.

she knew damn well that wasn’t a mistake.

cain chuckled at her poorly concealed displeasure, which made her frown even deeper. ‘if your heart desires it that much’ he gallantly pointed at the cherry soda can behind the tempered glass, ‘then you shall have it’ and made a sweeping motion, like a magician exiting the stage after a grand performance. except this time, the trick didn’t land.

the machine took his coins, but no soda can came tumbling down to his waiting arms. 

now it was cain’s turn to frown, dark eyebrows pinching together in confusion and irritation, and lane’s expression pivoted the other way, amused by the angel’s struggle with humanity’s perplexing technology, a forever collapsing ground with no rigid foundation. but will the servant of god truly understand such measly affairs?

lane stepped in to help, and employed a common tactic of handling defective machines, by kicking and slapping its body with enough fervor to jump start its functions and do what is required of it. just like her, she solemnly thought, condemn one’s nature long enough, they’ll start emulating a machine more than they would a man. 

she, however, didn’t realise that the angel had mirrored her moves diligently and, in the process, kicked the shell of the machine, causing it to crack open with a thunderous roar and split apart in the middle. she jolted back, like a spring held taut too long, and crashed into the body of the offender, who held her shoulders firmly and steadied her balance. but he didn’t let go.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain leaned in, his warmth breath fanning her cheeks, a whisper slipping past her ears. ‘sometimes its better to let yourself fall apart’. 

lane was struck. the phrase sunk into her depth, anchoring at the base of her soul and cascading across an empty harbour. she had never resonated with her heart, its thumping a foreign action, invading her body like a parasite. but she didn’t smother it shut, forcing herself to carry out this unpleasant duty of keeping her bodily functions intact as service to her lifegivers. nothing more, nothing less. so what bliss would it be to fall apart then? the gears never turning, the blood never rushing?

she swivelled around immediately, tongue poised in a venomous strike, to ask him, to force him to confess, what do you mean? but the reality of her situation struck another discordant tune, a cacophonic moment playing out that clashed severely with what had just passed. the angel didn’t have his arm around her, stood slightly apart, and was engaged in pensive thoughts, his gaze boring into the mangled machine.

she was stunned into silence. did that moment even transpire in reality?

that was how they had found themselves in this bizarre dilemma.

cain, with his arms crossed over his chest, white shirt crinkling at the action, pondered gloomily about the rather devastating blow he just dealt to a completely harmless machine, knowing it did nothing to incur such scronful wrath. or it did, by gobbling up their money and refusing to give what they ordered in exchange for it, inevitably upsetting his company. and those guilty of greed are directly condemned, and was done so by the hands of an angel. 

lane, on the other hand, teetering between the edges of the material world, was pulled abrputly back by a raspy shout. it echoed across the expanse of the station like a rocked chucked down a mountain, and she instinctively leaned back, to assess the problem and understand how dire their situation was. but instead of an approaching figure, she was instead assualted by a tuft of white feathers, a long, sturdy one almost poking her in the eye, and a startled gasp got stuck in her throat. 

standing beside the angel, her vision was hampered by massive, fluttering wings, and for the first time, instead of evoking a sense of dread, she felt anger and frustration at the sight of these peculiar limbs. there was a strong urge to part it like a curtain, as if it was merely an object of obstruction to be removed, and continue to gauge the situation. but she immediately abandoned such foolish thoughts, not so eager to give away her trump card, and instead leaned forward for an unobstructed view. 

and there she saw it, an approaching figure in a worker’s uniform pointing his hand and shouting in indignation. 

with all thoughts cast aside, and no time to spare, lane sprung into action, a decisive act that boiled down to a simple absconding. whatever ruminations cain was in the midst of would need to be suspended, and grabbing his wrist with one hand and throwing wads of cash in the air wih the other — hoping it would be enough to cover at least some repair costs — cain and lane escaped, hands woven, lips straining not to laugh. 

how bizarre it was, the way his wings clashed against the rushing breeze, jingling and whistling on impact, her skirt flapping around her knees, his roasry pressing into the palm of her unflinching hand, an image of absurdity that could lull even the harshest of critics. 

but the question still remains, lingering like frail white stars — will the angel forsake the girl, or will the girl doom him to damnation?

[taemcains]